I have been reading with great interest the stories of the driverless cars. It reminded me very much of the 1967 red Mustang that my brother once owned. This cardid not drive by itself, but it certainly had a mind of its own and it seemed to be bent on trying to kill my brother. I wrote about the story in my very first book many years ago, and since then I have to confess I've often wondered exactly what had been going on with that car.
In 1981 my brother, Terry, purchased an old red Mustang that had caught his eye the local dealership. It was certainly not a practical car for he had five children, but something about the car appealed to him and he bought it. The car handled well enough in the beginning. My sister, who was 15 years old, was also fascinated with the vehicle. It was built in the same year that she was born. At first my brother used to tease her and tell her that when he was done with the car he would give it to her, but then he began to hedge when she asked about the vehicle.
One night Terry and I were sitting in the kitchen talking and he confided to me that there was something terribly wrong with the car. It seemed that about a month earlier the Township the been doing roadwork and had rerouted traffic so that it ran along a highway that actually ran through a local cemetery. There were retaining walls on both sides of the highway to hold back the graves. When they built the road they actually had to move graves further up the hill and it was those graves that threatened to slide down from time to time. Terry told me that each time he drove through the cemetery the car seemed to try and swerve into the retaining wall. He said it was as though someone else grabbed the wheel and stomped their foot down on the gas. He had to wrestle for control of the steering wheel on several time and he had come within inches of striking that retaining wall. Our older brother, Jerry, was known for his mechanical ability and he pulled the braking system apart several times but could find nothing wrong with it. He replaced the steering column and checked every conceivable possibility, but could find nothing wrong with the vehicle. Furthermore, as long as you stayed away from that road that ran through the cemetery, the car did not seem to have any problems. But as soon as they took the car onto the cemetery road, it again tried to strike the retaining wall. It was as if someone else had control the car-- or the car had a mind of its own.
Eventually Terry parked the car because he was afraid to drive it. He put the car in a storage shed and left it there for several years. I know that on several occasions he got the car out and tried to drive it through the cemetery, but each time the car reacted as though someone else wanted him to run into the that wall. Finally, Terry made arrangements for the car to be crashed at a local junkyard. He was afraid that the pretty little car would be spared by someone in the junkyard in its last moments, and so he actually made arrangements to watch the car get crashed. For a man who loved vintage cars, this had to be difficult, but Terry believed that there was something significantly wrong with that vehicle. Any time I hear stories of vehicles that drive themselves, or of cursed or haunted cars, I remember riding in that little red Mustang-- and I remember the fear my brother's face when he told me why the car had to be destroyed.
Patty Wilson
author: "Haunted Pennsylvania"
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