WHEN YOUR BUDDY STARTS WORKING AT A CAR DEALERSHIP | Creepypasta | “Hazards of Buying a Used Car”

WHEN YOUR BUDDY STARTS WORKING AT A CAR DEALERSHIP | Creepypasta | “Hazards of Buying a Used Car”


“HAZARDS IN BUYING A USED CAR”
(credited to Tekkactus, and read from the Creepypasta Wiki) A 1998 powder-blue Ford Taurus isn’t anyone’s
choice for a vehicle, but it was what I ended up choosing at the lot. It wasn’t a bad car; not too many miles,
recently replaced tires, and it was cheap. My only real complaint is that the previous
owner had seriously gone overboard with air fresheners; the whole interior reeked of vanilla
and pine. The dealer, real nice guy, said he was cutting
me a deal. Told me that they were having trouble moving
this one off the lot, explained that no one seemed to be interested. I guess I’m less picky than average, because
the car looked fine to me, so a check and a handshake later I was driving home. That’s when the strangeness started. I hadn’t noticed it during the complimentary
test drive I had been given, but there was a lump in the padding of the seat, right in
the small of my back. It wasn’t enough to make driving uncomfortable,
so I assumed the foam was coming loose under the fabric and let it go. The car was a decade old, after all. For about two weeks I drove the car like that,
to and from work, picking up groceries and stuff like that. The lump was pushed to the back of my mind,
and I had pretty much got used to it. Then it moved. At first I thought I was imagining things;
foam padding doesn’t squirm around, obviously, and it had just been the slightest feeling
on my back that set me off. But no, as I kept driving it became clear
that the seat had shifted, it definitely felt different against my spine. At this point I thought maybe this is what
was wrong initially with the seat; that maybe the loose foam had shifted when I first got
the car. Once I got home, I decided, I would examine
it in more detail. By the time I got into my driveway the lump
was downright irritating, so I hopped out of my seat and began to probe the fabric with
my fingers. Whatever was in there, I quickly noticed,
it wasn’t foam padding. The consistency was thicker than foam, almost
gelatinous, and there were hard pieces inside it that felt almost like stone. I couldn’t make it out at the time, but
the shape of the thing was familiar, too. Confirming my suspicions, I also noted for
the first time a long seam in the seat that someone had stitched up. The previous owner must have stuck something
in there. I hopped back in to take the car to the dealer
and complain. This is the sort of thing a salesman should
tell you, you know? Maybe they just didn’t know about it; I
hadn’t seen it at first, either. I was about halfway to the dealership when
the thing in the seat began writhing around. Not a shift like before, but actively crawling
underneath the fabric. If you can imagine the feeling of something
worming its way across your lower back, you can probably replicate my reaction. The number on the speedometer doubled. I nearly ruined those recently replaced tires
swerving into the dealership parking lot. It didn’t take long to find the man who
had sold me the car, and even less time to grab him by the shirt sleeve and stammer out
what had happened. He was surprised by my story but strangely
receptive (more than I would be if some punk teenager started rambling about squirming
car seats), and came back with me to the car, pulling out a pocket utility knife as we walked. As we cut the fabric of the seat open, the
stench that spewed out almost literally knocked us back out of the car, but what we smelled
didn’t make either of our stomachs turn nearly as bad as what we saw. Inside the seat, under the fabric, we found
a half-rotten human hand.

About the Author: Michael Flood

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