An hour later, her beau hasn't returned. Worse, the scratching noise is still grating on the roof. Working up her courage, the girl gets out of the car. In the mist, she calls her date's name. She turns and sees her dismembered boyfriend, hanging from a tree branch, his bloody fingernails scraping against the roof of the '57 Chevy.
Urban myths are seemingly without number.
Good band name. They used to say that about Castro. But it does make you wonder. I read another story that Beanie Babies, those insufferable garage sale stuffed animals, are poison and could kill you if you put them in your mouth. There's some truth to that.