This second story happened to my grandmother. She lives in a very small village, and this happened when my father was just a teenager, so everything was even more rural than it is today. A lot of farms and farmer's kids, who would frolic around unsupervised. My grandmother worked shifts in a hospital, and would drive to work on a vespa. But her husband had a car, that he would let the youngsters of the village borrow for fun, as long as they didn't damage it. People in the village were very trusting of each other back then. It was just some lower class model (btw, this was before seat belts were a thing). My father and his friends would borrow it to just drive around, or drive to the town just two miles away, that had at least a small cinema and an ice cream parlor, so they could hang out there. This was around the late 70s, my dad and his friends were only teens, too young to drive legally. But nobody cared. After all, the kids would help around the farms as soon as they were big enough, and driving a tractor isn't that much different.

One night, my grandmother had a nightmare. She dreamed that my father and his best friend had been drinking (again, nobody cared back then), and decided to hit the town for some fun. She watched them take the car, as the key always stuck. She saw my father's friend take the wheel, with my dad as the passenger. They drove off. Towards the forest. Cuz, those two miles to the town went though a thick dark forest, and the roads were curvy as hell, because the village lay in the hills. A lot of drivers, and even more bikers, died in that forest, taking the curves too fast, skidding off the road into the curb, sometimes to be found days later, as the shrubbery covered them. My grandmother watched her son and his friend, taking the curves, laughing, fooling around. Then came the bad curve. The one that had the highest kill count. They flew off the street, and hit a tree. My dads friend lay slumped against the steering wheel. My father was on the forest floor, covered in glass and bleeding. His eyes stared open into the night. Dead.

My grandmother woke up frightened. But as a good catholic women, she tried to tell herself, that it was just a bad dream. And besides, there were no festivities or holidays coming up any time soon, so why should the boys be drinking? And anyways, her son and his friends knew better. She went to work as usual that day, doing a night shift. Her husband, as nice as he was, didn't care too much for supervising the kids. He left them to their own devices, as usual. So my dad went to hang out with his friends, as usual. And someone had brought some liquor that day, that they had nicked from their parent. As not that unusual... The boys drank, started fooling around, getting ideas of how to have a good time, and one of them suggested hitting the town. My father and his best friend went back to his home. But once there, my father felt too drunk to come. His friend however, wanted to go. So, he borrowed the car.

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What happened then in detail, is a mystery, as only my father's friend was there to see it. But it seemed to have gone like this: He took the car, and drove out of the village, already swaying. He turned up the radio for some vibes. He took the curves as close as he could, because why not? You only live once. Then came the bad curve. He went of the road. He hit a tree. Lay slumped over the steering wheel. And shrubbery covered the car. But, he wasn't dead. And it was just his luck that another farmer, coming from the town, saw the tail lights blinking in the bushes, and stopped to check it out. He saved the teens life.

The news didn't immediately hit the village. Everyone went about their business, and when my grandmother's husband saw the car missing in the morning, he shrugged it off. It wasn't until his wife came home and started panicking, that people even realized what had happened. My grandmother screamed at her husband, when he simply told her, the boys probably just took the car to drink something. Her yelling woke up my dad, who had a massive hangover, and despite is age still feared his mum would beat him for drinking. Instead, she clutched him to her chest, when she saw he was alright. She was still worried for his friend, until the news got round that he was in the hospital (not the one my grandma worked in), with a concussion and some cuts, but otherwise okay. However, once she told her story, a lot of folks were creeped out, and didn't know what to think. Mass was pretty full that Sunday...

Although a lot has happened since then, this story often gets retold in the village. The folks, though trusting each other, but worried for the kids, didn't leave out the keys to their cars anymore (or perhaps because insurance didn't want to pay, when they heard of it). The bad curve was closed off and a new, smoother route through the forest was built over the years. And whenever my grandmother had nightmares again (which was rare in itself), she would make sure to tell someone of it, if it involved people she knew. Nothing similar to this incident ever happened again, but it did leave a mark on my family and the village, concerning visions and dreams.