Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I Work in a Junkyard. This Place has a Strange LIST OF RULES | Scary Stories

Episode Date: November 3, 2023

I broke them.      Story from Kevin Bachar Make sure to check out more of their work at u/PangolinPix                           Original Post: You need to know about the thing that lives in the pipes of your house. I only wish someone had told me. : r/nosleep  Original YouTube link: I Work in a Junkyard. This Place has a Strange LIST OF  RULES       For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Merch: lighthousehorror.com  Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech Darren Curtis Music - YouTube  Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new episodes every week, featuring ghost stories, haunted encounters, mysteries, true stories, creepypasta, and anything supernatural and paranormal. Don't miss out on the thrill and suspense that await you in each episode!

I quit working at my uncle's junkyard after only three days, and the ghosts weren't the reason why. There was an evil there, an evil that no one else but me would have understood. I only hope that it's truly gone now. I wasn't even supposed to be spending my summer at Uncle Nance. There was a party, some beers, and then me behind the wheel of a car. Thankfully, I didn't get hurt or cause any real damage, except. to my college career. A DUI arrest put my life in shambles. I was given community service, which was a relief since I was looking at jail time. I was sentenced to teach English lit at the

local juvenile detention center during the day. My term of service was for 10 weeks starting exactly when I was supposed to go back to school. There was also a hefty fine that my parents didn't want to pay off, which is why I took up a night shift job when my uncle offered. I know I should have been grateful that I'd avoided jail. But at that moment, it felt like I was entering my own personal prison. The place was surrounded by a 10-foot high fence that was topped with barbed wire. The only thing missing were tower guards. I passed under the sign for my uncle's place as I opened the main gate. The weathered lettering read, Last Chance Parts. The guard dog, a huge rotweiler that was chained to a metal post, greeted me as I walked up to a tiny

one-story office building. A few windows were glazed over with brown grime. One window held an air conditioner that dripped water, which the guard dog lapped up between growls. I was about to open the door when my uncle Ned walked out. He was wearing a gray designer suit and a red silk tie. I didn't get a hug or even a handshake. Well, there he is, my darling nephew, nearly ten minutes late on his first day. Great way to make a first impression. He said sarcastically.

I mumbled out an apology and hoped we'd go into his air-conditioned office. Uncle Ned went right into a tour of the place, though. And as we walked, he went over. the rules for working the night shift at the junkyard. The first rule was don't go to feed Rascal the guard dog. Uncle Ned gave me a proper introduction to the pooch. Rascal did not let me pet him, but he did stop growling and flashing his teeth. We passed by a row of 16 cars that were in various states of being picked for parts. Some just had metal frames left. Others look like they could be driven out of the junkyard until my uncle lifted a hood to show there was no engine.

All the parts, from doorlocks to windshields to specific bolts and screws, were cataloged and held in the storage warehouse that sat in the middle of the junkyard. Every mechanic in western Nebraska would call up my uncle whenever they needed a part. He thought of himself as the junker king of the Midwest. But who was out of judge? since I practically had to beg him to even let me work here. We walked into the section of the junkyard where they crushed the cars. There was this huge machine painted a shiny yellow.

It looked like a giant toaster oven, but instead of throwing in a slice of bread, you slipped in a car. I asked if I could see it in action. I mean, who doesn't like watching things get crushed? Uncle Ned climbed into a forklift, speared an old car, and then dropped it in the space for the automobile. The walls of the car baleer then squeezed in from all directions until the 10-foot-long car was nothing more than a coffee-table-sized chunk of steel. The sounds of the metal crunching and crackling made me wince. The noise was surprisingly violent, and it was amazing to watch. After the car crushing, Uncle Ned told me another rule.

Don't even think of touching, operating, or starting the car bailer. If I did, and he found out, I would be fired on the spot. He then started to walk me around the perimeter of the place, next to the fence. He spouted off the next rule as we strolled. I wasn't allowed to let anyone in after my uncle left for the day. There were no junk car drop-offs at night, and business hours were from 7 a.m. to 6 p.m. So there was no reason for anyone to come by. He also made it clear, I wasn't to let in any of my buddies or my girlfriend to hang out with me.

If I did and he found out, yep, I'd be fired. To make sure that no one would come in after hours, Uncle Ned would be locking me in when he left for the day. Like I said, it was like my own. personal prison. I asked what if something happened to me and I needed help. He laughed and he told me that if I was dumb enough to get hurt doing this job and needed an ambulance, I deserve to die. Besides, if I really needed help, I could call him, which led to my question, what exactly was my job? Uncle Ned stopped, the middle fence just to his left. He reached out and let his fingers curl into the intertwined steel loops, and he gave it a shake.

Uncle Ned then turned and told me that he'd been having trouble with thieves jumping the fence at night and stealing copper parts from his cars. Things like radiators, brake tubes, and the alternator all have copper in him, and the market for copper was through the roof. It seemed Rascal's bark was worse than his bite, and Uncle Ned needed someone to act, as a night watchman, someone making the rounds with a flashlight, so the copper poachers would think twice about breaking in. I suddenly had second thoughts. He assured me he didn't want me to play hero, although he thought of me as a bit of a slacker. I was still family, and his sister would have his

scalp, if anything happened to me. Uncle Ned felt that my near presence would keep the thieves out, and if anything did happen, I should call and he'd be there in a few minutes. Feeling a little more reassured, we kept along the fence. When I noticed something strange, every 20 yards or so, someone had used some wire to attach a small crucifix onto the fence. I'd counted three, and looking ahead, I spotted more. I had to ask my uncle about it. He told me the workers did it, weaving the crosses into the fence.

Why? I asked. And Uncle Ned was quiet. His mood changed. He suddenly became agitated, evasive, almost scared. I asked him again. What's with the crosses? He pointed to four cars at the far end of the junkyard. They were set apart from. from the others. There were two minivans and two small sedans. All of them had been in crashes,

some worse than others. Our walk brought us right in the middle of him, and he seemed very nervous to be there. Uncle Ned told me that these were what his workers called the debtors, cars that were in fatal accidents. It seemed that once police were done with an accident investigation, and the insurance company had settled all claims. The cars would end up here, where they'd be stripped for parts. The problem was Uncle Ned's employees hated working on these vehicles. They felt it was like picking the jewelry off a corpse and a casket. His workers thought that nothing but bad karma came from working on these cars.

There were also few incidents, he added. "'Incidents? What the hell do you mean by incidents?' "'I said. I'd stopped walking.' "'You know, that's a word that covers a lot of ground.' Uncle Ned recounted that a few of his workers had suffered their own accidents after working on the cars. And again, my uncle was being very vague. I wanted clear answers. "'Okay, how many workers?'

What kind of accidents? Uncle Ned explained that one of his workers was crushed under an old debtor a few months ago, and another had lost his hand after he accidentally sliced it open when pulling parts from another one. That's why the employees started putting the crucifixes on the fences. It was to keep the bad aura inside the junkyard. They didn't want anything following them home. My uncle thought his workers were being overly suspicious, but he allowed it. I glanced over at the four debtors.

It suddenly felt like I was standing in a real graveyard, and each of these cars were giant metal tombs. I asked my uncle about him. How many people died in each car? What's their stories? I asked. He said he didn't know and didn't want to. Nothing would change if he knew any of the details of the accidents that brought the cars here.

His job was to junk them, and that's what he did. His shuffling feet and gruff voice betrayed his uneasiness, though. I felt it too. Something about that spot felt. wrong. I noticed three of the four debtors weren't totaled. They didn't look like they'd been in any serious accident at all. They had pushed in panels, and one had a badly crushed roof, but nothing that screamed fatal. Though the one small blue sedan had its windshield pushed out, with a hole in the middle of it. My imagination pictured someone's body thrown

forward and their heads smashing into the glass. I wondered if there were bits of hair still stuck in the shards. I shivered at the thought. The one car that looked like it was totaled into oblivion was a black minivan. It was mostly a crumpled hunk of steel, though the driver's side door was still attached and looked like it could be opened. The rest of the car was nothing more than folds of metal. for a moment. I thought the car had blood seeping out of it, but I realized it was just rust bleeding out from its undercarriage.

Uncle Ned explained the final rule. This area, like the car crusher, was off-limits. He spouted something about insurance issues with these cars, and there was no need for me to worry about this section of the junkyard when I made my nightly rounds, which was fine by me. This area gave me the creeps. Uncle Ned walked back towards his office. The tour was done. I followed him, hanging a few steps behind. I heard this noise, a thumping sound.

And I turned to look at the debtors, and for a split second, I thought I saw a young woman in the blue Mazda. Her blonde hair was matted, her face white, eyes black. She was banging on the glass as if trying to get my attention. And just then Rascal barked and then let out a howl. And I turned to see the dog wailing and barking like he was warning me. When I glanced back at the Honda, the face on the car was gone.

I shuffled to my uncle's side, very creeped out, but convinced I was letting all the talk of death get the best of me. Rascal stopped barking, which also brought things down a notch. I watched my uncle drive out through the gate, park his car, and walk back to the fence. He pulled his keys out, and then he officially locked me in for the night. He managed a wave and then left a trail of dust behind his car as he drove away. When Rascal nudged up against me, I realized at least I wasn't totally alone. I made my way into the air-conditioned office, and I grabbed a scoop of dog food from the bag, and I poured it into Rascal's bowl near my uncle's desk.

He scarfed it down like he hadn't been fed in a week. Although I felt like a jerk for doing it, I had to take Rascal out of the office so he could do his guard dog thing after dinner. It took some coaxing. I had to use another bowl of food to get him out the door. I noted the time. It was 7.30. I had another hour before sunset, when I'd have to make my first rounds of the junkyard. I had my feet up, and I was playing some game on my phone. When Rascal started to... bark. It was throaty, gutteral, and full of anger.

I opened the door and I was hit with a heat. It was still very hot, even as the sun was about to dip below the horizon. I followed the sound of a rascal's barking, and in between his yelps, I

heard voices. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but it was at least two people yelling. I ran up along the right edge of the fence, and I found the dog facing the barrier and yapping up a storm. I let him know it was okay, and after a minute or so he tired himself out and stopped. There was nobody in sight, but there was a blanket on the other side of the fence, and in the dust you could see footprints. It looked like someone was planning to climb the fence and throw the blanket over the barbed wall,

to get into the junkyard. I suddenly felt very protective of my uncle's place. I yelled out to the empty landscape on the other side of the fence. I'm calling the cops. I see you. You better give it up for the night. I stood there for a good five minutes, just staring, letting him know there was a new sheriff in town. Rascal gave up before me, turning to the office. and shuffling his way back. And I let out one more yell.

I'm here all night. Every night. I decided that at least for the next hour or so, I should spend it on the office's small outside porch. There was a metal rocking chair for me to sit on. And as I rocked back and forth in the fading twilight, with the old dog at my feet, I kind of did feel like one of those old sheriffs

in an old western movie. I didn't take out my phone. I just sat there and watched as the day gave way tonight. And then I heard the voices again. I was surprised that Rascal didn't let out of bark. Instead, he started to whine. And when I looked down at him, he seemed to curl into a tight ball, his tail tucking under his hind legs.

I figured the thieves had come back to get their blanket, and they might try another break in. I grabbed the flashlight my uncle gave me, and I marched back to the fence. I shone my light at the fence, and I yelled that the cops were coming. But the voices didn't stop. My flashlight found the blanket

exactly where it had been when Rascal and I saw it this late afternoon. And then I realized that the voices weren't coming from outside the junkyard. But from inside, maybe they'd already jump the fence. I spun around, letting the beam stretch across the junkyard, trying to find the voices.

And my light settled on the debtors. The sound was coming from one of those cars. It was the green Chevy cavalier, the one with a crushed and roof. The tiny light was on inside the cars. interior. And the voices were coming from it? As much as I didn't want to, I slowly walked towards the car. I then realized the voices were talking about sports, yapping about how the Nebraska football team was going to do that fall. It was the local radio show. The car's radio had somehow turned on. I fought against my fear. I mean, it's probably just a short show. I mean, it's probably just a

short in the circuit. Maybe a rat chewed up a wire into the hood. But what if it was the thieves, and they were inside the car and pulling out the radio? I was about to dial my uncle's number, but I thought I should at least make sure. So I took a few more steps closer, until I could get a good view inside the car, and there was no one in there. Without realizing it, I had walked all the way up to the green Chevy. The voices from the radio were now debating whether they had a quarterback that could lead them to the

championship. I surveyed the inside of the car and double check there was nobody in there. I leaned in to get a good look through the back window and confirmed there wasn't a body hiding in the back seat or tucked under the dash.

It was just me and the green Chevy. I reached for the driver's side door and I gave it a tug. Sure enough, the dashboard was lit, and the radio was on, and I sat down in the driver's seat, having to scrunch down because of the crushed roof, and then I reached over to the radio dial to turn it off. And that's when the car door slammed shut on its own. The flashlight dropped from my hand, and it landed outside the car. I tried to push the door open, but it wouldn't budge. and I couldn't help but think of the blonde woman's face I thought I saw in the other deader,

and I started to panic. I rammed my full body weight against the door, and it didn't move. I then reached across the passenger side and tried the door again nothing. My hands reached out to the steering wheel. I grabbed it in frustration, shaking it and yelling. And as my palms held the wheel, Everything went black. I was in this darkness, an ink-black void.

And then as quick as that happened, there was a light, or lights, streetlights. I wasn't sitting in the junked car, but I was driving it along the road. The radio was on. The sports dudes were yapping again, but the players they were talking about were from two years ago. The street lights were whipping by me, and I looked down at the speedometer and saw I was doing 110 miles per hour. Whoever was driving this car was a real speed demon. Suddenly, my right hand reached down and hit a button on the radio, changing the station from the talk radio guys to music. The song Freebird came on, and the guitar was wailing.

I felt my foot pressed down on the gas. A blur of the highway sign passed by. It was for the Hemlock Road exit on Route 88. And I knew where I was, hitting east towards Lincoln. I felt the adrenaline rushing through my body. I wanted to keep feeling it. My hands gripped the leather wheel tighter. I let my glance shift from the road into the rearview mirror.

But I didn't see myself. I was a 40-something-year-old man with a brown goatee, the driver of the Chevy, the driver that died. And just then, a deer leaped out onto the road. I crank the way all the way to the left to avoid hitting it, but the car's momentum caused it to keep going forward. I started to flip, and then kept flipping. I counted eight rollovers. And on the last spin, my skull hit the roof of the car, and I felt my neck crank. I heard it to a loud snap.

It made my head fall forward dangling down. It was like a head on a rag doll, the neck bones and muscles just useless. My cheek rested on my chest, and I was looking at my shirt buttons. My eyelids fluttered, and then I let go of the wheel. I was back in the junkyard and sitting up in the Chevy. My hands went to my neck. It was all good, nothing broken. My heart was pumping, and every nerve in my body seemed electrified.

For a second, I thought about grabbing the wheel again, but questioned whether my body could take another round of, what just happened. I was also scared, thinking that if I went back, maybe there was a chance that I didn't return. Instead, I reached for the car's door handle, gave it a push, and it opened. I was barely able to stand.

When I looked out, I noticed that the sky was getting brighter. I pulled my phone from my pocket, and I saw that it was nearly dawn. What I thought took only a few moments had been hours. My uncle would be pulling up soon. I staggered back to the office, rascal at my side. I plopped down into the rocking chair, and I tried to make sense of what happened.

But I really couldn't. I figured I might have hit my head on the door jam when I went to turn off the radio. Maybe I hallucinated the whole thing. But it was all too real. I knew it happened. And my uncle's car pulled up just then to the gate. I was still in a bit of a daze as I gave him the rundown of the night.

I did let Uncle Ned know about the attempted break-in and walked over with him to where the blanket was still sitting outside the fence. He managed to give me a hearty pat on the back and let me know I was already a worthy hire. On my walk home that early morning, all I could think about as I shuffled along the highway was what happened in the car. The speeding Chevy was replayed over and over again.

The combination of fear and thrills was still racing through me. I managed to get a few hours sleep before my brother dropped me off at the juvenile detention center so I could serve my community service. And I was distracted the whole day. I practically ran the mile from my house to my uncle's place that late afternoon. And just then, a car came speeding down the highway, way faster than usual. I stopped and watched it get closer.

It was about a quarter mile away, and it was hard to see exactly what kind of car it was. But the music blasting from the car radio made me stop and, and stare and disbelief. I heard that song, Freebird again. And it was the green car. The two-door Chevy, the deader from the night before, it drifted out of its lane, heading towards me. I could see the driver.

It was the man with a goatee, his head upside down, and swinging from his broken neck, like a pendulum. His eyes were on me, and he was smiling. I snapped out of the moment, and I ran for the junkyard's front gate. My feet slipped on the loose gravel. The music got louder. I didn't want to turn around. The car's wheels hit the gravel driveway. It was right behind me. I reached out and grabbed the fence, and the car was. gone. I turned to see an empty driveway. There wasn't even a dust cloud. And just then, my uncle stepped out. He yelled out a hello, and I half-heartedly gave him a wave, while still trying to figure out

what the hell just happened. My back was wet with sweat, and I struggled to catch my breath as Uncle Ned walked over to let me in. Of course, I couldn't tell him what just happened. No sane person would understand, you know. My uncle took off earlier than the night before, since he didn't have to go over the rules this time, the ones I had already broken. Even after what happened earlier on the road,

I still kind of wanted to experience being in the debtor again. The curiosity was overwhelming. I dragged the metal rocking chair over from the office porch, and I sat right in the middle of the creepy cars. Rascal didn't follow me. He still seemed uneasy about that section of the junkyard and stayed back at the office. I felt manic, and it made me anxious. I'd never been addicted to any drug in my life, but this was what a junkie must feel waiting for their next hit. I was trying to decide which car to go and do next, and my eyes kept settling on the black minivan,

the one that was almost totaled. For some reason, I felt that I had to wait until the sun went down, as if that was part of the ritual. Was this now my ritual? I looked over my shoulder. The sun looked like a tangerine about to roll off a table, and then it was gone. But it still wasn't dark, so I waited. The black minivan's door creaked open by itself. It had read my mind.

Somehow these cars were now connected to my thoughts. I slid into the driver's seat. I had to wedge myself in. I sat there, and then the door closed by itself. There was a moment of doubt, a feeling that this was wrong, but the overwhelming desire to know about the other debtors, it overruled everything. My hands found the wheel. There was a flash of black, and then I was driving in the minivan. It was a rainy wet afternoon.

I looked over to the clock radio, and it blinked out 3 p.m. Now, I couldn't place the highway I was on this time. It was a big three-laner in both directions. Probably one of the interstates. My eyes drifted down to the speedometer. It clocked a reasonable 65 miles per hour. The rain pelted the windshield. I clicked the windshield wipers up another notch,

but it didn't do much to clear the glass. There was a boom of thunder, and then the highway lit up as lightning, hit the ground nearby. I wanted to see who I was, so I glanced into the rearview mirror, and I saw a woman with red hair tucked under a baseball cap that red princess on the front, probably late 30s. I smiled to see if the woman would smile too, but then I saw something that made that smile disappear. In the rearview mirror, I not only saw the woman. but a big 18-wheeler flashing its lights to clear me out of the lane.

No, no, no, no, I do not want to experience this. I tried letting go of the steering wheel, but I couldn't. It was as if my hands were welded onto the wheel. The car wasn't going to let me out. I tried closing my eyes, but I couldn't do that either. Suddenly, I wasn't waiting. for some euphoric thrill ride experience. My arm muscles ached as I struggled to pull my hands free.

And I saw the truck coming up fast behind me in the rearview mirror, but she, or me, didn't click on the blinker. She was one of those stubborn drivers who doesn't want to switch lanes. The truck sped up? It was nearly on top of her, or me, we were one of the same. and I screamed, hoping that I could somehow shock the driver into moving to do something, to try and change what was about to happen, but I knew I couldn't. My view shifted from the rear view mirror to the windshield,

and through the haze of the water, I could see brake lights. Someone stopped ahead. My foot hit the brakes slowing down, but the truck behind me didn't. It slammed into me with a force of a thousand sledgehammers ramming me into the stopped truck just ahead. Glass and bits of metal showered down on me. Airbags exploded. And then everything went black again. My hands released from the wheel. I fell out of the minivan, my face hitting the dirt. I scrambled on all fours from the car, and when I was about twenty-five, feet away. I turned and watched as the door just closed. My legs felt like jelly as I staggered up

back inside the office. I collapsed in the chair by Uncle Ned's desk. My fingers clicked off the switch of the air conditioner. I was already shivering. The next five hours were spent staring at myself in a mirror above a gray filing cabinet. The horrific, crash of the minivan was replaying in my brain. My uncle's car pulling up to the office snapped me out of it. Uncle Ned asked if everything went all right as I blew past him towards the front gate. I shouted back that nothing happened and I'd see him later. And on the way home, I was on edge. My eyes scanning the road for either the green Chevy or the black minivan. Every oncoming car, caused me to run off the shoulder and hide and wait for the vehicle to pass before I'd walk again.

What should have been, a 25-minute stroll took nearly an hour. When I finally made it home, my mother wanted to know what was wrong. There was no hiding the pale shock on my face. I told her it was nothing. Just the lack of sleep, and I let my bed swallow me up when I got to my room. The alarm woke me up. Somehow I was able to grab a few hours of sleep before I was to head out to my teaching job. My brother texted me that he was outside and ready to drive me to the center.

I scarfed down a banana and was about to walk out the front door when I caught a view of our driveway. There was a black minivan sitting in it. The undamaged one I was driving the previous night. I stopped and went to the front bay window. and I peaked out through the blinds. My brother's car was on the street waiting for me, and the minivan was in the driveway. I took a step back, blinked a few times,

trying to clear away any insanity that might have crept into my mind. Before looking up the window again, I texted my brother, and I asked him if there was a van in our driveway. He texted back, that I should stop messing around if I didn't want to be late. I stepped to the window and glanced out again. The red-haired woman had her face pressed to the window.

Her eyes black orbs as she stared at me. Just then I got another text message. It read, We'll take you there. The phone dropped from my hands. There was the sound of another text, and I picked up the phone, terrified at what it might read. But it was only my brother giving me a final warning. I texted him that I wasn't feeling great, and then I was going to miss doing my community service that day.

And I heard him pull from the curb. When I looked down the front window, the van was gone too. I went back to bed, but I couldn't sleep. I got that urge again. the strange urge that I needed to sit in one of the debtors. And I can't explain it, but it was useless to fight that urge. Something was compelling me to go back to the junkyard. Some unseen force wanted me inside those cars.

Why? I didn't know. The only thing I did know was that I couldn't fight that desire to be inside. the debtors again. I didn't remember leaving my house and walking along the highway to my uncle's place. When he let me in at the gate, he was a bit touchy. My uncle wanted to know why the rocking chair was in the middle of the debtors. I just told him it wasn't me, which just made him angrier. I mean, it couldn't have been anyone else. Remember the rules. He said. I just shrugged it off, and I said I'd keep an eye out for thieves that night. Uncle Ned issued a final warning, to do just what he was paying me for and nothing else,

and then he was gone. I left Rascal at the office porch. He was curled up near the rocking chair. Sitting on the dirt in the middle of the debtors, I set my sights on the blue Mazda, the car that had first caught my eye, the one with the ghostly. woman's face that stared at me the first day. The door swung open, and I heard rascal whine. I lowered my head, and I crouched into the blue car, the one with a hole in the windshield. The door closed with a loud bang. I looked around the interior. There was no real damage. The airbag had gone off, and all the glass on the dashboard gauges were shattered. but otherwise the car didn't look like it was in a fatal accident.

My hands rested on the steering wheel, and then my fingers curled around it. A curtain of black rolled down all around me, and then I was driving in the dark. It was nighttime. I was on a back road. It could have been anywhere within 500 miles. There were no signs, buildings, or highway markers. It was a two-lane country. road cutting across a patch of nowhere in particular.

There weren't any streetlights. The only light was from one of my front headlines. I stared into the rearview mirror to see my face. It was the one I saw in the back window when I was walking away from the debtors the first day on the job. But this time it wasn't a corpse. Instead, I was a vibrant 20-something

with blonde hair and pale blue eyes. eyes. A small stuffed unicorn hung from the mirror. The radio was on. The song was some country-sounding dude singing about lost love. There was no rain. I wasn't speeding. And for a moment, everything seemed just fine. And then the Mazda's headlights caught something up ahead on the right side of the road. There was a white car, a small coop with its hood up. I felt myself touching on the brake, slowly pulling behind the broken down vehicle. And then something strange happened. A new twist in the deader experience.

I or she, we both left the car. Now standing, we looked around, poked our head into the car. There was no one there. And then I heard the blonde driver scream out if anyone needed some help. and there was no reply. And then we took out our phone, took a picture of the car in its license plane. I was back behind the wheel, key in the ignition. We pulled away from the white car.

She was about to snap in the seatbelt when she took one last glimpse of the broken down coop in the rearview mirror. But instead of the car, we saw someone sitting in the backseat. A man with a red ski mask on and wearing mirrored sunglasses. There was a scream, her scream, and then I felt a leather belt around my neck and pulled tight. I couldn't breathe. The stiff leather cut into my skin. I had to let go of the steering wheel to try to slip my fingers underneath the belt and gain some space to suck in some air. The car meandered on the road, drifting left and right.

My legs kicked out, smashing into the dashboard. My heels cracked the glass on the gauges. My eyes found the rearview mirror again. I could see the ski-mast man with sunglasses was leaning over the front seat. I saw a metal mile marker on the left side of the road. And with all my might, I stretched my foot to hit the accelerator, and I got my hand on the steering wheel. I gave it all the gas and sped to the sign.

The ski-mast man released the belt and ducked behind the seats just as we crashed into the steel pole. The airbag exploded. And then his voice cut through the sound of the last gasps of the blonde girl. And I heard him say, I am the red mask of death. behold my presence Everything went black for a moment and then I was back in the junkyard

I gulped for air as I fell out of the car I felt something wet on my forehead my hand reached up and when I pulled it back it was covered with blood my blood my neck also felt like it had been squeezed in a noose. Okay, that was it. I was done. I wasn't just experiencing other people's deaths. I almost died this time. It was nearly dawn, and my uncle would be there soon, but I didn't care. I was

officially quitting, and I wanted out of this junkyard now. I couldn't spend one more minute in this place. I marched over to the office, swung open the door, and started to ransack the room, looking for another key to get out. I rifled through the file cabinet, and then I pulled open every drawer on my uncle's desk. Laying in one of the drawers was a red scheme mask, a leather belt, and mirrored shades, and the room started to spend.

I stepped back. I would faint if I didn't sit down. And just then the office door swung open. Uncle Ned's gaze met mine, and then his eyes went to the desk and the open drawer. I backed up into a far corner of the office. Not a word was said between us, but he knew that I knew. My uncle reached down and grabbed the ski mask, and he pulled it over his head. He slid on the mirrored shades, and finally the belt was stretched out,

between both his hands as he stepped towards me. In the blink of an eye, Uncle Ned had transformed from an annoying relative to pure menace. He wasn't slumping and middle-aged anymore. Instead, he stood straight up, his shoulders back, he seemed big. His breathing seemed amplified, the huffing and puffing of a large animal, a predator. He kept coming forward, and he said, I am the red mask of death. Behold my presence.

He snapped the belt in his hands. It sounded like a whip cracking. Rascal appeared in the doorway and whined. Uncle Ned turned for a moment to look at the dog. A distraction, meaning a chance for me. I bolted forward and I bowled forward, and I bowed. pushed past my uncle out of the door. I scrambled to the front gate, passing my uncle's car, and I reached it, but it was locked. I turned to see Uncle Ned stomping towards me. I tried to

climb the fence, but I couldn't. A hand grabbed the back of my shirt, and it threw me to the ground. And then the belt was looped around my neck. I was being dragged backwards, and I couldn't stop it. After about 30 yards of being pulled through the dirt, my uncle stopped. And I looked around and realized we were by the car crusher, and then a boot smashed into my ribs. I was almost unconscious. Through the haze, I saw my uncle open a trunk on one of the junk cars. Even though I was almost passed out, I knew what he was going to do. and I tried to stand but I couldn't.

Uncle Ned stepped toward me, the belt once again in his hand, and then he paused and turned to his right. He dropped the belt and his hands went up in front of him, as if to stop something coming his way. The blue Mazda, the debtor car, smashed into my uncle. His body rolling over the hood, and bouncing off the roof.

He then fell with a thud on the ground, about 20 feet away from me. And I heard him moan in pain. And then the forklift started up, even though there was no one behind the wheel. I watched as it drove over to Uncle Ned, and it slid its two forks under his body, and it lifted him up.

He was dropped into the, trunk of the car that was meant for me. I managed to stand up then, still just watching. The trunk shut, and then the forklift speared the car and took it to the crusher. I saw the car smasher as the walls closed in. I looked over to the Mazda. The young woman watched as my uncle's car was so. slowly squeezed together.

The four walls of the car crusher released to reveal the metal hunk that was now Uncle Ned's coffin. The forklift pulled it out of the machine and it laid it on a pile of other metal hunks ready to be recycled. It was done. The Mazda started up again.

The blonde woman at the wheel nodded and drove back to her, spot amongst the other debtors. After all the violence and noise, there was only silence. I stood for a moment, and then I realized that each of the cars I'd been in was leading me to this. The green Chevy wasn't trying to run me down. It just wanted to make sure I did go back to my uncle's place and get behind the wheel of one of the debtors. I just chose the wrong one. The black van and the text offering,

Will take you there, was about making sure I did return since I'd chosen the wrong car again. They wanted me to learn the truth about my uncle. He'd killed, and he would kill again if he wasn't stopped. Somehow a living person had to acknowledge his evil deeds to complete his punishment.

It seemed that the dead do communicate, at least in this junkyard. I looked over to the main gate, and I saw that it was now open. At this point, I didn't question it. I was just happy that it happened. I gave Rascal a final pat on the head, another bowl of water and food, and I started my long walk home. Later that afternoon, when I went back to work at my uncle's junkyard, pretending everything was okay, I reported that he wasn't around, that his car was there, that the office was ransacked,

but there was no sign of Uncle Ned. For the next week, my uncle's disappearance was big news. The cop's theory was that he surprised some copper thieves, and he might have been killed and then buried in a shallow grave anywhere in the country. There was a funeral a month later, and my mom grieved for her little brother. And then as it happens, things moved on. My parents actually ended up adopting Rascal, and I think he's much happier as a spoiled couch potato instead of a guard dog for a junkyard full of ghosts.

As for me, I got a job at the local Applebees working the overnight shift. On my first day, my manager pointed to the wall with the photos of past employee of the month, and I looked over him. And the star for February, seven months earlier, was a familiar face. It was the young woman who drove the blue Mazda. I could only hope that she's in peace now. and no longer driving along that dark, lonely road.