Rusty Randall's Auto Repair Shop had a reputation for being one of the most experienced and efficient in the whole of Southern Oregon. It didn't hurt that most of the new hires were usually picked up right after graduating automotive school. Such was the case for young Sam "Sparkplug" Witwicky, and he was no slouch in the field, as many satisfied customers could attest.

Lunch break had just ended, and the day hadn't brought very many customers thus far. As Sam wasn't given much to work with, he just decided to pass the time by playing a game on his smartphone. He didn't get too far in it, however, for the intercom rang just as he had finally gotten past a level that had been giving him trouble for days.

"Witwicky, there's a repair waiting for you in Garage 2."

Sam stood up and turned his phone off, brushing back his thick brown hair as he walked towards the garage, ready to tackle another repair.

It would soon prove to be much more than that.

He entered the garage, where a middle-aged woman stood next to her car, a lemon yellow 2014 Toyota Prius.

"Hello, and welcome to Rusty Randall's Auto Repair Shop," he began with a smile, "My name is Sam, how can I help you today?"

"Hello, Sam," the woman replied, her voice wavering slightly, "My car has been doing a lot of things it shouldn't…"

Sam squinted inquisitively. "Could you please be more specific? I can't fix your car if I don't know what problems you're having with it."

"That car…" she said nervously, pointing at it with a quivering arm, "I swear to the Lord, it has a mind of its own. Sometimes, I go out to the driveway and I need to go somewhere, but the car will be gone. But it always comes back later, looking like nothing had ever happened to it."

"Well, perhaps your car just keeps getting sto-"

"It ain't getting stolen, neighborhood watch woulda told me if it did. Besides, the other day, I saw it leaving the driveway with no driver. And it's not just that, either. Sometimes the radio station will change without me touching the dial."

Sam pondered for a moment. He knew that cars couldn't just do whatever they wanted, so there had to be some logical explanation for this. "Well, it might be faulty ignition and wiring, but just in case, I'll check it out, okay?" he said, trying to keep up his friendly demeanor that customer service always entailed.

"Please do it, sir." She began to nod fearfully. "The exorcist didn't help, so I had no place else to turn."

Sam simply chuckled slightly and replied, "An exorcist wouldn't be able to fix bad wires. Besides, you call exorcists for people and houses, not cars."

He was given a slight glare from the woman, but he paid no mind to it.

"Anyway, ma'am, just fill out the needed paperwork and I'll set to work. We'll call you and let you know what we find."

Sam spent the rest of the work week looking at the car, inside and out, every possible angle. But to his increasingly mounting frustration, nothing he checked seemed to be out of place. The engine, the ignition, the fusebox, the wiring, the injectors; it all looked completely as it should. He began to write it off as a customer with an active imagination giving him a perfectly normal car.

Well, almost perfectly normal.

Towards the very end of his final shift that week, Sam found something on the car's roof. It looked to be some sort of metal decal, except it seemed to be a part of the body itself, rather than something welded on after the fact. It looked to be a red, stylized humanoid face, outlined in silver and raised just a few centimeters above the rest of the roof.

He reached out to touch it, but was startled by the sound of a car ignition. He watched in shock as the car backed out of the garage on its own.

"This can't be real," Sam said to himself. Like any reasonable person, he couldn't believe what had just happened, especially after finding nothing wrong with the car itself.

He tried pinching himself on the back of his hand, to see if he was dreaming, only to feel a sharp pain where he had pinched the skin.

"This is real…"

He wouldn't report this to his boss. He couldn't. He'd probably just be laughed out of the office. Instead, he decided to say the car was stolen, and go home for the day. He knew no one would believe him. After all, cars couldn't just do whatever they wanted… could they?