Mechanic Panic II

Commission for



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Continued from Part I

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Angela was having another restless night at Pale Manor, and for once it wasn't due to the snoring coming from Winifred's coffin. Thanks to Winifred and the Wrench of Locks, she was still inhabiting the body of a curvaceous, long-haired auto mechanic. The relic's spell was only supposed to last "a few days," but its duration would be approaching a week by morning. Despite Winifred's warnings over the past couple of nights, Angela snuck down to the carriage house to examine the wrench.

The Wrench of Locks had been left on a work bench after Angela's last photo shoot. When its magic first took effect, the wrench grew to a massive size. Now it was only about two and a half feet long. Angela let out a hopeful gasp, as this was a clear sign that the spell was waning. 
"Once that wrench shrinks down to nawmal, so won't I," Angela whispered raspily to herself. She leaned on the table and stared at the wrench for a while, just to see if she could actually detect it diminishing. It could practicaly fit back in its case now, Angela thought. "Or fit under some sneaky vampiyah's ahm," she said aloud, as a grin creased her full lips.

Angela tiptoed back to Winifred's chamber as quietly as her current body would allow. She crept towards Winifred's coffin. She generally slept with the lid open, and tonight was no different. Winifred's hands were folded lightly over her chest, but that was the only way she could be described as "sleeping like the dead." Her snoring had ceased, but her mouth hung open as she breathed. A dab of drool sat at the corner of her mouth. One picture of this would have been vengeance enough, but Angela wasn't about to stop now. The wrench was once again small and light enough for Angela to lift with just her thumb and index finger. "This is too friggin' perfect," she snickered as she slid it right between Winifred's hands.

After a few minutes, Angela was worried that her scheme wasn't going to pay off. Then she saw the familiar black bolts sparking from Winifred's coffin. Winifred sat upright and leapt to her feet, filling the room with shouts of confusion and denial. It looked like she was trying to shake the wrench free from her hand, but it wouldn't budge. Angela was surprised she hadn't noticed that when she first handled the wrench almost a full week ago. Once more, the Wrench of Locks began to grow, and another victim of its curse was thrashing around the room. Angela watched as Winifred's flowing nightgown grew tighter around her increasingly taller and curvier frame. Her shoulder-length hair sprung to life, curling its way down her back. Her delicate slippers were stretching up and around her calves, forming bright red, very high top sneakers. The hem of Winifred's nightgown gathered around her legs and worked its way up, leaving enough fabric behind to form wide fishnet stockings. The nightgown tore, exposing her flat, toned stomach. The top half of the gown hung in place, leaving behind a tattered, low-cut t-shirt. What was left of the bottom half began to stretch and wrap itself around Winifred's arms, forming an unzipped jumpsuit. A red trucker cap nestled itself between the bat-like points of Winifred's hair, which was now a raging black waterfall of curls pooling on the floor around her.

Winifred stared down at herself, her chest heaving with each furious breath. The relative silence was broken by the sampled shutter click of Angela's phone. "Smile pretty, now!" Angela called from across the room, laughing.

Winifred swung around, nearly tripping over the thick, shiny mass of hair at her feet. Her eyes seemed redder than usual. "Whatta you, freakin retahded?" She clapped her hand over her mouth, shocked more by her diction than her sentiment.

Unfazed, Angela kept laughing. "Ahh, serves ya right. I don't even care if I gotta stay like this another week, it was worth it just to see that look an yah face!"

Winifred wasn't laughing. And she distinctly wasn't laughing so much, it was becoming a sort of laughter vacuum.

"Heh... come on, Win. It was just a prank, kid. What's the big deal? We take a few more pitchahs, have a few laughs. Worst case scenario, we double our money, right?" The confidence was draining from Angela's voice. "Yah gonna give me the silent treatment all week or wh--"

Winifred stared back, her right hand on her hip, her left index finger angrily tapping on the oversized wrench. "Didja read the case?"

"Whattaya talkin' about?"

"The case! The frickin' case! Did you read the instructions on the case, or did you just frickin' guess how this thing works?"

"Now wait a minnit, you told me this lasted for a few days--"

"A FREAKIN' YEEAH, ANGELA!"

"What?"

"This friggin' accent--" Winifred squinted, stomped a few times, fanned herself with her hand, took a deep breath, and cleared her throat. "ONE YEE-ARR, Angela! If ya use it back-to-back like this, it lasts ONE YEEAH! Twelve freakin' months, three hundred sixty-five freakin' days!"

Angela dropped to her knees, clutching her cap. "Oh Gawd, I swear I didn't know!"

"No kiddin'!"

"Well, whaddoo we do now?"

"First we go back to the garage. I'll hold yah haiyah back while you fix my bike. I'm sure I'll find something you can do for the next three hundred sixty-freakin'-fowah days that involves LEAVING THE FREAKIN' WRENCH ALONE!"


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Concluded in Part III