Once upon a time, Samantha and Darrin went to the county fair. They looked at the art exhibits. They ate corn on the cob. They sat in the Footsie Wootsies. They watched people throw up on the the Hammer. Darrin won a massive teddy bear playing darts.

Before they knew it, it was late afternoon. They were on their way out when Samantha noticed a psychic's tent with a sign out front that read in capital letters "I TELL YOUR FORTUNE, 5 CENTS". Sam rolled her eyes.

"These mortal psychics are such a joke," she told Darrin, "They're all phonies that pretend to have special powers just so they can make a buck. They don't know what they're doing."

"Maybe so," Darrin replied, "But still, it's kind of fun to go in and see what they tell you. I did it a few times when I was a kid. It may not be true, but it's a neat thing to do just for kicks."

Samantha shrugged. "I suppose." Then she stopped walking. "I wonder what they would tell me."

"We could go find out."

"Nah."

"Oh, come one. It'll be fun. I'll do it too."

"Well…" Sam stared at the tent, "Okay. Why not? Like you said, it's just for fun."

So, they entered the tent, Darrin lugging the giant teddy bear along with him. The sparkling amethyst beads hanging in the doorway rustled and clinked as they walked in. The inside of the tent was midnight blue with a pattern of gold stars. The light was dim, a stark contrast to the bright, sunny day outside. Pink salt lamps and candles provided soft lighting. A portable plug-in fountain burbled soothingly in a corner, while flute meditation music played from somewhere unseen.

And there was the psychic. She was sitting at a small round table illuminated with candles with a crystal ball in front of her. She stared right at her two new customers as if she had known the exact moment they were coming in. Although she was obviously Caucasian, she was dressed like a gaudy gypsy princess, and caked in heavy makeup even worse than Endora.

"Ahh, welcome, my cheeldren," said the psychic in a fake accent, waving her arms. She stood up, and the tiny bells on her bracelets and anklets jingled. "I've been expecting you."

Samantha resisted the urge to roll her eyes again.

"Do come een. Come, come. Leave zee teddy over there. My name," the psychic said with a flourish, "Eez Esmeralda Moonwhisper Le Fraud, but you may simply call me Madame Le Fraud. Today I will guide you through an Aquarian experience, and experience which will aline both your beings weeth zee moon and stars."

Oh, bull, Sam thought.

"Now," said Madame Esmeralda Moonwhisper Le Fraud, "Wheech one of you goes first?"

Darrin went first. Madame Le Fraud sat him down at the table right beneath a poster of Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man, held out her bejeweled hand, and studied his palm while Sam stood behind him and watched.

"Mm-hmm… Yes, I see something now," said Le Fraud after a long and reflective silence.

"What do you see?" Darrin asked.

"You," the psychic declared, speaking a little more loudly than she had been before, "Weel marry a blonde."

"I already did."

"Oh. Well, see? I was right."

Samantha covered her face with her hand behind Madame Le Fraud's back. She was embarrassed for her.

"But wait a minute!" Le Fraud said suddenly. She grabbed Darrin's hand again. "There eez something else! I see… I see that magical forces are a very important part of your life."

For a quick second, Samantha and Darrin looked at each other, a little surprised. Could it be? Nah. It was just a lucky coincidence. It had to be. Darrin handed Madame Le Fraud her five cents and then Sam took his place at the table.

"Now, let me see," the psychic said as she took Sam's palm and began tracing the lines with her finger. Meanwhile, Sam was taking it with a grain of salt. "Yes… Very eenteresting. Very… Oh, no. Oh, no." Samantha watched as Le Fraud's expression quickly went from one of relaxed concentration to one of profound anxiety.

"What?" she asked.

"I…" Madame Le Fraud stammered, still looking down at Samantha's palm, "I don't know if I should tell you. Eet's not good."

Samantha wasn't fazed. "Come on, tell me. It can't be that bad."

"I… I don't think…"

"Go on."

Madame Le Fraud took a deep, dramatic breath, as if she wasn't sure she was doing the right thing. The things these so-called psychics do to play it up, Sam thought. Finally, Le Fraud spoke.

"You weel get run over by a Chevy Volt."

"What?" said Sam.

"What?" said Darrin.

"You weel get run over by a Chevy Volt," Madame Le Fraud repeated, "You know, zee electric hybrid car by Chevrolet."

I'll get run over by a Chevy Volt?! A CHEVY VOLT?! Seriously! Where do these phoney psychics come up with these things?! Gee, it's lucky I'm not gullible. Otherwise I'd be having an emotional crisis right now. It was so ridiculous, Samantha could have laughed. One glance back at her husband told her that he wasn't taking it seriously either. Still, she decided to play along.

"Madame Le Fraud, how much time do I have before… you know."

The psychic exhaled heavily. "I was hoping you wouldn't ask that, but now that you asked, I believe you have a right to know. I can't tell exactly when it will happen, but for sure it will be in the near future."

"The near future?"

"Yes. It could be months or weeks or even days. Definitely not any longer than a year."

After that, Samantha tried to wrap it up with the psychic as fast as she could. She was afraid she couldn't contain herself much longer. The second she and Darrin (and the giant teddy bear) were out of earshot of the psychic's tent, they both started laughing uncontrollably. Boy, oh, boy. Darrin had been right. Esmeralda Moonwhisper Le Fraud's predictions may not have been something to take seriously, but still, the experience sure was good for kicks.

But that night, after the sun had gone down and the lights had switched off and everything was quiet, things began to seem different. Lying in bed in the dark and the silence, listening to Darrin snoring, it suddenly all began to sink in for Samantha. She began to think about what the psychic had said. Really think.

Suddenly, Madame Le Fraud's prediction didn't seem quite so funny anymore.

The following day after dinner, Darrin suggested they go for a walk in the neighborhood since it was such a nice evening. Samantha was quick to agree. She briskly cleaned up and got ready to go out walking. But once they were outside, she began to act funny. Like, quiet. Maybe even a little jumpy.

When it came time to cross the first street, Darrin took a quick look in both directions and then stepped into the road. But to his surprise, Sam stopped him.

"Waaait!" she exclaimed, lunging for his arm, "Don't go yet!"

Darrin gave her a startled gawk. "What? What do you mean? There's no cars coming. Let's go."

"Not yet! Wait a minute!"

"Huh? What are you d-"

"SHHHH."

Blocking Darrin with her arm, Sam took a good, long look to the left. Then she took a good, long look to the right. Next, she cupped a hand around her right ear and tilted her head, listening. She did the same with the left ear.

"You've forgotten the three golden rules of crossing the street," she told Darrin, "Stop, Look, and Listen."

"What?!" Darrin scrunched up his brow in confusion. She had never acted like this before.

Sam seemed oblivious to his perplexment. "Alright, sweetheart. Now we can cross," she declared at last.

So, Darrin crossed. But when he got to the other side, he suddenly realized that Sam wasn't with him. Sure enough, there she was, still standing on the other side of the crosswalk, nervously pulling on her thumbs. She hadn't moved a single step!

Wondering what the hell was going on, Darrin quickly dashed back across the street.

"Sam, what is this all about?" he asked.

"I… um… Well, you can never be too careful about crossing the street."

Just then, a car whizzed past. Sam gasped in fright and darted closer into the sidewalk.

That was when it all began to click. "Honey," Darrin said, "Does this have anything to do with the psychic we saw yesterday?"

Samantha began fiddling with her thumbs again. "The psychic? What psychic? Oh, that psychic! Nooo. Of course not." She sounded oddly defensive.

"Sam…"

"Well… maybe a little." Pause. "Actually, yes."

"Sam, that's ridiculous! You know it and I know it. You are not going to start worrying over something stupid like that."

"I know… But, Darrin, did you see the look on her face? She looked so… so genuinely distressed. You can't fake a look like that."

"These psychics are like actors. They know exactly what they're doing. That woman was a fake. It's even in her name- Madame Le Fraud!"

"But… but what if she wasn't?"

Darrin sighed. "Look," he said after a moment, "No one is getting run over by a Chevy Volt or any other kind of car, for that matter. Get that idea out of your head. It's a load of bull. This fortune teller thing is all just a game. Even they know that. Now, I don't want to hear another word about psychics or Chevy Volts or any of that. Come on, let's walk."

After that, Sam seemed to calm down a bit. But for some reason, Darrin couldn't get rid of the sneaking suspicion that she didn't believe him.

A couple of days later, Darrin unexpectedly got to leave work a few hours early. He decided not to call Samantha and tell her he was coming home. He wanted to surprise her.

He was almost home when he noticed some freak walking down the street dressed like they were walking through a shooting range. Said freak was wearing a safety vest in a blinding shade of neon pink that would've been visible from outer space. The word "SLOW" was displayed on both the front and back in reflective letters. Beneath that, there appeared to be a layer of bubble wrap. They also donned a bike helmet and carried a stop sign like a crossing guard's. Poor person, Darrin thought as he drove. Probably homeless.

But wait- That was no freak! It couldn't be… Surely, it wasn't…

"SAM!" he yelled through his rolled-down window. Samantha, in her neon crossing guard getup and bike helmet, immediately stopped, looked at him, and waved her stop sign in greeting. Her expression instantly changed from one of nervousness to one of relief. In one hand she was carrying a grocery bag. She must have been walking home from the store.

Darrin pulled over and opened the car door, and gladly, she hopped in.

"Hello, sweetheart. What are you doing here so early?" she said.

"I, uh…" Darrin stared. It hurt his eyes just to look at her vest. "I got out of work early. I wanted to surprise you. But, hey, what's with the vest? And the helmet? And the… bubble wrap?" Sure enough, underneath the vest, she was wrapped in bubble wrap at least an inch thick.

"Oh, this?" she replied, "The bubble wrap was just for good measure, but the rest I found it at a thrift store. All safety gear was fifty percent off. It was a steal! Isn't it great?"

Darrin was rather confounded. Was this still about the Chevy Volt thing? Still, he decided not to ask any further questions.

"Um, yeah, honey. That's… great."

Neither of them spoke much for the short remainder of the ride home. As soon as they were home, Darrin quickly excused himself to go upstairs and change. (This was, in fact, a lie. He was actually going up to call Larry Tate and tell him he thought Sam had flipped her lid.)

Samantha had just taken off her safety vest, helmet, and bubble wrap when her cousin Serena appeared out of the blue, lounging on the couch in a suggestive pose reminiscent of Cleopatra. She was dressed in a paisley tunic in bright shades of red, yellow, and orange- even splashes of lime green- and hot pink leggings. The whole ensemble was nearly as blinding as Samantha's new vest.

"Hiya, Sammy. What's new?" Serena asked, helping herself to the bowl of pink lady apples on the coffee table.

"Serena!" Sam greeted her cousin enthusiastically, "I sure am glad to see you!"

Serena gave her a quizzical look. "You are? That's a first." Then she noticed the neon vest, stop sign, and helmet sitting on the table. "Hey, what's with the crossing guard stuff and the helmet? Don't tell me you've taken up a job as a crossing guard!"

"Oh, no," Samantha replied, "Look, I'll explain later. Right now I have something I've been wanting to ask you."

Serena took a big crunch out of her apple. "Ask away, Sammy."

"I was wondering, could I borrow some of your clothes?"

The rebellious brunette witch scratched at her ear. "Sorry, I don't think I quite heard you. What did you say?"

"Can I borrow some of your clothes?"

For a second, Serena just stared at her as if she still wasn't sure she'd heard correctly. Then she perked up and sat up.

"Oh, cuz! I thought you'd never ask! I've been dying to help you give your wardrobe a makeover for the past ninety-seven years!"

"Um, yes," Samantha chuckled politely, "Oh, and the brighter the clothing, the better."

Now, this was suspicious. "Why the sudden interest in fashion?" Serena asked. "I mean, good fashion."

Samantha looked down at the carpet. "Um, well, see…"

"Yeees?"

"It's actually kind of silly… You might laugh."

"Oh, c'mon, spill! It's just me, your favorite cousin!" Serena urged. Then she gasped. "You're not trying to impress a someone, are you?"

"No! Of course not! See… It's actually about something a psychic said to me."

"A psychic?"

And that was how Sam ended up telling Serena all about Madame Esmeralda Moonwhisper Le Fraud and her horrible prediction.

"That's why I was wearing the neon vest and the helmet and the stop sign," she explained, "I want to be as visible as possible so that no cars will hit me. And I've been thinking, you always have such bright and colorful outfits. Surely if I dressed the way you do, it would help a lot with the whole visibility issue."

Serena could not believe that sensible, calm Samantha was actually taking this shite seriously.

"So, you're telling me that you want to borrow my clothes because a mortal psychic told you you were gonna get run over by a Chevy Volt?"

"Uh, yes."

"Uh-huh."

The wheels in Serena's brain began to turn. Of course, this whole psychic thing was a bunch of baloney. But why not take advantage of the whole situation? Why not have a little fun?

"Well, sure, Sammy. Of course you can borrow some of my threads."

"Oh, thank you, Serena! I promise I'll give them back. Make sure they're your brightest, most visible outfits."

"That can be arranged." Serena snapped her fingers and a cardboard box full of clothes appeared in her arms. Really, it looked more like a psychedellic rainbow stuffed into a box. Samantha almost wanted to cringe at the flamboyant styles her cousin had chosen for her. But the bright colors would keep her safe, and that was all that mattered right now.

"You know, Sammy," Serena began, "This getting-run-over-by-a-Chevy-Volt thing is serious business. I don't know if you've heard, but a lot of witches have been getting run over by Chevy Volts lately."

Samantha put down the shimmery metallic blue miniskirt she had been examining and looked at Serena. "What? Really?"

"Yeah! According to the Daily Witches' Gazette, five witches have been run over by Chevy Volts in the past two and a half months. They're saying it might be some kind of curse."

"What? I haven't heard about anything like that!"

"You haven't been reading the Daily Witches' Gazette, have you?"

"Well, no."

"Well, there you go. You remember Miss Drinkwater? Our teacher at Aunt Hagatha's school back when we were about twelve? Her brother's best friend's girlfriend's dogsitter's godmother was one of the ones who got hit. She was checking the mail right on the curb in front of her house, and BAM! Dead as a doornail in two seconds. The Chevy Volt knocked her body clear to the post office."

Samantha gasped. "Oh, my stars! That's… that's horrible."

"Sure is. So, what I think is that we can't take this prediction too seriously. My colorful outfits will help and all, but I think we ought to take even more precautions."

Now Serena had Sam's attention. "Like what?"

"Well, for a start…" Serena made a gesture with her hand and Sam's safety vest floated over to her. She snapped her fingers, and a red LED light appeared in each corner of the garment, front and back. "Lights," she said, "You'll definitely need lights."

"Ohhh… You're right! That's exactly what I needed!" Samantha was eating it all up.

"But I don't think we should stop there," Serena continued, "This is a critical situation here, so we need as many lights as we can get. I'm talking about…" POOF! "Christmas lights. Battery operated, so you can wrap them around yourself while you walk. And look- press this button and they blink!"

Samantha stared at the long string of multicolored, blinking Christmas lights Serena was holding up.

"Uhhh, I don't think we need to go that far."

Serena tilted her head forward and gave her cousin a serious look.

"Sammy, your life's at stake here! You could very well be the sixth witch in the past couple months to get run over! You need all the help you can get."

"Well… I guess you're right."

"You bet I am. And that helmet?" Serena grabbed Sam's helmet off the table. "Forget the bike helmet! You need a mining helmet." The bike helmet was immediately transformed into just that. "Not only is it much more thick and sturdy, but it also has a light on the front. Only make sure you turn the light on during the day too. A good bright light even in daylight can make all the difference."

In addition to all this, Serena also zapped up glow stick necklaces and bracelets, flourescent orange sneakers that lit up whenever you took a step, and a tiny device Sam could attach to her vest that produced a blaring siren sound effect with a push of a button. To her surprise and glee, Samantha ate it all up. Every little bit.

When at last Serena popped out to go sit on her cousin's roof, she collapsed into a fit of giggles. Samantha was so well put-together. So smart. So level-headed. But now, it was Serena's turn to have the upper hand. Watching Sammy parading around in all this ludicrous getup would be better than Candid Camera.

Oh, and the Daily Witches' Gazette? Forget it. There was no Daily Witches' Gazette.

In the days that followed, it became a common sight in Westport, Connecticut to see Samantha Stephens walking up and down the streets dressed like a walking kaleidoscope, lit up from head to toe like a Christmas tree. An invisible Serena often followed not far behind, snorting and snickering and trying not to bust up and give herself away. A few times, she even went as far as to take pictures to show to her friends. The neighbors thought Samantha had lost her mind. Gladys Kravitz was having a field day. By the end of the week, Samantha had already caused three traffic accidents. The mere sight of her had blinded the unfortunate drivers.

And Darrin? Darrin was furious. Not really at his wife, but at his wife's cousin. He knew exactly what Serena was up to, and he was pissed. However, there was nothing he could do about it, for when he confronted Serena, she told him to pipe down and threatened to turn him into a Chevy Volt if he told Sam.

Unfortunately, Samantha's new manner of dressing wasn't the worst of it. Her phobia was getting worse and worse with every passing day.

There was the incident at Gladys Kravits' birthday tea. Because the Kravitzes had a tiny backyard, the party was set up in the front yard instead. Samantha showed up in one of Serena's short dresses with bold, wide stripes on it in magenta and bright green, looking like one of Santa's elves. Except for a few odd looks from neighbors who knew her, everything was fine at first… until a guest arrived late.

"Hi, Gladys!" called a red-haired woman in a sunhat as she pulled up in a clean and shiny Chevy Volt, "Look at my new car!"

Samantha grabbed Gladys's little nephew's astronaut helmet, jammed her head into it, and ran away screaming. Within three seconds, she was gone, leaving her chair knocked over and empty.

Gladys stood up. "You see, everybody?! I told you she was from Venus!"

On another occasion, Darrin came home from work to find a fully-armored samurai warrior standing in his kitchen. He screamed. Clumsily, the samurai struggled, then finally succeeded, to remove its helmet.

"Oh, hello, darling. Back already?"

Yes. The samurai and Samantha were one and the same.

Darrin's heart was still pounding as he recovered from the shock. "Um… Yes. Sam, what are you wearing?"

"It's an authentic, functional replica of 15th century samurai armor. I bought it from the local Japanese cultural center. Indestructable, this thing is." She tapped on the leg to produce a sturdy clanging.

"I… see." Darrin was now staring at her in genuine concern. Maybe the neighbors were right. Maybe Samantha really was losing her marbles. "But, honey, what are you wearing it in the house for?"

"Well, you never know when a Chevy Volt might come crashing through the walls," Sam explained breezily, "I mean, you hear about these things all the time on the news. Like that restaurant downtown where a car crashed through the front window last year, remember?"

"Uh-huh." Darrin was really scared now.

"Well, I'd better get back to work," Sam said, "Dinner will be ready in a little while. Is the water boiling? I should put the pasta in now."

Slowly, with great effort, she took a step forward. The armor was obviously so heavy that it was difficult for her to move. She took another slow step towards the dry pasta on the counter. And another. Clang, draaag. Clang, draaag.

"Um, sweetheart, are you sure you're comfortable in that?" Darrin asked.

"Oh, yes, I'm fine. It gives me the workout I need," she responded. Her forehead was dotted with perspiration.

Her husband continued to watch her with the same discomfited grimace on his face.

"Do you, uh, need any help?"

"Oh, no. You go relax. I'll call you when it's ready."

"Well, okay. If you're sure."

As soon as Darrin had settled himself on the couch, he heard a horrible, cacophonously loud metallic clatter come from the kitchen followed by a heavy thud.

"Darrin? Darrin, help. I've fallen and I can't get up."

Darrin now grieviously regretted ever encouraging her to go and see that stupid psychic. More than once, he even considered marching himself back to the fair to give Madame Esmeralda Moonwhisper Le Fraud a piece of his mind for ruining his wife's life.

But the real last straw came a few days later. By now, Samantha was becoming more and more resistant to even leaving the house. On account of the fact that he had an infection of the punal folds, Darrin needed antibiotics from the pharmacy, so he tasked her with walking over to get it while he was at work. Sure, he could've gone to get it himself after work, but he saw this as an opportunity for Sam to get out of the house and face her fears. It would be good for her.

Oh, how wrong he was.

He had just finished up a meeting with Larry and a client and was about to go pick up some lunch when his office phone rang.

"Hello, this is Darrin Stephens."

"Mr. Stephens?" answered a shrill voice on the other end, "This is Gladys Kravitz, your neighbor."

Huh? Why was Gladys Kravitz calling him while he was at work?

"Oh… Hi, Mrs. Kravitz. What can I do for you?"

"Well, actually, I'm calling about your wife."

"My wife?"

"Yes. She's acting very strangely."

Uh-oh. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you see," said Mrs. Kravitz, "She won't move. She's been standing frozen at the crosswalk for an hour and a half. Hasn't moved a muscle. We can see her from our front window."

"She won't move?" Darrin asked, perturbed.

"No. I saw her walk out your front door like she was going out someplace, but then she walked up to the crosswalk and just stayed there. Been there ever since."

Oh, no. Suddenly it all made sense. Samantha must have left the house to go to the pharmacy, but never made it there. She was too afraid to cross her own street. Oh, boy.

"Well- Well, have you tried talking to her?" Darrin questioned.

"Yes," Gladys said, "She won't talk. She just stands there like a statue, staring into space like she's seen a ghost."

"Well, I- um…" Darrin stammered, flustered. He didn't know what to say. Finally, he made up his mind. "I'll be right there, Mrs. Kravitz."

As soon as he hung up the phone, he knew that enough was enough. They needed help. Real help.

"So, you see, Doc, I just don't know how to snap her out of this phobia. At first, she thought it was ridiculous. Now she barely leaves the house, and when she does, she'll only go wearing bubble wrap, a safety vest, and enough lights to cause a burnt retina with one quick glance! And get this- the other night at 3 AM I woke up and found her planning the dessert menu for her funeral. Her funeral! She wants New York cheesecake and a chocolate fountain, but with marshmallows and jumbo raspberries instead of strawberries. AGH!" Darrin threw his hands up, then face-planted on the doctor's desk and groaned. "I don't know what to do."

"Hmm…" The doctor looked at Darrin, thoughtfully mulling over the weird situation that had just been presented to him. "You know, it might've been better if you had brought Samantha herself to come talk to me about this."

"I tried," said Darrin, "She wouldn't come because she knew she'd have to walk across that big parking lot to get inside."

"I see…" the doctor said. This was more serious than he'd thought.

"I know you're not a psychiatrist," Darrin added, "But you always have such good advice."

After another moment of careful thought, the doc straightened up in his chair and spoke.

"Well, this is definitely an unusual phobia, that's for sure. But it happens. Everyone has their fears and weaknesses. And these women- they're so sensitive, you know? You're right about me being no psychiatrist, but I think I have an idea on how we may be able to help your wife. Ever heard of something called exposure therapy?"

"That's the idea that exposing the person to whatever they're afraid of will help ease their fear, right?"

"Yes, in short. Now, I think we ought to try a little exposure therapy on Samantha. If my idea doesn't work, take her to a shrink. But for now, this is what I had in mind: There's an event going on downtown tomorrow that…"

Saturday mid-morning, Darrin announced to his wife that they were going out. He forced her to ditch Serena's absurd clothing and the bubble wrap, got her into the car, blindfolded her, and began to drive. Samantha had no idea where they were going, and he wasn't going to tell her until she saw it for herself.

"You know, sweetheart," Darrin began as they neared their destination, "We all have our fears and phobias. Even me. I'm afraid of potato bugs, did you know that? Can't even look at a photo of one. But…" Sam felt the car turn a corner as her husband continued to speak. "…Sometimes, exposure to whatever it is we're afraid of can actually help us feel less afraid of it. Once we're exposed to our fear, we'll eventually realize that there's nothing to be afraid of in the first place."

Although Sam didn't say anything, started to get nervous. She began fidgeting in her seat.

Soon, the car came to a stop. Darrin helped his still-blindfolded wife out of the car.

"Exposure," he went on, making her truly anxious now, "Helps us realized that it really isn't as bad as we though. Now take a big step onto the curb here… yep. Which is why," he removed the blindfold, "I brought you here."

Samantha immediately recognized where they were. Downtown. But not downtown as it usually was. Oh! Oh, the horror!

"Hello, folks. Welcome to the 23rd annual Chevy Volt Show," an old balding guy with a nametag greeted the couple. Sam didn't even react. She was still gawking in terror at the dreadful sight before her. Chevy Volts of every make and color lined the street as far as she could see. Worse still, an endless stream of Chevy Volts filed continually into the locale with no end in sight.

She began to panic. "N-no. Nonononono…" She took several slow steps back. Her eyes looked like peeled potatoes.

"Now, honey, take a deep breath." Darrin grabbed her arm to keep her from going anywhere, but she barely registered the feeling. "Everything's just fine- "

Just then, a Chevy Volt owner right behind them loudly and abruptly revved up his motor. Poor Sam, already senseless with fear, could take no more.

"I CAN'T!" she screamed. Without thinking, she ran into the street…

…And was run over by a passing Chevy Volt.

Darrin screamed. The Chevy Volt was going at 25 miles an hour. There was the awful screech of tires, the long, blaring wail of the car horn. When the Chevy Volt hit her, she just happened to come into contact with the battery compartment, which electrocuted her. The sheer force of the collision catapulted her body ten feet into the air, where she flew like a humanoid shooting star, trailing smoke. Sparkling electricity hissed and crackled as it engulfed her body like a storm of lightning bolts. Every hair on her head stood straight up.

She seemed to soar above the street in slow motion. Midair, Sam was thinking that it was really a rather shocking experience. Maybe it was the electricity going to her brain, but it was almost… exhilarating. Freeing. Surprisingly, she didn't feel an ounce of fear. Still, she felt bad for Darrin. He was standing at the front of the crowd that had gathered, slack-jawed in pure and unadulterated horror. She could hear him yelling her name. It sounded long and deep and slow, the way it sounds on TV when they slow people's voices down for comedic effect. SAMAAAAANTHAAA.

At the highest point of her Chevy-Volt-induced flight, she seemed to linger in midair a moment. Briefly, she took in the fantastic aerial view of the stunned people watching below…

…Before she finally landed face down on the sidewalk half a block away.

"OH, MY GOD!" Darrin exclaimed. Fearing his wife had expired, he ran to her. Samantha wasn't moving. She lay smoking like a freshly fallen meteorite on the cement. Darrin reached out to touch her, but quickly drew back when he recieved a jolt of electricity.

But what surprised him and the onlookers even more was when, out of the blue, Sam shot up into a cobra stance, then hopped to her feet.

"You were RIGHT, Darrin!" she proclaimed loudly for all to hear. "You were right the whole time!"

The ends of her hair were singed and smoldering, same as her clothing. Tiny bolts of electricity still zapped and sputtered off her body. Her pupils were the size of pinpoints and held a dazed and wild gleam.

"Now I know there's nothing like facing your fears!" Sam went on passionately. "Exposure really does work! I mean, look at me! I've just been hit by a Chevy Volt. I'm alive! I'm fine! I've never felt better! And guess what? I'm not afraid anymore!" She raised her fist towards the sky.

"I should've had more faith in you, Darrin! You ALWAYS know what's best for me! Thanks to you, I'm cured of my Chevy Volt phobia! You're the best husband in the WHOLE world!" Presently, she began staggering towards Darrin's car. "Now, let's go home. I'm staaarved."

With that, she fell face-first onto the side of the car, stunned. Upon making contact with the vehicle, there was an audible electric zapping noise, and sparks could be seen.

Samantha was officially supercharged.

"I know I was a little out of it when I made that speech about how great you are and how exposure really works, but it's true. I'm really not afraid of getting run over by a Chevy Volt anymore. I'm cured!" Samantha said that evening over Chinese takeout. Darrin had insisted she take the night off from cooking, since she had just been hit by a car and all.

Darrin shook his head. "Boy, when I said exposure therapy, I didn't mean taking it to that extreme!"

Samantha shrugged. "Oh, well. Maybe it was what I needed."

Despite the incident that had occured earlier that day, Samantha was entirely unharmed except for a small scratch on her lower left elbow. Now that she had trimmed off the singed ends of her hair, you could hardly tell that anything had happened to her at all. Oh, except she was still supercharged due to having been electrocuted. This was interfering with her powers. Earlier, when Darrin wasn't looking, she'd tried to telekinetically retrieve her hairbrush and had accidentally blown it up instead. When trying to pop upstairs to the bedroom, she had ended up in the Kravitzes' front yard instead. ("EE-ABNEEEEEER!")

"I think," she said to Darrin, stirring her chow mein around with her chopsticks, "It must be like those people who are afraid of dying and then have a near-death experience. Once they see how great it feels to be rushing up towards that glorious white light, they aren't afraid anymore."

"Sam, that's a terrible way to put it."

"Well… you know what I mean."

Darrin leaned back in his chair and exhaled. "I'm just glad you're alive. I thought for sure you were a goner."

"Oh, Darrin, of course I'm alive." Sam reached across the table to squeeze his hand, but he stopped her.

"Ah-ah-ah! Don't touch. You'll shock."

"Oh. Right. Sorry, darling."

Yep, Darrin thought. That wife of his… she sure was as tough. Just like a cockroach.

"Now, hold on," he said, "I want to see what my fortune cookie says."

He unwrapped his cookie, cracked it open, and took out the little piece of paper inside. Instantly, his expression darkened.

"What's it say?" Sam asked.

"It says… It says that my cause of death will be choking on a tuna sandwich."

Samantha laughed. "Where do they get these things from?"

But Darrin was not finding it humorous. "Sam, fortune cookies never say things like this! This is downright scary." His face looked as if he'd just found out his best friend had died. His wife looked at him thoughtfully.

"You know, Darrin, there's nothing like a little exposure therapy to help you get over it. How about a nice tuna sandwich for dessert?"

Just then, Endora popped in.

"Hello, children!" she trilled. Tonight, she was wearing a smart blue skirt and blazer instead of her usual witch robes. "You called, Samantha?"

"Mother! Yes! I was wondering, could you fix the television?" Sam pointed towards the living room.

The sight that met Endora's eyes was that of a television badly busted. Its sides were smashed in. Crooked wires stuck out at every angle, and what remained of it was charred black. Endora was shocked.

"Samantha, what ever happened to your television?! Did Donald mistake it for a chair?"

"No, of course not. I accidentally blew it up trying to turn it on."

Darrin let his forehead fall into his hands. "Oh, Sam…"

"What?" Endora narrowed her eyes at her daughter. "How did you- "

"Never mind, Mother. I'll explain later. It's… a long story. Now. The television?"

"Yes, of course."

ZAP! With one wave of Endora's arm, the TV was as good as new.

As thanks for fixing the television, the Stephens invited Endora to pull up a chair and join them for dinner. Endora declined, as the food didn't look like authentic Chinese food, but still, she joined them with a cup of tea (that she zapped up herself).

"Mother," Samantha said as they finished their meal, "I've been meaning to ask you, do you know where I can get a subscription to the Daily Witches' Gazette?"

"The what?"

"The Daily Witches' Gazette. Serena told me about it."

Endora eyed Sam in confusion. "The Daily Witches' Gazette? I've never heard of that. The Warlock Times, yes, but never the Daily Witches' Gazette. Are you sure that was what it was called?"

Samantha went quiet. Suddenly, it all clicked.

Without warning, she bolted up out of her chair. "AAAAGH! Serena! I'm gonna GIVE IT TO HER!"

She popped out without another word. And immediately regretted it. She was back in the Kravitzes' front yard.

"ABNEEEEEEER!" Gladys Kravitz screamed from the window.

Bonus joke: Why did Samantha marry a mortal? Because she was feeling darin'.