The Garage of Doom

Tyres. Exhausts. Brakes... Kills?

A Guantanamesque nightmare, this workshop of atrocities stands guard over the silenced screams of a thousand unwary motorists. Few who enter its sinister confines will be seen again.

Rumour has it that the mechanics' deadly '24 hour service' technique involves Battery and the administration of Shocks. And then you get the bill.

Locals lower their gaze and murmer: "arrive in a Daewoo, leave in a hearse".



Hmmm. Or is it:
The one-stop shop for all your automotive accident needs?...



A quiet, sunny Saturday afternoon in wild West Fife:

A crumpled, smouldering, windowless hulk of a car wheezes its way onto the forecourt of the National Autocare and Undertakership discount warehouse*. As the car's engine chokes its last and the vehicle freewheels to a halt, the dented driver's-door gives a click, then creaks raggedly open. A tall man, his eyes obscured by a grubby, wide-brimmed hat steps slowly from the car and straightens his back.

"Awrite Neebour?" he says.
"Patch ur up."
"And gie ma pal in the passenger seat a decent burial."

The man sways slightly in a surprising breeze.

In a public park a mile away, an amateur linesman is struck on the ear by a half eaten steak bridie thrown from a souped-up Nova. A dug berks.



*formerly known as 'the Undertakeaway', a persistent problem with misguided passersby popping in to ask for black pudding suppers and Irn Bru forced the business into an expensive rebranding excercise.



A track with fear, death and hats - but not garages:
Death Wears a Stetson - The Architects of Fear