Arnie had fallen in love. She was a bad joke, and what Arnie saw in her that day, I'll never know. The left side of her windscreen was a snarled spiderweb of cracks. The right rear deck was bashed in, and an ugly nest of rust had grown in the paint-scrapped valley.
The back bumper was askew, the boot lid was ajar, and stuffing was bleeding out through several long tears in the seat covers, both front and back. It looked as if someone had worked on the upholstery with a knife. One tyre was flat. The others were bald enough to show the canvas cording. Worst of all, there was a dark puddle of oil under the engine block.
(Dennis)
But, Arnie buys Christine.
Christine - Stephen King
She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleam'd upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament
Stephen King is similar to Sanjay Bhansali in certain aspects.
Yes, their first names begin with S and they have a penchant for tragedy in their art. But if Bhansali's tragedy is poetic, King's is horrifying!
Ever watched 'Duel' by Steven Spielberg?
In the movie, the lead character David is pursued by a maniac in a rusty tanker truck for absolutely no reason. David never gets to find out who is behind the truck's wheels. From start to finish, Duel is a sick cat and mouse game of the ugly tanker trying to crush David. Finally, after a nerve-wracking, nail biting duel on a cliff, David swerves his car away just in time to send the truck plummeting to it's doom. The movie ends with David staring at the burning truck, never daring to go down and look at the face of the unknown psycho.
The story of Christine is narrated by David, Arnie's best chum in life.
=Despite huge expenses, Arnie manages to renovate Christine back to her former pristine self.
=Arnie also falls for his beautiful classmate Leigh. Leigh, like Dennis, is wary of Christine. There is something in the 1958 Plymouth Fury that gives her the creeps.
=One bad day, Arnie's bullies are expelled from the school. As a token of revenge against Arnie, they (Buddy, Moochie, Don & Richie) pounce on Christine and mangle her beyond recognition, inluding defecating on the dashboard. Arnie is inconsolable. Weeks pass by and Moochie is killed, his body parts scattered in the pavement. Soon, Buddy, Riche & an innocent friend Bobby dies in a 'car accident', their bodies charred beyond recognition.
=Don follows, a victim of hit and run. Garage owner Darnell is next, slain by a car that crashed into his home and ran over him. Finally, detective Junkins who's called to investigate the extraordinary deaths is found dead too. His car had been driven off a lonely county road battered to a hideous wreckage. Seven lives, one car, an unknown killer.
=Is Arnie guilty? No, as Dennis & Leigh find out. So, who is using Christine to send it's victims to hell?
Dennis discovers another shocking reality. Arnie is no more the fun-loving pal of the former's childhood days. Ever since Christine came into his life, Arnie gradually became a pale, ugly shadow of his former self and Dennis realises the day is not far off when he will lose Arnie forever.
It is bitter to lose a friend to evil,
before one loses him to death.
Dennis and Leigh decide to get back Arnie and do something about Christine before it's too late.
As you read, the chill does not squeeze your heart instantly. Christine's hold is unhurried and intimidating. The experience is like miserably-thick grey clouds hanging over our heads. The darkness, with a sarcastic grin, descends on us for discomfortingly long periods.
In Duel, the faceless lunatic was a mortal. A human being who had enough screws loose that finally did him (or her) in.
But, in Christine?
Is it alright if I dont tell you what happens to Dennis & Leigh as they attempt to end the rising murders?
That the climax leaves you with a sad acceptance of an undying evil that fatally embraces anyone whom it hates?
That there was none behind Christine's wheels as she methodically butchered her victims?
Maybe I shouldn't have read Stephen King. Or I need a hard slap to remind myself the whole stuff is fiction.
Isn't it perfectly okay to stroll out at one twenty-five in the morning and not feel jumpy seeing an isolated car parked under a streetlight on a moonless night? There is none in the car, why worry? So, that's exactly what I did.
As I stood there shivering in the cold and wondering if my chance encounter with the idle car was perhaps the biggest mistake of my life, her engine rumbled into life. She had smelt my fear. Those powerful dual lights suddenly came on blinding me for a moment. The tyres squealed hard on the ground as the engine roared and she ripped forward, coming at me like a rabid wolverine.
Not a single sound escaped my throat as her bumper slammed my legs squarely, hurtling my broken body against the brick wall of a shop nearby and spraying it's glass windows with blood & tiny chunks of human flesh. About a hundred yards away, she stopped, made a U turn and faced me. Revving softly, she was waiting for the perfect moment. I sobbed bitterly rasping for breath and head twitching helplessly against the stained wall. As if on cue, she screamed furiously and lunged at me again.
Not a soul stirred anywhere as the night echoed with the sickening thud of metal over man. After a pregnant silence, satisfied, she reversed and cruised away. The road was lone again except for a shredded, unrecognizable form of a young man resting awkwardly against a demolished wall, pools of blood snaking onto the edge of the pavement and dripping into the gutters below.
So much for my ghastly imagination.
I am sorry, Christine left me with an unforgettable hangover that will take time to recede.
Till then, I will never stand calmly before the hood of any empty car and pray that her ignition does not revolve on its own, the black slit heeling over past ACC to START.
Why play poker with a deathless spirit?
Let me get the hell out of there before she unleashes herself again.
Her unending fury.
