Tom was driving uphill when he spotted a storybook on the charcoal-black road. First, the grass-flogging wind flicked the book’s pages, and he skimmed through the looped letters, as the tyres rolled over it. 

Secondly, he glanced at the rear mirror and scanned the title, ‘Diary of a Magician. “Do you believe in ghosts?” asked a radio caller, and he giggled at the bedtime question. Then he noisily chuckled, frightening the wing-flapping birds pecking the crickets. Finally, he made a U-turn and parked next to the weird book. 

The car’s door automatically swung open, and his feet hoofed him towards the creepy book. Soon, he picked the weird and wonderful book, but a one-tyre car hooted and swerved to avoid bumping him. 

The missing head driver of the other car waved his bone-and-skin fists and sped away. Seconds later, Tom scratched his hair because the car’s number plate read, ‘Otherworldly. Strangely enough, the tin-size car didn’t make a vrooming sound, and disappeared into thin air. 

Tom awkwardly placed the book on the dashboard, and rubbed the chicken pimples on his arms, while pressing hard on the accelerator. 

“I died before my time,” whined a voice from the radio, tickling him before he muted the radio. He had driven for two miles when a human-hair spider crawled out of the book, forcing him to slam the brakes. This time, he swerved the car and strewed knife-sharp stones, pelleting a sun-basking baboon on the forehead that was squatting on a nearby pole. Tom grabbed the book and crushed the one-legged spider.

“I’ll read you tonight,” he said, in a high-pitched voice. Soon he rattled the engine, but it stalled. 

Then he strolled round the car and checked the engine’s oil and the wiring. Straightaway, he peeped at the engine’s water tank but it was empty. A ball-size smoke radiated from the engine and he jogged towards the tailgate. 

Tom was about to grab a can of water when the 1982 engine exploded. Afterwards, he grabbed the smiling book from the dashboard. “What’s this?” he asked, hugging the spooky book. Later, he grabbed his Motorola and took a film of the car as the black smoke coming from the tyres had replaced the yellow fire. Instantly, he hugged the book and hitchhiked in a single-tyre car. 

At the filling station, he spotted an ash-faced man, carrying a twin-like book. Immediately, his book was gone.