Necromantic fires light up the hordes gathered at the strip to see Casket Blaster blow away another record. And nobody does it better than the repurposed coffin's driver, whose preternatural rigor mortis has lasted into the skeletal stage and makes him the dead man to beat on a quarter mile, straight as the crow flies, he's a dead aim!
Big block with a blower rattles the funeral parlor appointments, hot rubber in the burn out and smoke roils like oily night serpents snaking into the undead crowd. Chromework glittering like a vampire hunter's tool kit, and header pipes like a chapel organ belch eerie green flames.
The last drag strip record won't make it to dawn.
