A Ride In The Country

Meet a most peculiar old woman.

Peter Mumford was new in town and still trying to find his way around. He wheeled his Chevy around a corner expecting to see a grocery store. Instead, he saw the town library. Oh, well, he thought. Now at least I know where that is.  He was still driving past the library when an old woman suddenly stepped in front of the car and held up her hand, motioning him to stop. He jammed on his brakes and stopped less than three feet away from her. The woman was barely five feet tall, very thin, with stooped shoulders. She was wearing a pink dress with a shawl over her shoulders. She had on old fashioned wire rim glasses with extremely thick lenses. She looked at least as old as Methuselah.

The woman walked around to the passenger side of the car, opened the door, and got in.  “Excuse me?” said Peter.

“For what?” asked the woman. “Did you pass gas or something?” She sniffed the air. “I think you did.”

“Why are you in my car?”

“Because I need a ride of course.”

“So you just step in front of a moving car? That's awfully risky. I might have hit you.”

The woman shrugged. “But you didn’t did you?” The car behind them began to honk. “Come on,” she said. “Get a move on. I need to go home and feed my cat. He must be starving by now.”

Wondering if he had moved to a town or an insane asylum, Peter pressed the gas pedal. “Which way?”

“I live on a farm a few miles on the other side of town,” she said. “Just keep driving straight.”

After a few moments of silence Peter asked, “Is this how you get around all the time? Just stopping strangers’ cars? Isn't that kind of dangerous?”

“I’m too old to drive and I can’t afford a taxi, so it makes perfect sense. And I didn’t get to be my age by doing dangerous things.”

“Does anyone ever just throw you out of the car?”

“Of course not. Who would do that to a little old lady? And besides, I only stop American cars - Fords, Buicks, Chevrolets, Plymouths. Sometimes in a pinch an Oldsmobile, but I don’t really like the people who drive them. They can be a bit snooty, you know.”

“No Hondas or Toyotas?”

“Absolutely not!” she said icily. “What sort of person do you take me for?”

Peter decided to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the trip. Unfortunately, the old woman had other ideas. “They call me Miss Phoebe,” she said.  She turned to him expectantly.  After a few seconds she added, “Well?”

“My name is Peter.”

“Peter what?”

“Mumford..”

She nodded. “Had sex lately Peter Mumford?”

Peter pressed down harder on the gas pedal and the speedometer needle rose well above the posted speed limit.

“It’s a simple question,” Miss Phoebe said.

“No. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Ooh, touchy aren’t we?”

Neither of them spoke for the next half mile or so. She broke the silence with, “When I was younger I had a pretty active sex life. I wasn’t promiscuous or anything. I mean, I was picky, but I did enjoy a romp every now and again.”

Peter said nothing.

“I wasn’t always a dried up old prune, you know. I was a bit of a looker once if I do say so myself.”

Ignore her, Peter thought.

“I made an observation about men and sex, if you’re interested.”

Just ignore her.

“What I found was that fat men were often more interesting to talk to, but they usually had little dicks. Skinny men were boring as hell, but they often had big dicks.” Miss Phoebe shrugged. “What’s a girl to do?” After a brief silence she turned to Peter. “What about you?” She held her hands an inch or two apart, then moved them a foot apart. “What’s your story?”  When Peter didn’t answer Miss Phoebe laughed. It started out as a chuckle but soon exploded into a loud, roaring cackle. “Hit a nerve there, didn’t I?” Peter felt his face getting red.

Several minutes later she pointed to a dirt road. “Turn here.”

The road quickly turned from dirt to barely there at all. Peter found himself maneuvering around huge rocks, tree stumps, and gaping holes. The Chevy bounced and swayed. He was afraid it might not have enough ground clearance to complete the trip. God, he thought, don’t let me get stuck out here on the way to this crazy woman’s house. Please.

Finally, they came to a hill. Once they were on the other side a meadow stretched before them. It was lush with grass and sprinkled with yellow flowers. At the opposite end of the meadow stood a huge three-story frame house with a wrap-around porch and a gabled roof.  “Is that it?” Peter asked.

“Yes. I’ve lived in that house my whole life. I was even born in an upstairs bedroom.”

Peter drove across the meadow and pulled up to the fence that surrounded the house. “Well, here you are,” he said.

“I want to thank you for bringing me all the way home,” Miss Phoebe said, reaching over and touching his forearm. “Please, come inside.”

“I really don’t think so. I need to be getting back.”

“You don’t want to break an old woman’s heart, do you? Come inside for a cool drink and a piece of apple pie. I also want to apologize for laughing at you and giving you such a hard time. I get a little, uh, peculiar at times. I’m ashamed of myself. I was very, very naughty.” The weird woman who had gotten into the car seemed to have disappeared and been replaced by a pleasant grandmotherly woman with tenderness in her eyes. “Please, let me say I’m sorry.”

“Well,” he said. “Maybe just five minutes or so.”

“Wonderful.” Miss Phoebe’s face beamed with a broad smile. “I don’t often get to show off  the old homestead.”

They got out of the car and she led him to the front door. Inside, Peter felt like he had gone back in time.  There were antiques everywhere, many probably much older than Miss Phoebe - but much better preserved. “Have a seat,” she said, pointing to a camel back sofa in front of the fireplace. “I’ll just be a minute. The cat gets grumpy if he’s hungry.”

Peter sat down and checked his watch, making a note to leave in precisely five minutes.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” Miss Phoebe called as she opened a door and looked in. “Mommy’s home. Are you hungry?”  Backing out of the doorway she said, “Yes, there you are, sweetheart. Did you miss Mommy?”

As Peter watched, a very large, very powerful, very old lion slowly entered the room. It eyed Peter and growled. Peter jumped up and ran toward the door. He didn’t make it. The lion leaped on him, knocked him to the floor, and sank its teeth into his neck.

Miss Phoebe smiled. “And the nicest thing about living in the country, Mr. Mumford? There’s no one around to be bothered by the screams.”

 

                        © 2016 Stanley R. Teater

                              All rights reserved

Reviews

[Robert Haigh]

An interesting write. Enough going on, with lively dialogue, to hold the reader's attention. And that ending came almost out of the blue. I say almost, because I expected some sort of twist in the tail... not a lion though! I like lions, but I wouldn't want to meet this one! I enjoyed the read!

[Samuel Dickens]

This is an interesting write that held my interest all the way through. My old, ex-sailor mind hoped for a naughty ending, I must admit. Very good, Stanley. I don't see anything in it that would warrant the mature rating.

[TL Boehm]

Although I've used that pink bar in the past, I often find myself skipping the read if I see it. I've been here so long and there are so many here who write everything from mild erotica to straight out porn and most of it isn't worth the eye time. This one though, I came back to and gave it a go. Does it make me a terrible person that I laughed out loud while reading this? Probably. Its a great well paced quirky story - carrying its own special bite. I never saw that end coming. Well done.

[Stanley R. Teater]

I wish there was another option. Rated PG for example. It's a shame so many things are lumped together under the one warning. Thank for your review. I forgive you for laughing. I laughed a bit when I was writing it. Actually, the ending surprised me as well. I wasn't sure where I was going with it, but the line about needing to feed the cat kept haunting me.

[Dr. Ryan Nolte]

Wonderful twist. I never saw that coming. It's very inspiring to an amateur story writer!

[Jenny Leigh]

Holy cow. I'm not picking up any little old ladies any time soon.

[wordman]

nice story,ate by a cat,now who will feed the cat

[Valentine]

Gee whiz, you blew me away with the woman1s babble then the unexpected ending, What a way to feed her cat. Valentine