Check Rear Seat
By
Carl Tait
CHECK REAR SEAT, the dashboard said.
Phil glared at the luminous blue letters as he removed his key from the ignition. He hated unnecessary messages. He had no small children in the back seat. He had no children at all, or even a spouse. Why was his car wagging a cautionary finger about something patently irrelevant?
Phil stepped out of his Toyota and closed the door with unnecessary force. He stood still for a moment, watching the annoying message on the dashboard fade away. He smiled with satisfaction, then began to laugh at himself.
Why was he so bothered by that harmless warning? He was a professor of psychology; he was supposed to understand these things. Maybe he could make it the subject of one of his lectures.
Not today, though. It was nearing the end of the semester and he had fallen behind in the syllabus. He turned away from his car and began walking up the steep hill to the psychology building. CHECK LEG MUSCLES, he heard his brain saying.
Phil arrived in his classroom several minutes early, as he always did. He surveyed the large whiteboard and was irritated to find a stray black line near the lower edge. He grabbed one of the felt erasers and eradicated the mark as his students began to enter the room.
His sophomore seminar on abnormal psychology had proven unusually popular this year. The class was full of engaged and chatty students who were eager to share the pop psychology tidbits they had gleaned from mediocre TV programs.
Phil nodded to his audience and began his lecture, speaking more quickly than usual in an effort to catch up with the syllabus.
He didn’t get far. Five minutes into his lecture, a hand shot up in the third row.
“Professor Ardsley, may I ask a question?”
There are no stupid questions, Phil reminded himself.
Oh yes, there are, came the answer from another part of his mind. Plenty of stupid questions. And I bet this is gonna be one of them.
“Yes, Devlin?”
The student flashed a crooked smile and ran a hand through his stylishly tousled hair. A preening gesture designed to attract sexual partners, Phil thought with fatigue. Please, Lord, let this be a short question.
“Professor, what do you think about the murders in town?”
Phil closed his eyes and sighed.
“That could be the subject of an entire class, and we really don’t have time to discuss it.”
“Can you at least address the business of the missing body parts? Ears and toes and …”
The classroom filled with a swell of uneasy whispers and shuffling.
“Let me stop you,” the professor interrupted. “I sense that the subject makes many of your fellow students uncomfortable. To speculate briefly and without repellent details, the killer is probably taking trophies, as if he were hunting animals. Jack the Ripper did something similar. Can we leave it at that?”
Devlin nodded, running his fingers through his hair again. The crooked smile remained.
Phil returned to his lecture, annoyed that he had fallen even further behind schedule.
* * *
The day was a long one. Phil gave another lecture, endured office hours with students, and graded an ill-advised pop quiz. It was already dark by the time he locked the door of his office and headed down the hill to the parking lot.
A clammy mist had begun to settle and it took the professor longer than usual to find his car. He sank into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
CHECK REAR SEAT, said the dashboard.
I thought that warning only came on when you were getting out of the car, Phil thought. Better check on my phantom children. He glanced into the back seat and was oddly relieved to find it empty.
As he drove out of the parking lot, his stomach growled. He’d eaten a pitiful ham sandwich in the college cafeteria at lunchtime and nothing since. He decided to prioritize speed over quality and set off for fast food at Mr. Freezy. He turned on his fog lights as he drove through the hazy mist.
At Mr. Freezy, he ordered a Fishy Wishy with extra tartar sauce and devoured it in five bites while standing at the counter. He wadded up the sauce-smeared wrapper and discarded it, then returned to his car. He found with some displeasure that he’d forgotten to lock the doors. Not like him. Hunger had trumped habit.
The mist had thickened and Phil drove toward his home with great care. As visibility decreased even further, he glanced down at his dashboard to make sure he had his fog lights on.
The dashboard had a message for him. CHECK REAR SEAT!
This is wrong. This is very wrong, Phil thought. He took a quick glance behind him but saw nothing in the darkness. He looked at the dashboard again.
CHECK REAR SEAT!!
Phil hit the brakes and pulled off the road. Popping the button on his seatbelt, he jumped out of the car. With an unsteady hand, he pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight, shining it through the window into the back seat.
Nothing.
He stood away from the car and opened the rear door with an outstretched arm.
Still nothing.
Phil played the flashlight around the seats, the rear windshield, and the floor.
Wait. Was that a bump under the floor mat? The professor reached out and gingerly lifted a corner.
Underneath was a severed human finger, caked with dried blood at the base.
Phil picked up the finger and studied it with fascination. After a moment, he spoke.
“Great job, dashboard! God, I’m getting sloppy.” He patted the finger with affection, then slipped it into his pocket.
Phil closed the rear door and returned to the driver’s seat. He glanced at the dashboard and saw a new message.
WHO’S NEXT?
Carl Tait is a software engineer, classical pianist, and writer. His work has appeared in After Dinner Conversation (Pushcart Prize nominee), Mystery Magazine (cover story), the Literary Hatchet, the Saturday Evening Post, and others. He also has a story in Close to Midnight, a horror anthology from Flame Tree Press. Carl grew up in Atlanta and currently lives in New York City with his wife and twin daughters. For more information, visit carltait.com.
By
Carl Tait
CHECK REAR SEAT, the dashboard said.
Phil glared at the luminous blue letters as he removed his key from the ignition. He hated unnecessary messages. He had no small children in the back seat. He had no children at all, or even a spouse. Why was his car wagging a cautionary finger about something patently irrelevant?
Phil stepped out of his Toyota and closed the door with unnecessary force. He stood still for a moment, watching the annoying message on the dashboard fade away. He smiled with satisfaction, then began to laugh at himself.
Why was he so bothered by that harmless warning? He was a professor of psychology; he was supposed to understand these things. Maybe he could make it the subject of one of his lectures.
Not today, though. It was nearing the end of the semester and he had fallen behind in the syllabus. He turned away from his car and began walking up the steep hill to the psychology building. CHECK LEG MUSCLES, he heard his brain saying.
Phil arrived in his classroom several minutes early, as he always did. He surveyed the large whiteboard and was irritated to find a stray black line near the lower edge. He grabbed one of the felt erasers and eradicated the mark as his students began to enter the room.
His sophomore seminar on abnormal psychology had proven unusually popular this year. The class was full of engaged and chatty students who were eager to share the pop psychology tidbits they had gleaned from mediocre TV programs.
Phil nodded to his audience and began his lecture, speaking more quickly than usual in an effort to catch up with the syllabus.
He didn’t get far. Five minutes into his lecture, a hand shot up in the third row.
“Professor Ardsley, may I ask a question?”
There are no stupid questions, Phil reminded himself.
Oh yes, there are, came the answer from another part of his mind. Plenty of stupid questions. And I bet this is gonna be one of them.
“Yes, Devlin?”
The student flashed a crooked smile and ran a hand through his stylishly tousled hair. A preening gesture designed to attract sexual partners, Phil thought with fatigue. Please, Lord, let this be a short question.
“Professor, what do you think about the murders in town?”
Phil closed his eyes and sighed.
“That could be the subject of an entire class, and we really don’t have time to discuss it.”
“Can you at least address the business of the missing body parts? Ears and toes and …”
The classroom filled with a swell of uneasy whispers and shuffling.
“Let me stop you,” the professor interrupted. “I sense that the subject makes many of your fellow students uncomfortable. To speculate briefly and without repellent details, the killer is probably taking trophies, as if he were hunting animals. Jack the Ripper did something similar. Can we leave it at that?”
Devlin nodded, running his fingers through his hair again. The crooked smile remained.
Phil returned to his lecture, annoyed that he had fallen even further behind schedule.
* * *
The day was a long one. Phil gave another lecture, endured office hours with students, and graded an ill-advised pop quiz. It was already dark by the time he locked the door of his office and headed down the hill to the parking lot.
A clammy mist had begun to settle and it took the professor longer than usual to find his car. He sank into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
CHECK REAR SEAT, said the dashboard.
I thought that warning only came on when you were getting out of the car, Phil thought. Better check on my phantom children. He glanced into the back seat and was oddly relieved to find it empty.
As he drove out of the parking lot, his stomach growled. He’d eaten a pitiful ham sandwich in the college cafeteria at lunchtime and nothing since. He decided to prioritize speed over quality and set off for fast food at Mr. Freezy. He turned on his fog lights as he drove through the hazy mist.
At Mr. Freezy, he ordered a Fishy Wishy with extra tartar sauce and devoured it in five bites while standing at the counter. He wadded up the sauce-smeared wrapper and discarded it, then returned to his car. He found with some displeasure that he’d forgotten to lock the doors. Not like him. Hunger had trumped habit.
The mist had thickened and Phil drove toward his home with great care. As visibility decreased even further, he glanced down at his dashboard to make sure he had his fog lights on.
The dashboard had a message for him. CHECK REAR SEAT!
This is wrong. This is very wrong, Phil thought. He took a quick glance behind him but saw nothing in the darkness. He looked at the dashboard again.
CHECK REAR SEAT!!
Phil hit the brakes and pulled off the road. Popping the button on his seatbelt, he jumped out of the car. With an unsteady hand, he pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight, shining it through the window into the back seat.
Nothing.
He stood away from the car and opened the rear door with an outstretched arm.
Still nothing.
Phil played the flashlight around the seats, the rear windshield, and the floor.
Wait. Was that a bump under the floor mat? The professor reached out and gingerly lifted a corner.
Underneath was a severed human finger, caked with dried blood at the base.
Phil picked up the finger and studied it with fascination. After a moment, he spoke.
“Great job, dashboard! God, I’m getting sloppy.” He patted the finger with affection, then slipped it into his pocket.
Phil closed the rear door and returned to the driver’s seat. He glanced at the dashboard and saw a new message.
WHO’S NEXT?
Carl Tait is a software engineer, classical pianist, and writer. His work has appeared in After Dinner Conversation (Pushcart Prize nominee), Mystery Magazine (cover story), the Literary Hatchet, the Saturday Evening Post, and others. He also has a story in Close to Midnight, a horror anthology from Flame Tree Press. Carl grew up in Atlanta and currently lives in New York City with his wife and twin daughters. For more information, visit carltait.com.
