Goodman Moves, Part 3: The Kill Van

Wednesday was another day of work followed by an evening late night of hauling things to the apartment and into storage. But that’s not what I’ll remember most about you, Wednesday. No, it’s the kill van we rented.

Other cargo vans have looked at least decent, if humble. You, kill van, made me a serial killer stalking the streets at midnight, searching for souls to steal gasoline and dropping off boxes filled with body parts books and random household items.

I’d been warned that at the storage unit, I had to call ahead or the security guard would come speak to me to make sure I’m not up to something strange. Why the security guard didn’t come looking for murdered teenagers, I don’t know. Surely, with a van like that, that’s what we’re doing with it, right? Moving them into storage?

And while I didn’t have a set of butcher’s knives or a chainsaw, I did have a set of steak knives from Target. That’s still terrifying, isn’t it? Looking for comments from Michael Myers and Leatherface here. Buffalo Bill, too.

So here’s to you, haunted kill van with your doors that never closed or opened, your mirror that didn’t work, and your internal lights that only worked when you allowed it. Were you the spirit of Christine? Are you the receptacle for a spirit that really likes to feel every bump on the road? (I’m saying that as a Jeep owner.) Also, please don’t be a haunted murder car.

Other vans would have been helpful, easy to use maybe, but you, Kill Van, you were a $45 muse that will haunt my memories long after I returned you to the rental company.

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