BLCK MGCK
By Brandon Whited


I’ll set the scene up for you. Me, in a 2005 slate-gray Chevy Cobalt. Them, in a recent-model black Dodge Charger.

The black Dodge Charger is a car that seems to have many identical siblings, at least in my area. So when I see a car of that make passing me, I’m not initially startled. Not until I see the tags.

BLCK MGCK.

Black Magick. That’s how I know it’s Them.

Exactly who They are or their intentions I have never found out, yet over the past two years our paths have crossed an innumerable amount of times. At first, there was nothing out of the ordinary about these (I thought) “chance” encounters on the road. I’d pass Black Magick, or just “Black”, as I came to call them with a small touch of affection, on the two-laner that ran through the small rural town where I live.

Hey, they must live near me somewhere. That was my initial thought. But over the next few months – this would have been the summer of ’05 – these “random” passings became more and more frequent and happened further and further from home.

A trip to Tinseltown in Bristol for a movie, and who do I pass? Black.

After that, a trip to Knoxville for a concert. They passed right by the venue while I was waiting in line. I should have waved.

Gatlinburg. They were there!

I went to Nashville for a friend’s wedding in the summer of ’06, and who should I see? Why, ole Black of course!

Cleveland, Ohio! Beyond any sense or reason, They were there!

Black, never with a speck of dirt to be seen.

Black, those tinted windows so unfairly keeping me from Their identity.

Black, with her name tag proclaiming proudly that she is not just another Dodge Charger but that she is in fact eight-horse-powered Magic, baby!

Why do we always seem to consider cars to be female? Something else to chew on, there.

All this time, I’d never really given thought to what Their intentions might be. Really, until Cleveland I thought it all coincidence.

After returning from that trip, I started to ask around amongst my friends and family as to whether any of them knew the car or who owned it. None did. I was not surprised.

A more paranoid mind would have begun ranting “They’re out to get me!” long before I began having thoughts and delusions as to what Black’s driver might want from me. I like to think of myself as a well-grounded individual, not prone to belief in the supernatural…or in magic (ha!), but by early 2007 Black had dodged all logical reasoning and charged into my mind at a speed that far exceeded the limits of normal.

I saw Black everywhere.

I dreamed of Black at night…and sometimes during the day.

I started craving Black. I pictured who the driver was in my mind. One of the infamous Men in Black UFO believers speak of, perhaps. Then I went for the less obvious. A sexy young woman…attracted to me? Yes. Wanting to meet me? Yes, much better.

She’s smitten with me.

We should meet.

And now a new obsession – Meeting Black. But how to accomplish this?

On the next passing, I waved frantically with one hand. Black zoomed right on by me. This incident recurred five more times before I decided to take more drastic measures.

And now here I am, in my car on Route 19, and there’s Black, heading toward me in the opposite lane.

I swerve…over into her lane.

A collision. Screeching tires, shattering glass. My radiator bursts, and smoke plumes up in my line of vision. I can see through it, but barely.

The driver’s side door of Black is opening.

I hold my breath.

Someone is stepping out.


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My name is Brandon Whited. I am a young writer from Southwest Virginia. I have previously been published three times in a local annual publication, the Clinch Mountain Review. I thank your for your consideration.