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Have you ever heard the urban legend about the girl in Detroit who, while walking, was run over on a lonely deserted street? The driver thought he had just hit a speed bump and kept driving, not knowing it was a teenage girl and he was dragging her along the highway, actually dragging the life out of her. Legend has it that if you drive over that stretch of road where she was killed, you can hear her frantic, panicked knocking on the outside of your car. As firm believers in the story, teenagers have been known to spend endless Saturday nights roaming along the streets of Detroit hoping to find that street and to hear that desperate knocking. Luckily, for me, I had not heard that story when this summer, my friend Christine and I, experienced an urban legend of our own.

It was a typical hot, humid, dull Houston evening. I had finally gotten my license two weeks earlier and was quite inexperienced with driving at night. Feeling the freedom of being able to get into the car and go whenever I wanted was amazing and Christine and I decided to celebrate my license with a trip to the movies. The car trip to the movie theater was mundane and uneventful. When we arrived at the theater we piled out of the car and went into the movie theater for Freaky Friday.

After the movie was over we ambled back to the car knowing that the quicker we got into the car and drove home, the quicker we would walk into her house and be engulfed with boredom. We got into my 15 BMW station wagon, my parent’s car and not my choice. The car is low to the ground with a backseat and an open space behind it to be used as a trunk. When you open the door, the interior light does not light.

We drove out of the parking lot still laughing about the movie. Being the horrible navigator that I am, I called my mom to make sure that I was heading the right way in order to get back to Christine’s house. After getting my mother’s directions, I drove onto the on-ramp for 4. We talked for about 10 minutes, then realizing that neither of us are interesting people; we decided to listen to the radio. Christine switched on 104KRBE and her favorite song “ Where is the Love” was on. I turned the music up really loud and we started to dance in our seats. Christine, caring more than me what other people think of us, turned down the radio when she noticed other cars glaring at me flopping my head back and forth attempting to dance. I was laughing at her insecurities as she scowled at me, when suddenly we heard it. A violent taping was coming from behind us as if someone was knocking on the car. Forgetting all of my drivers ed training, and you know, basic common sense, I slammed on my brakes. It wasn’t my fault; my automatic response was to get out of my car as fast as I could. Quickly, glancing around, and noticing that I’m stopped in the middle of 4, I pressed my foot down hard on the gas pedal. It had now been about 0 seconds since the knocking. There were thousands of things flashing through my mind. Was someone in the car? Was someone on top of the car? Was I about to get violently murdered while driving, like I had seen so many times in scary movies? After attempting to sort through my thoughts I remembered that I was not the only one in the car and I turned my attention to Christine. I would love to be able to say that I turned to her and she was laughing hysterically about playing a joke on me by knocking on the car, but she wasn’t. She was in a worse state than I was. It seemed that she had retreated into herself. Her face was buried in her hands and the little face that her shaking hands didn’t cover was bright red. “Are you okay Christine?” No answer. “Christine, talk to me!” She looked at me and with almost a whisper said, “ No, then he will hear me.” Not expecting this answer and being the truly caring friend that I am, I burst out laughing. “You tricked me,” I said, “ for a minute there I actually thought you weren’t the one who was knocking and you were actually scared.” She turned to me with a pale look of horror on her face, straight from a scary movie, and said, “ It wasn’t me”. Always being able to tell when she was lying, and knowing now that she was not, I started to get more nervous. I attempted to keep up my cool and confident front and calmly said, “Anyone who is in the back of my car, I would like to know what you want and who you are.” At least that’s what I rehearsed in my head, what actually came out sounded a little more like, “anwhoisbackseacawhoru”. Christine looked at me and asked what I just said and I replied that I didn’t know.

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At that point we heard a quicker louder taping. I looked over at Christine who was visibly freaking out now. She started frantically yelling, “ Whoever is back there, you are a mean person and you suck.” I glared at her with disbelieving eyes. “First of all Christine,” I said tensely, “ there is no one back there, and second of all, what are you doing telling the KILLER that he sucks.” There was silence in the car for 0 seconds, which was worse than noise. I finally asked Christine to turn around and check behind the backseat to see if anyone was back there. She stared blankly at me, as if to tell me that that was the stupidest question anyone had ever asked her. “Are you crazy? I’m not turning around,” she screamed at me. I quietly informed her that I couldn’t possibly do it because I was driving. She hysterically replied, “ I don’t care because you suck.” Now I know this doesn’t make much sense now, but to two girls in a state of panic it made sense at the time. I wanted Christine to call my mom to see what she said about this whole situation, but clearly that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. So we just continued on driving. I switched on the radio and “Fighter” by Christina Aguilera blared through the speakers. Christine and I started to sing really loudly as if we were showing our intruder that we weren’t scared of him.

We drove into her driveway and Christine bolted out of the car and left me. I cried out for her not to leave me but she ran to her door ignoring my pleas. I slammed my car into park and was 10 steps behind her. But abandoning me did her no good, because when she got to her front door she found it locked. I laughed at her misfortune but my amusement was cut short when I realized that we were still outside with our potential killer. We went around to her parent’s bedroom door and pounded on it like our lives depended on it. It seemed like they did! Her mom opened the door and asked us what was wrong. We told her about the taping and she looked at us and told us we were stupid. I looked at her and told her that that wasn’t the exact comfort we were looking for. She said I was 16 and I needed to calm down. I told her I would if she would come back out

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