Three weeks ago I bought what seemed to be a nice, somewhat elderly car in good shape. A Volkswagen produced in 2007. After going for a test drive, I even let it get checked over by another repair shop, I bought it. It was the best bargain I ever made. I was happy, mere enthusiastic. Anywhere I could, I would take my car, even if I had to walk for five minutes only.

After a week driving carelessly, I was stopped by a police officer. "Just a routine control,“ he said, "driver's license and car documents, please.“

I fumbled my wallet out of my jeans and handed him my drivers license, then, bent over to the glove box to get the car documents. I opened the glove box and saw that it was empty. I thought, I put my car documents in there, but in this very moment, I wasn’t sure anymore.

The police officer was merciful and let me go. I went home to search for the documents.

That was when the car gave me a first shock. I rolled over a street bumper and coverage above my head fell down. Slithering I came to a halt and looked at the hole above me. I took the piece of coverage and just as I attempted to stick it back to its place, I caught a glimpse of a piece of paper behind it. I took the paper; it showed a young man, roughly around 25 years old, smiling into the camera while resting his hand on the front lit of this car. Confused, I put the picture into my pocket and placed the coverage back where it belonged.

Back at my house, I examined the images. There were no words written on the back, no sign of when or where it was taken. Thinking it’s just a picture of a pre-owner of my car that somebody hid there some time ago, I put it in the drawer of my desk and went to search my car documents.

The next day, I was on my way to the department, which will display me new car documents, I took a look into the glove box again, expecting it still to be empty.

Surprisingly, I found a notebook there. I figured I oversaw it the last time; but now I know, it wasn’t there when I opened the glove box the last time. Black leather cover, about half an inch thick — likely one of the brand "Moleskin“. I decided to take a closer look after I got my car documents.

When I got back, I sat at my desk and opened it. It seemed like a diary; the title on the first page read "My First Car“. I started to read. The first entry was from September 12th, 2009. The writer told when, where and how he had got his new car; merely euphoric he wrote, what he had planned with it, where he had wanted to go. The following entries were all the same: Where he had been with the car, what he had done with it, how he had cleaned it, and so on — until the date of November 6th.

At this point, the logs started to go crazy. They were still written in regular intervals, but it seemed like the writer went crazy. The sentences got weirder, merely incomprehensible. The last sentence dated on November 22nd. It read, "I give up, take me.“ Shivering, I laid the notebook aside and went to sleep.

I dreamed. I was driving in my car. It accelerated. I tried to press the brakes but they didn’t move. The steering wheel circled without me doing anything. I drove directly at a cliff. In panic, I tried to open the doors but they didn’t move. Just when the car looped over the edge, I woke up, covered in sweat. The next week was bewildering. Things started to disappear, when I let them in the car. In return, more pictures of the seeming pre-owner appeared. It seemed like the car had a life on its own. Sometimes it wouldn’t start, other times it seemed to start even before I turned the key.

Finally I decided to go to a repair shop to get this car checked. But every time I tried to take the last turn into the street where the repair shop was located, the steering wheel seemed to blockade so I only could drive straight. I couldn’t even drive to a car selling point. The car wouldn’t let me. Sometimes I couldn’t get out of it, the doors shut down hermetically. One time I passed out and when I woke up, all four doors stood open and there were pictures of the pre-owner lying at every doorstep. On every one of them, he seemed asleep in the driving seat of the car. This car was freaking me out. I never believed in supernatural things, witchcraft or something like that — but at this point I could not deny it. The car was playing with me; somehow controlling where I’ll drive and what I do.

I tried to sell it, but somehow, any potential buyer declined after just setting an eye on the car. I have the strange feeling; it’s even watching me now. I parked it 100 yards away from my door and still it feels like its "car eyes“ are looking directly at me. I don’t know what to do. Sometimes I go to sleep only to wake up in the driving seat. The whole thing erupted in a burst of horrific panic last night. I woke up from a dream in the middle of the night. Only remembered the last image of it.

The pre-owner had been seated in the drivers seat. He had been cut right in three pieces, right there, where the seat belt normally would have been aligned. From shoulder to hip to hip, there be only a mess of blood, guts and flesh of the corpse only had kept its position by the seat belt, which had touched to seat.

In this very moment, I realized my seat belt was fastened. An unpleasant pressure against my skin. I started to panic and with my increasing horror the seat belt fastener seemed to tighten the belt, too. Just as I was to pass out from my hysteria, the Swiss army knife came to my mind — I always have it in my pocket. But I never thought I could really save my life some time.

I cut myself free from the deadly embrace of the seat belt and managed to brake in the windows by stabbing them with the knife. I climbed out of this monstrous car and ran into my house.

And now, I am sitting here, in front of my computer, writing this story. I know I won’t last long, this car controls me, watches me, I think it even is in my head. After I shut down my PC, I will try to destroy it. I'm surprised it even let my write down all this, but maybe it thinks nobody will read it or I surely will not succeed over it. I don’t know.