I walk across the lawn towards my car and notice that there’s something on the ground behind it. It’s a giant iron spring and it doesn’t look like a piece from my car. I walk around and see scratch marks on my bumper. It’s still dark out so I can’t really make out much and the car looks relatively okay. I look down the road and see the only other car in the street half a block down. There’s a man walking towards me in the middle of the road.
And the plot thickens.
“Was that you?” I ask. “Did you hit me?”
“Hey man,” he says when we get close. “I have food poisoning and lost control of my car.”
We head back to my car and he points to the scratch marks I’d seen. “I hit it here when I lost control.”
“I see,” I say. But it’s hard to really see the damage in the dark and my brother and I have already beaten up my bumper on our own without anyone’s help. So it’s hard to tell what marks are from my stupidity or his food poisoning.
“This is from my car,” the guy says, picking up the iron spring.
I look at my car again. It doesn’t look that bad. But it’s also still dark. Most of me is saying, “It’s cool. Don’t worry about it.” But some small part of me is whispering, “This isn’t good.”
So he gives me his card and his phone number and it turns out he’s a taxi driver. We decide I’ll see how much repairs need to be done and he’ll pay for the damage and I head back to my car. It’s getting late and I’ve had enough creepiness and scares for one day so I get in the car to drive off.
But the car doesn’t move…