🚘 The Devil Went Down to Georgia Auto Mechanics

Joyce Ferguson considered it a coincidence that a man in a baby-blue suit happened to walk up to her stalled Toyota Camry seconds after she muttered the words, “I would sell my soul to the devil if this car never broke down again.”

“Do you mean that?” the stranger asked in a voice as silky as soymilk in a vegan latte on a hot Georgia day.

Which it was. Only Joyce didn’t have anything to quench her thirst. She thought she’d be home from work thirty minutes ago. Sweat soaked through her work blouse, and she’d thrown her blazer in the car.

She didn’t see where the man had come from. There weren’t any other cars pulled over onto the side of the road beside hers.

“Be careful what you wish for.” His smile was charming, disarming.

Joyce laughed and waved him off dismissively. She didn’t believe in souls, or the devil, or any of that nonsense.

This was the third time Joyce’s car engine had died this month, each time a different problem—which meant she’d needed to fork over $200 or more each time. Despite what the last overpriced mechanic said, she knew it wasn’t the battery.

It was hard to save up for something better when she had to keep investing in her current money pit. Still, it was better than the last Honda with the moldy truck, lack of functional air conditioning, and oil leak that had run it into the ground.

Sometimes she felt like Job being tested in the Bible—before she reminded herself that she didn’t believe in that story. She was a born-again Buddhist.

“Why don’t you pop your hood?” The man removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves. “I know a thing or two about this kind of problem.” His smile was calming, reassuring, like the father she’d never had.

“Are you a mechanic?” She eyed the pristine baby-blue suit, doubtful.

Three cars passed by, one of them kicking up a rock that the man effortlessly dodged. He waited until the rumble of vehicles faded before speaking. “Not exactly. But I am good at fixing things.” He winked at her. “It’s my specialty.”

Joyce had a suspicion he was flirting. She pretended she didn’t notice. The last thing she wanted was for this guy to think she found him attractive. Just because his white shirt hugged a muscular chest and he had a chiseled jaw, did not make him god’s gift to women. But if she didn’t play the part of the thankful damsel in distress, and firmly told him she wasn’t interested, he probably wouldn’t look at her car.

Joyce popped the hood. She drew up beside him to watch him inspect the engine. He wiggled a few cords, checked her oil and radiator fluid, and eyed her battery. Already it had been corroded with blue powder around the metal, even though it had only been a week since she’d called AAA and purchased a new one. Unfortunately, she’d already used her two towing benefits she was allotted this year.

She should have paid for the more expensive plan. But if she had, she wouldn’t have been able to afford her rent.

The stranger grunted as he examined the engine. Joyce suspected that was a bad sign.

“How long have these connections been corroded like this?” he asked.

“The tow truck from AAA just replaced it a week ago. It didn’t look like that when it was installed.”

“AAA,” he muttered in disgust. “Such a waste.”

Joyce wiped the sweat from her upper lip, smearing lipstick on her arm accidentally. “Do you think the guy with AAA sold me an old one?”

He picked up a stick from the side of the road and scraped the blue corrosion off the bolts holding the battery. “It’s possible. Or it might be your problem was never the battery.”

“Before that, it was the serpentine belt.”

“And before that?” His eyes were inky and black, like a void.

She felt like she could fall into the dark depths of his eyes and lose herself there. She found herself leaning closer. The heat of the day faded for the briefest moment, and she swayed on her feet.

Was this what love at first sight felt like?

A truck drove past too quickly, startling Joyce out of her stupor.

It took her a moment to regain herself before she answered. “How’d you know there was a time before that?” She found herself twirling her hair around her finger like when she flirted with an attractive woman at the salsa club.

She forced her hand to be still. She didn’t even like men.

At least, not most men.

“Call it intuition.” He lowered the hood of her car and slammed it shut. “Try it now.”

Joyce hopped into her car, turned the ignition, and it started up. Cold air blasted in her face.

“How’d you do that?” she asked.

Wiggling a few wires and scraping the corrosion off the battery shouldn’t have worked.

“It isn’t going to last long.” He shrugged back into his jacket. “What you need is a good mechanic that provides quality services to diagnose the problem.” He removed a business card from his pocket.

It was powder-blue, like his suit. The cardstock was embossed with raised patterns around an indistinct business name. Before her eyes, the words shifted from a blur to a readable font. It had to be the heat playing tricks on her eyes.

The name on the card was Georgia Auto Mechanic. The font was fancy and elegant, something at odds with every mechanic she’d been to so far.

“Yeah, thanks.” She stared at the card. “It’s just so expensive to go to a mechanic, and I already paid to fix this twice this month already.” At this rate, she wasn’t going to be able to pay rent.

Her aunt might let her borrow money again, but she hated to ask.

Joyce’s eyes burned. She didn’t want to cry in front of this stranger, but her frustration threatened to overflow. After all the research she’d done on the best used cars within her budget, how could she have gotten stuck with another lemon of a car? It was so unfair.

“I understand.” He nodded with empathy. “Tell them Cain sent you, and tell them he insists on letting you use his discount. If that still isn’t within your budget, they can work out a payment plan with you.”

“What kind of discount?” She was still trying to figure out why a man would wear a business suit out in this heat. “Are you the owner or something?” Cain might have known his way around a car, but he didn’t look like he had worked a day in his life with his polished shoes and a manicure nicer than hers.

He shrugged. “I work as a consultant. I send them referrals.”

“Okay, thanks.” She stared at the business car, uncertain. He probably was going to get a referral commission, which was fine, if it was a good mechanic.

It was just that none of them had solved her car problems.

“Go over there today before your car dies again. They have someone who can drive you home.” He patted the car door as if to send her on her way.

Joyce skimmed the address on the card. It was just down the road from her house. She could walk home if she needed to.

When she looked up from the card, the man was gone. The long stretch of road was empty. She hadn’t seen where he’d arrived from either. She hadn’t noticed any cars pulling up behind her. The only place he could have gone to was across the road to the ditch and through the switchgrass. But it was unlikely a man dressed as nicely as the stranger would walk into a field of weeds.

She reasoned she must have been too hot to notice him depart.

At Georgia Auto Mechanic, the sign over the building was the typical bold, blocky letters she associated with testosterone, football, and mechanics. It didn’t resemble the swirling script on the card. But fonts weren’t important to anyone outside an advertising agency. Only the quality of service mattered.

Joyce parked her car in one of the empty spots, spying men through the doors of the open garage bay. Most of them were working on cars, but one man in jeans leaned against a red convertible, tipping back a bottle of water, a stream of liquid running down his chin and his naked chest.

His ripped, naked chest. Once again, Joyce felt that strange sense of ethereal attraction, like she’d felt with Cain, even though she didn’t typically find herself attracted to men. It was unnerving how she’d felt the same uncanny sense of carnal desire twice in the same day—and neither for women.

Now that Cain was gone, she couldn’t even remember what about him had been attractive. She could remember no distinguishing feature except his blue suit. “Devil in a Blue Dress” played in her head.

She didn’t know what had come over her today. Maybe it was the heat. Or hormones? Stress?

The front lobby and reception smelled like buttery movie popcorn. The room was empty, save for a receptionist with a nametag that said “Bub,” but Joyce guessed that wasn’t the receptionist’s real name.

“Cain sent me,” she said to the woman behind the counter. “He told me to ask for his discount.”

The receptionist wore her platinum hair in a high ponytail, showing off high ebony cheekbones. From the grease on her overalls, she looked like she might also have doubled as a mechanic. Though, most mechanics didn’t show off this much cleavage.

Joyce did her best to keep eye contact. Bub was ruggedly feminine in an endearing way that Joyce typically found herself drawn to.

Bub looked Joyce up and down. “Bless your heart, darlin’, I’m guessing you’re going to need a payment plan?”

Joyce bit her lip. Was it that obvious? Or did she just have a sweaty, downtrodden look to her after being stuck alongside the road for thirty minutes? “How did you know?”

The woman leaned across the counter, whispering confidentially. “I bet you would do anything to have a working car again, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, I mean, I would pay whatever I need to. But I’ve already paid for it to be fixed multiple times, and it’s always so expensive. I don’t know if I’ll be able to afford the price. Cain mentioned payment plans?” Joyce hoped if she said she needed a payment plan upfront they wouldn’t refuse her.

The receptionist nodded with understanding. “Honey, Cain only sends us the most desperate customers, people with cars that should probably be in a trash compactor.”

“Oh. Maybe I should go. ” Joyce suspected she was wasting her time. Maybe she needed to start taking the bus to work, which would take close to two hours instead of seven minutes. It would be miserable. But she would be able to start saving for a new vehicle.

Bub grabbed her hand before Joyce withdrew. “Sit tight. The mechanics haven’t even looked at your car. Let them run a diagnostic first.”

“How much does the diagnostic cost?” Sometimes the diagnostic was so expensive, she couldn’t afford to fix whatever they found.

“Don’t you worry about that. It’s free. Do you want to wait in the lobby, or do you want someone to drive you home and wait for a phone call to hear how much our services cost?”

Bub explained it would only take about thirty minutes to run a diagnostic, so Joyce decided to wait. She ate the free popcorn from the machine and drank a cup of coffee in a Styrofoam cup. She indulged in the luxury of extra creamer, which she always skimped on at home because she’d been trying to save money—usually to pay for repairs to her car.

Thirty minutes later, Joyce printed out a list of repairs needed. There were twenty different problems with the vehicle. The only thing that wasn’t a problem was the battery. Replacing the alternator was the most expensive item on the list at $730, but all the other parts and labor added up to a whopping $2,666.00. A cold lump of dread settled in Joyce’s gut. At this rate, it would just be cheaper to buy a new car.

She was probably going to be taking the bus to work for an entire year so she could afford to buy a more dependable vehicle.

“Also, your tires are worn so low, you’re lucky one of them hasn’t blown out.” Bub skimmed the list. “The brakes are close to shot, and you need to get the oil changed, but you can wait and have those done later down the road.”

“Yeah,” Joyce said, feeling a mountain of despair threatening to bury her alive. “Is that with the discount?”

“I’m so glad you reminded me!” Bub said with a wink. “You were sent in by Cain, so that means you get our special pricing plan.”

Bub printed out an additional paper. “Just sign at the bottom of the last page, and we can get started working on your car today.”

Joyce read over the contract. The print was so small, it rivaled the size of print in the Bible. She had to get out her aunt’s magnifying glasses from the glovebox, something Aunt Saga had accidentally left during last month’s visit. The two of them had needed to push the car back to her house when it had died down the street.

Joyce underlined important phrases with her pencil, trying to focus despite the sounds of drills buzzing and motors chugging in the garage. There were a lot of tiny words, but the important ones practically bounced off the page.

Zero percent down.

Zero interest.

No upfront fees.

It sounded too good to be true. Joyce was waiting for the catch. Then she found it.

Services are completely paid for.

You will never have to get your car repaired again.

Pay with your immortal soul later….

“Um, excuse me, but I think I must be misunderstanding something,” Joyce said. “Who exactly is paying for the services here?”

“You are. But don’t worry, not right now.”

“I’m paying later with . . . my immortal soul?” Joyce wasn’t sure she believed in souls. She had left her Christian upbringing behind. All this seemed like a prank.

“That’s right. If you aren’t able to pay with cash, check, or Visa, the company also takes souls.”

“No way.”

“ Way.” Bub leaned forward, smooshing her cleavage enticingly against the counter. If she was flirting, Joyce didn’t mind. “Unlike our regular services that charge an arm and a leg, the Cain special means you’ll get your car repaired, and you’ll never have to get it fixed again.”

Joyce frowned. “Define ‘fix.’ I’ll still have to get oil changes, and replace the tires, and . . . other car stuff.”

“Nope. Never again. You won’t even have to fill up windshield wiper fluid. Everything will function for as long as you continue to drive this car.”

Joyce had read stories like this on the internet, deals with the devil that people claimed were true, but she’d always assumed they were urban legends. Her mother and aunt used to tell her how the devil would come to collect people’s souls who bargained with him—and he loved to collect his payment early. She wondered now if “Bub” was short for “Beelzebub.”

Bub was, in fact, the kind of sexy temptation the devil would send her way—not that she really believed in God and Satan. And yet, here she was. . . .

Joyce tried to focus on what Bub was saying—and reading between the lines. “You said ‘as long as I continue to drive this car.’ That means if I die early in a car accident, I won’t continue to drive this car, so the deal is void.”

Bub placed her hand on a curvy hip. “That would be true, but you can’t die in a car accident. This car will never be totaled or even scratched. I’m pretty sure that’s on page two.”

“Well, I might die from food poisoning or get shot by a burglar.” Joyce could imagine how a devil would manipulate her life to claim her soul early. “Then I won’t be driving the car either.”

“That is such a cliché stereotype,” Bub said. “Cain really works for the best deals for his clients. Read all the clauses on page four and five.”

What? Joyce was Cain’s client? She hadn’t agreed to that!

And yet, she had taken his card and done as he’d instructed to get the discount. She kept reading. There was a long list of methods the devil was not allowed to use to collect one’s soul. He wasn’t allowed to terminate life early to collect payment of a soul. No one else was allowed to terminate life early so he could collect it.

There were a number of natural causes listed which could potentially cause the termination of one’s life: heart attack, stroke, seizure, cancer, diabetes, cirrhosis, respiratory disease, pneumonia, and Covid to name a few. The contract guaranteed at least fifty years of life on earth before dying of natural causes.

Again, it was too good to be true. Joyce kept trying to find another catch, but other than owing her immortal soul, there wasn’t one.

“Why would Cain let me live another fifty years?” Joyce asked. “Why wouldn’t he want to collect early?”

“Immortals are patient.” Bub shrugged. “In any case, Cain really does try to get good deals for his clients. I’ve seen him help more people get out of dead end jobs, toxic relationships, and cure their health problems than I’ve seen god do.”

Her testimonial reminded Joyce of Yelp reviews that had been bought. She couldn’t trust Bub. And yet … Joyce wanted to believe her. Especially as Bub batted her thick eyelashes at her.

Maybe more than the seduction of Bub’s words, Joyce wanted a functional car.

She read the contract again. Bub didn’t rush her. If the car was ever damaged or destroyed in any way, the contract was null.

“What if I leave my car on the railroad tracks and a train hits it?” Joyce asked.

“After your fifty guaranteed years? Bless your heart, your car will be dead and so will you.” Bub adjusted her blond ponytail. “But before that, your car will miraculously fix itself. You won’t need to come back into the shop for something little like that.”

Little, like getting demolished by a train?

Bub grinned. “Believe me, people have tried everything to destroy their cars after they make this deal, but the cars always come out on top!”

The devil had thought of everything. Or almost everything.

Joyce was no lawyer, but she could see the loophole. She could guarantee that she died of some other cause, like a skydiving accident in forty-nine years. That would ensure she died of a different cause than a natural cause related to old age, which would deny her of the one last year she had been promised by the devil, which would break the contract and make it void. She wouldn’t owe her soul—and she would get fifty good years out of a car.

She would never need to go to a mechanic again.

“It’s a pretty good deal if you ask me,” Bub said.

Joyce eyed Bub’s platinum hair, her roots looking natural despite her dark skin tone. Bub was too beautiful to be real.

Joyce lowered her voice. “Are you immortal?”

“Are you asking if I’m one of those devils? No way!” Bub laughed. “I’m just one of the devil’s many servants. Not everyone gets sent to fiery damnation. Some of us get front desk work.” She made a face at that.

Joyce didn’t think working at a front desk was that bad.

Joyce glanced out the door, but none of the mechanics were within earshot. “What bargain did you strike with the devil to get yourself here?”

“Beauty and youth,” Bub grimaced. “I got what I wanted. Too late, I realized I didn’t want everything that came with it.” She bit her lip. “That’s the biggest drawback. Think about the contract carefully. It seems like a good deal, but really, do you really want what it promises? Do you really want a car that never needs to be fixed?”

Joyce did. Nor could she see why asking for beauty and youth was so bad—except that she already got hit on by enough annoying men she didn’t like. People probably didn’t take Bub seriously and thought she was a bimbo for looking so gorgeous.

Joyce supposed anything could be a curse.

This contract with the supposed devil promised Joyce would never have to see another mechanic again. She wouldn’t have that stress in her life. She could save money, time, and energy, and put it toward something else.

Joyce signed the contract with a ballpoint pen.

“I don’t have to sign in blood?” she asked.

Bub waved her off. “Black ink is acceptable.”

She didn’t even believe in souls anyway. And a front desk job wasn’t that bad, she repeated like a mantra to make herself feel better.

“My shift is almost over.” Bub batted her eyelashes at Joyce. “Do you want me to drive you home? I can tell you more about the mechanics on staff on the way. Some sold their soul to the devil, so they work for him too. But they’re really good mechanics. I mean, the devil wants quality souls, ya know?”

Joyce took Bub up on the ride home. Bub drove the company car, a Volvo with the mechanic shop logo on the doors. Joyce turned up the air conditioner full blast—which instantly cooled the car and made her sink into the seat in satisfaction. Her Camry usually took a couple minutes before it felt cool.

Joyce directed Bub down the road before asking, “So the mechanics in the garage, those are souls condemned to eternal torment and damnation?” She thought of the shirtless guy who had an aura of devilish charm about him. She had a feeling he’d been a demon, not a condemned mortal.

“Some are sold souls. The rest have no idea what’s going on. But if you consider minimum wage to be torment and damnation, yes. They’re stuck in a living hell until they advance to better circumstances.” Bub’s warm, brown eyes twinkled before growing somber. “It sort of depends on each individual’s version of hell. And their religion, I guess.”

Joyce was lucky she was Buddhist. She didn’t believe in hell like Christians did. But she still had retained some Catholic guilt that no amount of chanting the Lotus Sutra was ever going to remove.

“Selling your soul to the devil is like recruiting the desperate into a pyramid scheme,” Bub said.

Joyce nodded, sneaking a peek at Joyce’s flawless skin, free of wrinkles. “I think I understand. Owning a soul means free labor to recruit more souls.” Someday Joyce would be destined to a life of servitude—if she didn’t use her clever plan to get herself out first.

Although, even if Joyce didn’t find a way out of the contract, it still wouldn’t be as bad as Christian hell. But it would be a setback to her karma if she regressed to a lower plane of existence after making it thus far.

In Buddhism, there wasn’t one realm of eternal torment, but a bunch of lives that cycled through miserable planes of existence. Joyce could relate to the idea of her current life being suffering, especially with all her car trouble. If Joyce was already in hell, maybe getting a good car was good karma that would lift her upward as she strove for Nirvana.

Joyce went on a date with Bub that weekend. She was certain her karma had improved. Bub picked her up while her car was being worked on.

Bub drove that fancy, red convertible Joyce had spotted in the garage earlier. The car was such a beauty, Joyce couldn’t help being jealous. The seats were genuine leather. The paint job looked so shiny and new. The hubcaps had rhinestones. The sound system was incredible.

Joyce realized the catch in her contract then.

She had sold her soul for a 2005 Toyota Camry. Not for a Lamborghini. Not for a Ferrari. Not for a car with heated seats, blue tooth, navigation, or anything luxury like Bub’s. Joyce would never be able to upgrade her car even if she worked her way up the corporate ladder in the advertising agency.

She should have purchased her dream car, a 1966 yellow Mustang Fastback, prior to signing the contract. But no, she would be stuck with this one for the rest of her days.

Already, she could feel her karma spiraling her downward. Forget the fifty years until she died—she was already in hell.

It was karma. Or, in this case, car-ma.

Sarina Dorie has sold over 280 short stories to markets like Analog, Daily Science Fiction, Fantasy Magazine, and F & SF. She has over one hundred books up on Amazon, including her bestselling series, Womby’s School for Wayward Witches. When she isn’t writing, she teaches and performs belly dance, though she has no intention of competing or selling her soul to any devils.

You can find info about her short stories and novels on her website.

The best way to stay in contact with Sarina Dorie, hear about what she is writing, know when she has a new release, or books offered for free on Amazon is by signing up for her newsletter.

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