Speed Demon

  “And you’re sure you can help me win?” Gene asked. 

  The smoky form in the corner of the garage shifted, and Gene caught a flash of its angry red eyes. 

  “You ever hear of a speed demon? You think someone just made that up?” it asked, its voice a low rumble that sent a shock of pain through Gene’s ears. 

  The smoky form had been with him for a while. Ever since the… the thing he didn’t talk about. For months, it just hung out in dark corners around his house, an unsettling but seemingly harmless presence. But lately it was talking to him, and Gene found his insides knotting up every time he heard the thing's voice. The wrongness of it was never in question. He could feel his soul tremble anytime it opened its red eyes and looked upon him. But this morning, it was saying something he couldn’t ignore. 

  Glancing over at his race car, Gene frowned. It seemed to be the only expression he was capable of these days. Just six months ago, the car was covered in the logos and graphics of his many sponsors. Now, it was just plain white paint, the only sponsor logo remaining displayed on the hood. The owners had made it clear that if Gene couldn’t deliver a victory this weekend, he was out. And then he’d truly have nothing. After the… the other thing, he was alone, but at least he had racing. If he lost racing as well, what was the point of being alive? 

  “And you swear you don’t want anything from me in exchange?” 

  “I swear it,” the smoky figure replied. 

  Knowing he’d lose his nerve if he hesitated even a single second, Gene nodded and pointed at the car. 

  “Okay. Do it.” 

  The smoke swept forward, stretching itself as it enveloped the race car. The car shook and shuddered as the smoke began to absorb into it, seeping into any opening it could find. As the last of the smoke disappeared into the car, the vehicle stopped shaking. 

  “Everything good here?” 

  Gene jumped, then turned around to see his crew chief, Harry, standing behind him. Harry’s eyes narrowed, searching for the reason his driver was so on edge. 

  “Let’s go get that checkered flag,” Gene said, forcing a confident smile. 

  Even before the race began, Gene could see the signs that something was different. Everything in the race car was hot to the touch. Even sitting at the starting line, temperature gauges were spiking. 

  “We’re getting some strange readings off your gauges,” Harry said over the radio. 

  “Uh, everything looks good in here,” Gene lied. “Must be a software issue.” 

  He couldn’t risk Harry calling off the race. Nothing would stop him from giving every bit of himself to winning. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, feeling the heat of it through his heavy gloves.  

  The green flag waved, and when he pressed the accelerator, the engine screamed, an ear-piercing whine unlike any Gene had heard from a vehicle before. The car surged forward, almost sending him straight into the back of the car in front of him. He jerked the steering wheel to the right, narrowly avoiding the impact. 

  “Easy,” Gene said, unsure if the smoky form could even hear him. 

  The first few laps were a furious battle as Gene wrestled to control the newfound power in the racecar. A lifetime of racing knowledge was thrown out. The car was at least twice as fast as usual, something that presented more problems than a non-racer would understand. He had to adjust everything, from when to start braking to how much pressure he applied to the accelerator. It was quickly apparent that if he wanted, he could pass everyone on the track ten times over, but there were the race officials to consider. If they thought something was giving him an unfair advantage, they’d invalidate his win. But keeping the car from tearing down the straightaways was a fight all its own. It wanted to fly, and the longer he denied it, the hotter its anger burned. 

  Entering pit row for the first time, every gauge in the vehicle was flashing. Oil and engine temperatures were both past the red line. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes. 

  Gene brought the car to a stop, and the pit crew got to work changing tires. Harry approached, sticking his head in the window. 

  “You’re all over the place out there and the car’s hotter than hell!” 

  “Just get me back out there!” Gene yelled. 

  The pit crew member putting in gasoline screamed. As soon as the gas hit the superheated tank, it turned to steam and shot back into his face. The man screeched and clutched his face, the smell of burning flesh overpowering the fumes of gasoline and burnt rubber. 

  “That’s it, I’m calling it,” Harry said. “Something’s not right with this car, our race is over.” 

  “No!” Gene screamed. 

  Without waiting for the all-clear, he slammed the car into gear and sped away. Two of the crew members had to leap out of the way to avoid being run over. 

  Once he was back out on the track, Gene tapped into the car’s unnatural power, zipping past the cars in front of him. In less than two laps, he’d improved by twenty positions and was catching up to the leaders. The car shook and rumbled, the temperature inside spiking even higher. But for all its bluster and heat, Gene could sense something else. Joy. 

  “This is what you wanted, huh?” he muttered. 

  Harry was screaming in his ear, but soon the car's communications system overheated and stopped working. Gene tore down the straightaway, passing everyone and taking first place. It took all of his might to hold the car together, the remaining laps melting away in a blur of speed and heat. When he approached the finish line there was no one else around him. The steering wheel was partially melted, and the molten rubber stuck to his hands. 

  A primal scream tore from deep within him as he crossed the line and saw that checkered flag. 

  He’d done it. He won. 

  He finally lifted his foot off the accelerator. But the car didn’t slow. Gene stomped the brakes, but they were out of commission, the brake pads long since melted away. Testing the steering wheel, a terrifying realization struck him. He was no longer in control.

  “You said you didn’t want anything from me!” he yelled. 

  A sinister voice filled the interior of the car. 

  “Not from you…” 

  Wings of flame shot from each side of the car, and the front end lifted up. A moment later, the entire thing was off the ground. It soared into the air, a streak of fire in its wake, then twisted around and started plummeting toward the stands that were packed with thousands of fans. 

  “... from them!” the voice screamed. 

  All Gene could do was watch as the terrified faces of the innocent fans stared up at their fast-approaching doom.