The monster that lives on the other side of the inter-dimensional portal in your AC compressor whispers to you through your truck radio.
feed me human
“Jerry,” you say, addressing the demon by his True Name, “you can’t keep doing this to me, man. I can’t afford it. It’s like Dubya said: freon isn’t free.”
cross me if you dare, mortal, but if you fail to heed my demands your soul is forfeit
“Look, man, let’s be real here. The voice-through-the-radio thing is cool and all, but I have a feeling if you could take my soul, you’d be showing yourself in a more- err –bombastic manner?”
An eerie silence fills the cabin of your truck. The cool air blowing from your vents turns wet and hot. You begin to sweat almost immediately. You bang on your dash, but the air remains hot. You think you can almost see a faint red light coming from the AC vents.
“Jerry?” you call.
fine, maybe i lied about the soul thing, but you’d better believe I can fuck up your air conditioning
You drive straight to the auto parts store. It’s summer in Louisiana.