#halloween

Today is Halloween. Appropriately, a spooky fog blanketed Chicago, where I make my home, earlier today.

Ah, fall. The leaves have changed and are dropping to the ground below. Football is in full swing. Your kids get free candy just by walking around the neighborhood (and you can eat it after they go to bed). And another new model year of vehicles is taking over parking lot space at the local car stores.

But it’s a bit chilly. The leaves are slippery when wet. Baseball season has almost ended. And you’re suffering from a bellyache because ten bags of Skittles was just one too many. All is not well, particularly for the new vehicle nameplates that head off into the Hallowe’en darkness to meet the automotive Grim Reaper. (Or is that just Lee Iacocca?)

These are all the vehicles we’re losing after the 2016 model year.

As fun as it is to overhype the dangers of Halloween to frighten adults, we all know that poisoned candy and razor blade-filled apples are bunk. The odds of you finding an anthrax-laden piece of taffy are so improbable that they aren’t worth mentioning. You are statistically more likely to harm yourself by drinking a glow stick out of curiosity.That doesn’t mean there aren’t spooky things going on. Plenty of sinister automotive stuff happens on October 31, making Halloween a scary time for cars.

Photo courtesy of: Rustingmustangs.com

It was all their fault, you know. Regular oil changes and the occasional tune-up would have prevented all this, but that hadn’t happened. The end result was a lifetime plagued with trouble. Little things mostly, but eventually they added up. One thing always led to another and now the car sat at the side of the house, grass growing tall beneath its body while the air leaked slowly from its tires. Forgotten.

Seasons came and went. In the autumn, leaves collected on the old car’s once fine paint. Winter a brought thick coat of ice and dirty snow; the spring, pollen and bugs. In summer, it was dust, hornets and a mouse nest in the air cleaner. One year bled into the next. The result was not really death, but the purgatory of slow degradation. The waiting was interminable, endless. As the old car sagged lifelessly on its suspension, the good times forgotten, the soul that imbues all mechanical things slowly died and in its place something darker began to grow.

You know what Dodge A100s don’t have?