Rumbling Noise When Driving Novels & Stories

It's dark, but not completely so, as light leaks through crevices. The car grumbles and vibrates, stopping and starting irregularly with jolts that bang my forehead against some metal object; a car jack I think. My face stings where I scraped the ground earlier. My spine strains at my unnatural posture. Outside; the sounds of other traffic; a lot of it, as though we are travelling through a city centre; the grind of engines, the hooting of horns, occasional shouting and swearing. My arms are still locked behind me, the plastic ties digging in. My fingertips feel swollen and numb at the same time. My ankles are much the same. With some difficulty, I shuffle along a little to stop the jack jam

The world outside the Toyota Corolla’s windows was a smeared, gray watercolor painting, the ruins of the city bleeding into one another as Moe pushed the rattling engine to its limits. Every pothole we hit sent a jarring shock through the chassis and up my spine, the car’s suspension groaning in protest. The sound was a constant, grinding reminder of our failure at the auto shop, a metallic counterpoint to the silence that had fallen inside the vehicle.

As she started her car, the loud sound of the engine broke the peacefulness of the quiet street, creating a strong and rebellious noise that seemed to fight against the stillness that had dropped over her inner feelings. The drive to Den's house felt like a whirlwind filled with a mix of anger and a deep sense of desperation. She rushed through the streets, not paying attention to the red traffic lights or the stop signs that should have made her slow down. Everything around her turned into a hazy blur, with bright flashing lights and the sound of wind rushing past her as she sped along.

But he didn't answer. His jaw flexed once, muscle ticking like the beat of a warning drum. “Xves...” That’s when the SUV lurched. Not a gentle bump. Not a pothole. A violent, sideways jolt that sent my body slamming against the seatbelt. Tires shrieked, high-pitched and horrifying, the sound clawing into my chest like nails on glass. My scream got stuck somewhere between my throat and my lungs as the world outside tilted. Metal groaned. Horns exploded. The entire car shuddered like it was coming apart.

Beside me, Dale looks like he is praying, though his eyes are wide open and fixed on the mailbox I just nearly clipped. "Slow down," he says, his voice tight. "The brake is the pedal on the left, Dora. The left." "I know!" I chirp. I stomp down hard. The car jerks violently, and we both fly forward against our seatbelts. "Smoothly," he wheezes, rubbing his chest. "Like you are pressing an egg, not a bug." I nod and shift into gear. At least, I try to. The car makes a horrific grinding noise that sounds like a giant blender full of rocks.

My body wαs trembling‚ my hαnds pressed to my lαp αs I tried not to fαll αpαrt‚ but the words were echoing too loud in my heαd‚ drilling into me until my chest hurt. Ryαn’s grip on the wheel didn’t loosen‚ his entire body tense‚ his jαw ticking dαngerously αs if he wαs trying to control himself from getting out of the cαr αnd ripping αll those boαrds αpαrt. He wαs αngry‚ so αngry thαt I could αlmost feel the heαt rolling off him‚ but αt the sαme time‚ he kept driving‚ his silence scαrier thαn αnything else.

The city’s cacophony didn’t fade so much as fracture, then abruptly vanish, replaced by a profound and ancient silence. One moment, they were in the plush, soundproofed interior of the Rolls-Royce, weaving through the aggressive honking and relentless energy of Manhattan. The next, after a flight on Clarkson’s private jet that felt more like a fever dream than a journey, they were on a narrow, pine-lined road, the only sound the hum of tires on asphalt and the distant, mournful cry of a gull.

Every time the car goes uphill, the engine rattles like it’s making a personal sacrifice. But we’re moving. Forward. Away from the forest. Away from rogues. Away from being trapped in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. I lean my head back against the seat and stare out at the pale winter landscape rolling past outside. “We made it,” I say quietly. Aiden glances at me briefly. “Not yet.” Still, his hand slides across the center console until it finds mine. I let him keep it there. The car starts making the noise about forty miles later.

On the way to the new house. The rumble of my bags in the back of the car are the only thing I can hear the entire way there. It's not such a soothing noise as it is annoying, but it does help with the not curling up and crying in the back of your parents car with only silence there to comfort you. Sometimes silence can be good in tough situations, but it definitely is not helping now.

And I was overstimulated with triggers today. I drove the car out of the park, heading straight home. And then all of a sudden, while I was still driving with moderate speed, I heard a loud sound from the rear of my car and when I looked into the mirror, I sighted one of my car tires rolling away with speed. Goosebumps scattered across my skin and I tried to slow down so I could park my car by the side of the busy road. It was not working. My palms were sweaty as I held the steering. My entire body was sweaty. I was breathing hard and fast, and moisture had gathered in my eyes blurring my vision a bit.