Halloween Special: Haunted Truck in Salem, MA

Haunted Truck in Salem, MA

[Knock on door.]

Alfie—MIKE LINDEN [muffled]

Come in!

[Door opens.]

You must be my 1:00 PM. Have a seat. 

Guy—MIKE LINDEN
You should not exist.

Alfie
Ah. Yes. I remember we… we spoke on the phone. Look, I know my profession is an unusual one, Mr.—?

Guy
No. Names.

Alfie
Ehhh, very well. And I also know you’re not accustomed to seeking help from someone who is an expert in my fields—

Guy
No. You should not exist.

Alfie
—but I assure you, I’m credentialed as both a psychic and a psychiatrist. In fact, I was voted New England’s premier Psych-chiatrist by Medium Monthly for three years running, and I’m Salem’s only qualifying member of the board for clairvoyant healing. Now. What can I do for you?

Guy [difficult]
I—I do not talk.

Alfie
I see. And you hoped by coming to me, I’d be able to sense your issues mentally, sparing you the particular cumbersome task of communicating. 

Guy
No.

Alfie
Well. We’re at a bit of an impasse then, I’m afraid, Mr. No Name. In order for me to help you, I need something to go on. Anything to go on. I know it may be difficult. But why don’t you settle down and tell me your story?

Guy
Truck. 

[Pause.]

Alfie
Okay. Truck. That’s—that’s progress! We’re getting somewhere. But I… I might need a little more than that, I’m afraid. 

Guy
Truck ad. Here. Salem. Three weeks ago. Free truck. Owner required. Truck on residential lawn. Truck is new. Truck is American. Truck is black. Truck is truck, not SUV or other abominable imitations of truck. Truck appeared clean. No damage. No dirty wrappers on the floor, cigarette butts in the ashtray, food debris in the crevices of the car seats. Good truck. Clean truck. Or so it seemed. 

Alfie

I see. A free truck.That’s—that’s odd. It feels vaguely familiar for some reason. I wonder if another one of my patients mentioned it? If a truck is free, why wouldn’t someone just take it? I wonder why you didn’t, for example. You were clearly interested, yes? 

Guy

Truck. Was not clean….

[Fade out.]

[Fade in. Suburban environment. Walking on lawn. Sound of kicking tires. Opening car doors. Inspecting truck. Opening back truck-bed and closing it]

Guy
Good. Good truck. 

[Walking up front walk and knocking on the door.]

Voice—ACTOR [from behind door]
What?

Guy
Truck.

Voice

Keys are on the dash. Registration and title in the glove compartment. Sign it and it’s yours, just needs new plates. 

Guy [pleased]

Truck!

[Guy walks back over to the truck. Opens up. Gets in. Closes the door. Takes a deep breath].

Guy
Truck. New truck smell. 

[Grabs keys. Truck turns on by itself.]

Guy
Truck?

[Truck radio turns on.]

Guy
No music. 

[Radio turns off.]

Guy
Keys are not in ignition. How is truck turned on?

[Radio turns back on.]

Guy
No. MUSIC!

[Turns off radio again, and it immediately turns on. Power war with truck over radio—off and on and off and on again.]

Guy
This is NOT good truck.

[Tries to open the door. Doors lock before he can. Doors unlock. Tries handle, but doors lock before he can open.]

Guy
Truck must unlock.

[Truck unlocks.]

Guy

Truck must stay unlocked. 

[Silence. Guy reaches for the door, and the truck locks again.]

GUY

[Frustrated sigh.] Truck makes zero sense! 

[War with the locks. Keeps reaching/grunting for the door, but the power locks kick in each time he tries to open.]

Guy
Truck is frustrating!

[Rolls down window. Sighs. Tries to squeeze out of the truck’s window. Grunting and squeezing. Power window turns back on. Guy gasps and grunts as the window pushes against his body. Trucks engine revs. Truck drives in circles.]

Guy
TRUCK STOP! TRUCK MUST STOP!

[Truck does donuts on the lawn.]

Guy
TRUCK WILL—MM-mmmm—MAKE ME—SICK!

[Truck slams on the brakes. Guy falls out of the truck. He runs up to the house and bangs on the door.]

Guy
WHAT IS THIS TRUCK?

Voice
Not my problem no more, that’s what it is.

Guy

I DO NOT WANT TRUCK!

Voice
Then leave. Good luck with that, though. It’ll follow you. All on its own. Wherever you go. That’s what happened to the last couple fellers. Never saw them again, neither. 

[Truck ominously roars engine in the background. Honks horn playfully.]

Guy
Whose truck is this?

[Truck revs harder. Honks louder. Guy bangs on door].

Guy
WHOSE TRUCK?

[Silence. Sound of suburbs and door knocking and engine revving fades out. Back at Alfie’s office.] 

Alfie
This is… all… very interesting. And still it sounds incredibly familiar. I feel some metaphysical connection with your story. Let me ask you something. Did you have some kind of traumatic experience with a truck in the past? Maybe some childhood trauma that left a dormant psychic imprint on your mind? 

Guy

[Pause.] I—I do not wish to talk about that. 

Alfie
Ah. But it’s true. Isn’t it? Something happened. How many trucks have you owned in your life?

Guy
None.

Alfie
Of course. But you want one. Desperately. Don’t you?

Guy

Truck—truck is—

Alfie
You want one so badly, but you feel like you can’t have one. Isn’t that right? You feel like you don’t deserve one based on something in your past. I’m feeling the vibes coming off of you. That’s exactly it, isn’t it? You want this truck, but you feel like you don’t deserve it, so this story is a manifestation of the psychic damage inflicted upon you as a child.

Guy
I—I could not drive. For years, I did not drive after traumatic accident in my youth. Then I met a driver who had beautiful truck, a perfect truck. Truck was perfect. Driver was not. Driver was so imperfect that I pushed myself to conquer my fear of driving. Now, I drive. I have passed state driver’s test. I am ready for truck. But this truck is not mine. 

Alfie

Of course it isn’t. Don’t you see, that just begs the question. If the truck isn’t yours, whose is it?

Guy
Truck is your truck.

Alfie
I—I beg your pardon?

Guy
Dr. Alfie Barrow. Salem, Massachusetts’ “premier” Psychic Psychiatrist.

[With disgust] Psych-chiatrist. Died in a tragic accident after his truck, accidentally left in neutral, ran over his person in his driveway while he was attempting to clean up discarded dog feces left on the corner of his lawn. Brother has been living in his former residence since and has been desperate to get rid of his truck.

Alfie
I—I—I don’t think I—

Guy
You. Should not. Exist. 

Alfie
It’s mine. It’s my truck.

Guy
Truck is your truck.

Alfie
I can’t—I can’t leave it behind. It’s… it’s such a good truck.

Guy
I understand. 

Alfie
I can’t… I can’t leave.

Guy
You need to go. You should not exist.

Alfie
I need to go.

Guy
You need to go.

Alfie
It’s so hard. We’ve had… we’ve had such great adventures together. I—I will miss it. I will miss my truck. Will you take it?

Guy
Truck is your truck.

Alfie
Yes. Truck is my truck. Just the same. If it goes to anyone. It should go to you.

[Alfie lets out a long sigh. Vanishing noise as his ghost disappears. Fade out.]

[Fade-in. Suburban scene. Guy approaches truck. Opens it. Gets in. Takes keys. Turns it on. Deep breath. Breathes in. Breathes out.]

Guy
Dis truck. Is clean.

[Guy drives away]