Although it was 2010, Shurby's Never Inn looked like it had come through a time warp. Especially with the old Buick in front of it. Shurby's was one of those combination cafe, gas station, garage, bait and 7-11 stores that dot rural America. There are thousands of them that still exist today. In many cases the entire town is made up of one of these, a post office and a general store. These towns are empty of teenage kids, who have long since moved to some big city to seek their fortune. The jobs left these places decades ago. Now it is the veterans, disabled, and spinsters who's house was paid in full generations ago, that still live here.
Rick came out to pump the gas for the old buick. The act in and of itself strange where only self-service pumps have populated the cities for twenty years at least. He noticed the inversion fog clinging to the ground as the surrounding mountains were silhouetted against a clear sunset purple sky. He look up to see the driver of the Buick and was met with his own reflection. He had never seen windows tinted so darkly, and figured it must just be a trick of the light, but a small voice in his head knew better. The hair on his arms and neck were standing on end as he rounded the Buick to the driver's side, just in time to see a fifty dollar bill flutter down and bony fingers quickly withdrawing to the shadows of the car.
Rick picked up the bill and yelled at the window, "Did ya want it all in gas?" He was met with silence. This time he knocked on the window and yelled it again. He was still met with silence. He was starting to get annoyed, when he thought to himself that fifty bucks is fifty bucks, and he wasn't in much of a position to be choosey. He held the bill up to the light by the pumps to make sure it was real, and it appeared to be. There was the shiny hologram that was put on everything these days to verify the authenticity of the software, the money or anything else.
He was starting to think that he was being P'unked and there were television cameras hidden near by or that he had walked into a Stephen King novel. Strange that he died just a week ago on the nineteenth, being hit by a car while he was walking along the roadside. That was how he nearly died back on June 19th of 1999. Rick didn't cotton much to stories of possessed cars like Christine, which was a 1958 Plymouth Fury. but he did like Stephen King's stories. He remembered there was another book by King about an old car that was kept in a garage by the Highway Patrol that was never made into a movie. He liked that story better than Christine and kept digging in his memory for the title of the book.
He looked up to the pump, nearing the fifty dollar mark and made his way to the handle. He was sure the car could hold much more gas, because fifty bucks didn't go that far these days, but he wasn't in the mood to get into a yelling match with the car's window again. As he was pulling the nozzle out of the car, he noticed a spark in the interior of the car. It was sort of purplish. It might have been the color of the tinting or the spark itself was purple, but either way he rushed to get the gas nozzle back in the pump. He was in the mood to be blown up by some idiot lighting cigarettes while the car was being filled up.
Wordlessly the car started to pull away from the pumps and make its way back on to the road, when Rick spotted more flashes of light from inside the car. One of those flashes must have struck the right place in his memory, because the title of the King book came rushing back in. The title was From a Buick 8.