Live and Learn:

Lu Lewis and Edna Varner

The Haunting of Rental Car VT 117

Fueled by crime fiction, Edna shares her tales of travel terror

For a number of years, Lu and I were always on the move, traveling together for business, but often skillful at carving out some moments for pleasure—like the time we managed to shop for discounted china while trapped in New Haven, Conn., during a snowstorm.
Our mothers always felt our traveling together made us safer. Truth be told, the only thing we could contribute toward saving each other’s lives was the ability to scream. Neither of us can run fast enough to escape even an assailant on a walker. Lu has since retired from frequent business travel with our organization, leaving me to hit the roads alone, worrying her mother and mine. (Mothers never stop worrying, no matter how old we get!) I’ve diminished their fears a little by continuing to return from my trips unscathed. That is, until the day of the haunting of Rental Car Vermont 117.

The Dreadlocked Driver of Doom
Until the haunting, I had experienced only one really close call in a motor vehicle. It was the summer I was reading James Patterson crime novels, and my latest one was about a man who called himself Dr. Death as he killed unsuspecting women in his taxi.
One night my travel plans landed me at a Connecticut train station just after midnight. The station was deserted except for an agent who reminded me of the bank security guard, Asa, on the old Andy Griffith Show. I called a taxi and waited until it pulled up. The wait outside did not scare me as much as the taxi. The driver had dreadlocks and was dressed in t-shirt bearing some ghastly figure I did not recognize, and the taxi looked as if every gang member in town had given it a few whacks.
We were about five minutes into the trip when I heard him say angrily, “Who do you think you are?” Of course I panicked. It was the Patterson novel coming to life!
“Are you talking to me?” I blurted out. (I was trying to sound strong and confident, but the words came out like a third grader with marbles in his mouth.)
“You black women are all alike!” This was it—the moment in the novel right before the killer announces he’s Dr. Death. I quickly recalled my own advice to the women in the murder mystery: “Jump! Jump now!”
Next I started clawing the tattered interior upholstery, trying to find the door handle while calculating the driver’s speed and estimating the number of permanent scars I would have if I survived the jump. Until the driver turned toward me, I didn’t realize that I was still screaming, “Are you talking to me? Are you talking to me?”

“What’s the matter with you?” he shouted. “I’m talking to my girlfriend.”
It was then that I finally saw his earphone. Still, I couldn’t totally relax until I overhead him say to the woman on the other end, “I need this second job so I can make enough money to take care of my child and provide a nice home for my mother.” Whew! I would live to tell the story.

The Haunting of Rental Car VT 117
I have now lived to tell another story. I should have known better than to rent a car from an agent just because my friend kept nagging me to save a little money with her rental car company. First, it took forever to give the agent enough information to convince him he could find me if I did not return the car. Then I got a car I’d never heard of before—without automatic locks. (Forgive me if I sound pampered, but who now makes a car that requires locking all four doors and the trunk manually each time you open them? I discovered this after I parked a whole day with the trunk unlocked—with my computer inside.)
This failure-to-lock business contributed to what happened next. I woke the next day at 5 a.m. to drive to the train station an hour away. I had just started the trip in Rental Car VT 117 when I heard the distinct sound of breathing coming from the back seat!
“Calm down,” I said to myself. “It can’t be what you think.” Still, I glanced several times into the rearview mirror, fearing I had forgotten to lock one of the doors the night before. Maybe someone was lurking in the back seat ready to choke me with a piece of wire! (I had seen a repeat of The Godfather: Part II the night before.)
I saw nothing in the mirror, but the breathing continued. I shuffled my bags in the front seat, hoping that misdirection was making me think the sounds were coming from the back. No luck. The sounds continued and seemed to be getting louder—almost like a snore. I considered pulling over and getting out of the car to check, but then thought that would only increase the likelihood of my becoming an episode of Unsolved Mysteries.
I continued driving, and the breathing continued—steady and strong. Yes, I was scared.    Maybe, I thought, someone had been killed in the back seat of the rental car and his ghost was crying out to travelers for vengeance. Maybe the rental car agent had tracked down someone who failed to return the car and killed him in the back seat.
The breathing seemed to be getting faster, and I drove faster. How could I not figure this out? The spirit didn’t appear to be in a hurry to attack, but his breathing remained steady and persistent until I finally reached the station. I parked the car; the breathing stopped.
This story had a happy ending. I am alive and well to rent future cars, but I am staying away from rental cars with Vermont license plates. Later, I did discover the source of the breathing—but revealing it ruins a good story, so I’m not talking!

Veteran Chattanooga educators Lu Lewis and Edna Varner collaborate each month to address a topic of particular concern to area parents.  If you have a concern you’d like them to discuss in print, send it to Lu and Edna care of Chattanooga Parent at info@chattanoogaparentmagazine.com.