Hey all.
So… until the incident with Jim and the murder-car, I never, ever, considered sharing anything about myself on the internet; I’ve mentioned that I’m a shy introvert lurker, who spends his time enjoying what other people chose to share. It’s nice, not being noticed; I really do prefer it that way. I just… happened to have the bad luck of recently detailing the car of a murderer. So, yea. Yay me…
I just…felt I needed to share my experience with all of you, you know? Get it off my chest. Cathart, or, whatever. I honestly didn’t think I’d ever be back here, sharing yet another part of my personal life. Yet…here we are. *sigh…*
After things with Jim calmed down, my manager let me take a few days off, paid, to get my head straight. He’s a good guy…
However, I was excited to return to work. I loved detailing; it brought my quirks of preferring to work alone, my obsessive attention to minute details, and my artistic panache, into a melange of satisfaction and productivity that I have never found anywhere else. I decided to put the whole Jim-thing behind me. I hadn’t seen his car around after talking to the police, and after a week had passed with no incedent, I finally felt things were returning to normal. Yay me! I was two weeks back to work, happily floating along, busy being the best at what I do.
It was Tuesday on the third week back before anything out of the ordinary presented itself. I had my head down on a Prius, shampooing the hell out of some nasty-ass, food-stained carpets, when a rapping of knuckles on the roof scared the shit out of me. It was Charlie, our paint correction guy.
Tbh I did not care for Charlie; a typical dude-bro, he was full of himself, and cared way too much about his image. Everybody and everything was never up to his self-inflated standards. He always reeked of Axe, and did little to contribute to the shop outside of his allotted jobs.
I spun out of the Prius. “Dude!…Dude. What do you want? I gotta get this out by 1:30.” I was already a little irritated.
Charlie guffawed, rolling his eyes. I could already see the ass-itude seeping through. “Hey, dweebling! Little wound up, are we? Still worried about your killer friend? I can’t believe you didn’t tell anyone about it from the get-go!” he smirked. “Check out the customer that just walked in. She’s sketching out! Right up your alley.”
I gave him a reticent glare, and reluctantly turned towards the windows of the main office. Mike, our manager, was at the desk, speaking with a woman at the counter. It was difficult to tell how old she was; she had the kind of body that was prematurely aged by stress and abuse. She was antsy, jittery, constantly shifting, and stroking her arms relentlessly. Sometimes she’d scratch at her forearms. I turned back to Charlie with a grin “She looks more your type, mate.”
“Pfft!” He scoffed. “Don’t think so, dweebling! If you didn’t keep to yourself so much I’d say you’d better watch your mouth! You know I don’t like sass.”
He was insufferable.
At that point Mike, the manager, walked up, key fob in hand. “Perfect timing, Charlie! I need you to take over the Prius. I want our main detailer on the car that just came in.”
Charlie scowled and muttered to himself, but he bent to take up where I left off.
“Here,” Mike said, handing me the fob. “It’s a full detail. She said to be very thorough; she has a very…specific… concern about the vehicle.” He had a puzzled look on his face.
Hearing him say that, so close on the heels of the murder-car scenario, made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “What sort of… specific concerns? Please don’t say it’s to stay away from the trunk…” I was only half-kidding.
“No. Um…no. She appears to believe that her… well, she seems to think her car is possessed by a demon” he said flatly.
I looked at him with incredulity. “You’re kidding, right? She was speaking sarcastically, or metaphorically…right?”
“Um…no. No, she was serious. She says it’s possessed, like properly possessed, by a demon. She feels the only way to get rid of it is to have her car completely cleaned out. ‘You have’ta make it new! A new car will make it go away!’ were her words.” He actually shivered a little behind his smile.
Needless to say, I was a little unsettled; the murder-car had made me skittish of weird customers. Then again…a demon?…like…really? A demon? I wasn’t usually one to buy into ghosts and all that supernatural stuff. I mean, it’s fun, and all, but…a demon? Possessing a car? I gave a small laugh, settling on bravado. “Ok, Mike. You got it! I’ll pull Christine in and get straight to work”
Mike stared at me for a moment before providing a small chuckle himself. He was in his 40’s, and understood my reference.
“Whatever you say, tough guy!” he laughed; it had an edge of temerity. “I know you know how to bring the quality. Do your thing. If you need anything, just give a shout.”
With that, he turned on his heel and, it seemed, fled back towards the office.
Alright, I thought to myself. Demon car. Fun.
The car in question turned out to be a 2013 Rav4: almost archaic, the clearcoat was pretty much non-existant; the tires were bald; I swear I’ve never seen so many scratches and swirls on a windshield before. I chuckled, as I would usually consider a detail on a car this far-gone to be “putting lipstick on a pig.” However, with the perameters of the detail in mind, I approached the job with a trepidatious sensation settling in my gut.
Getting to work, I popped the trunk hatch, opened all the doors, beginning the “strip” phase; I removed all personal items, the mats, the trunk liner, and any small inserts in the console. I lost myself in the process; what’s great about detailing, barring any vehicles with abhorrent conditions, is that the workflow is predictable. I follow the steps and create magic. Bing bang boom.
I was circumnavigating the vehicle when *WHAM!*
FUCK! OW! GODDAMNIT!
I had walked directly into the trunk hatch as it sat eye-level. Holy shit did that hurt…
I was irritated and more than a little confused; I knew that the hatch had opened normally, all the way, no danger to any unwary passers-by. Yet…there it hung, more than halfway-down, directly in my line-of-fire. “Sunuva…!’” I growled to myself; this wasn’t the first time I’ve done this, I’m ashamed to admit, but I was positive the hatch had been 100% open. I fingered my cheek, relieved to find unbroken skin.
Cursing myself, I snatched the air-line and began the blowout.
I finished blowing out the rear section, puttered around the passenger side for a time, moved around to the back again and…
What the hell…?
Now…I pride myself in my process; I’ve been detailing for years, and I feel I’ve mastered the steps to the point of mindlessness. The back of the vehicle, the area I knew I had already seen to… was completely trashed. Dust and dirt embedded in the carpets; hair and pine needles covering the seats; the seatbelt cavities were filled with gravel and sand. Filled. Like…what the hell?
Charlie, you sunuvabitch…
This wasn’t the first time Charlie had screwed with my cars; he revelled in showing off just how “alpha” he was. Prick.
I dug in and continued my process, wary of the ass-bag working in the bay beside me.
After twenty minutes of chasing detritus, I gave up and dove into the vacuuming. I was hyper-focused on the driver’s carpet when all of a sudden I was smashed from behind as the door closed on me. Like what the actual fuck, mate! Man, that hurt…
I stood, pissed AF, looking around for that ass-hat S.O.B.
There was no one around me. No one; even Mike was absent from the office. I peered around, trying to source out what the hell had slammed the door on me… But there was nobody. Seriously…what the hell…? I shook it off; it’s an old car, I rationalised. It’s bound to have some issues. I didn’t quite convince myself.
The wipedown proved to be more difficult than usual. Our multi-purpose degreaser would typically do a bang-up job. However, every surface seemed to be coated in a thick, oily membrane that stubbornly refused removal. I fought for every inch. It’s as if the owner had spent 15 years smoking oily cigarettes with the windows closed to intentionally produce such a residue. I attacked the steering wheel with a scrub brush, but was distracted by the nav screen. It flickered. On, then off, then on, then off… Another malfunction? What’s the deal with this vehicle?
The screen flickered a few more times. What I thought I saw between the rapid flickering made my breath catch. It wasn’t the usual menu screen. The picture was filled with static, and was distorted, but I thought I could just make out a face. At least, I thought it was a face: it was crimson; the lips looked black, a slash of a mouth. The eyes were the yellow of a rotten sunflower, and the pupils looked slitted. I felt my stomach drop.
Out of NOWHERE the speakers began crackling, and a piercing screeching began blasting at me! It was so loud! Loud enough to make my teeth ache! I threw my hands over my ears, trying to block out the sound. I didn’t understand how the speakers didn’t blow! It was so friggin’ loud! I lurched out of the car, falling to my knees with that awful, penetrating screeching digging into my ears, into my brain! I think I was screaming but I couldn’t hear anything over that terrible shrieking. It rose in pitch, higher, higher, until I didn’t think I could even hear it, but still the sound penetrated through me! My teeth were going to crumble! My eyes were going to rupture! My ears-!
Then it stopped. Absolute silence filled the shop. I was still on my knees, hands over my ears, panting and gasping and trying to catch my breath. That…that definitely wasn’t a malfunction. That wasn’t even possible! My legs trembled, but I managed to climb to my feet. I turned, just, staring into the vehicle. The speakers emitted another faint crackle, and I swear I could hear an undercurrent of laughter hidden in the static.
It was at the moment that Mike and Charlie came through the back entrance of the shop. I guess they decided to go for a smoke, and shoot the shit. Mike looked at me quizzically; it must’ve seemed as if I was having a staring contest with the car. Charlie chuckled with a muttered “dumbass…” and buried himself in the Prius.
Nothing else happened while I finished the rest of the detail. I was thoroughly convinced, though, that the woman wasn’t loony-tunes. Something was inhabiting that vehicle.
She thanked me profusely as she took the keys from my hand; I swear she was shaking out of relief. I don’t really know why she figured having the vehicle detailed would’ve gotten rid of whatever was inside her car. She should’ve called a friggin’ exorcist!
We never heard from her again, so I don’t know if her idea worked.
However…every so often, while I’m driving to or from work, my speakers would emit a faint, static-y crackling, with an undercurrent of what almost sounded like laughter.