Several months ago, I found myself in a deeply unsettling
situation. It was a typical evening, and I
was making my way home after a long day's work in the bustling
city. My house, nestled in the
suburbs, lay a considerable distance from the city,
necessitating an hour long drive every night after my 10:00 PM
shift. The journey, primarily through
desolate roads. Once outside the urban sprawl,
was usually uneventful, albeit time consuming.
On this particular night, I felt unusually weary, the kind of
fatigue that doesn't stem from any specific cause but simply
accumulates over a day. I was about half an hour from
home, cruising along a solitary single lane highway, when my
attention was jolted awake by an unexpected obstruction in the
road. Under the dim glow of the street
lights, I could vaguely discern something blocking my path.
I cautiously eased onto the brakes, the fog momentarily
obscuring my view. As I inched closer, the fog
lifted, revealing a massive tree sprawled across the entire Rd.
Confusion set in. There have been no recent storms
or strong winds and the road had been clear when I left in the
morning, leaving my car running. But in park I stepped out to
investigate. The surrounding area showed no
signs of other fallen trees or damage.
Approaching the tree, I realized it stretched from 1 forest edge
to the other, leaving no room to pass.
The oddity of the situation began to irk me, especially when
I considered the nearest detour was a 15 minute drive back,
adding an hour to my already long journey.
Contemplating calling for help, I stood by the tree, lost in
thought. That's when a light suddenly
pierced through the branches from the other side.
It wasn't an approaching vehicle.
The car must have been there already.
It's lights only now flicking on.
As I tried to peer through the foliage, the sound of a car door
opening and closing reached me, followed by footsteps.
Hello. I called out, attempting to
alleviate the tension. A mumble came in response, but
it seemed unrelated to my greeting.
I assumed the other person was equally frustrated with the
roadblock. Then the branches began to move,
rustling as a figure clambered over the tree.
I instinctively retreated towards my car.
The figure, a man with a short beard and buzz cut, dressed in a
thick jacket, landed on my side of the road.
His approach was silent, his face expressionless.
I hurried into my car, my instincts screaming danger.
The man quickened, his pace reaching my window just as I
close the door. He stared blankly at me,
knocking on the glass without a word.
What do you need? I asked, My voice tinged with
fear. He continued to knock, now more
aggressively, his fists pounding against the window.
In a panic, I threw the car into reverse, a dull thud sounding as
the door latch presumably tore from his grasp.
That sound confirmed my worst fears.
I spun the car around and speed off, too focused to even glance
in the rear view mirror. Once I reached the bypass, I
stopped to report the incident. Predictably, the man in his car
were gone when authorities arrived.
I later learned that the tree had been deliberately cut down,
an act that made the Evening News due to its seemingly
malicious intent. Whether the strange man was
responsible remained a mystery. Since that night, I haven't
experienced anything similar on that route.
But every evening as I drive home, even on my most exhausted
days, I find myself wide awake, alert and watchful, haunted by
the memory of that eerie encounter on the road.
I was 29 years old when this harrowing incident unfolded.
It was a chilly winter evening and my husband and I had made
plans to visit his parents house outside the city where we
intended to stay for a few weeks.
Given my husband's late work hours, we decided it would be
better for me to set out with our five year old daughter
earlier in the day while he would follow a couple of hours
later. As we hit the road at around 3,
PMI couldn't help but feel a sense of confidence that we
would reach our destination without any trouble.
However, the winter nights came quickly, and by 4:30 PM it was
already pitch black outside. We were still about an hour and
a half away from my In Laws house, and while I didn't have a
particular sense of foreboding as a mother, I couldn't help but
have concerns lurking in the back of my mind.
We were driving down a desolate back Rd. with no St. lights, and
the feeling of utter isolation began to gnaw at me.
Nevertheless, I tried to shake off my unease, reassuring myself
that we'd soon arrive safely. After all, we had driven this
route countless times without incident.
Around 30 minutes from our destination, I noticed flashing
lights in the distance, 2 blinking yellow lights in the
middle of the road, which I quickly identified as hazard
lights on a car. A sense of dread washed over me
as I realized that this car wasn't pulled over to the side,
but was blocking the road entirely.
I brought the car to a stop about 80 to 100 feet away from
the stranded vehicle, trying to decide what to do.
One thing I was certain of was that I couldn't risk stopping to
help these strangers. Alone in my late 20s with my
young daughter, it would have been reckless to put ourselves
in harm's way. I made-up my mind to call for
help once we were safely away. I assumed any woman in my
situation would prioritize her and her child's safety above all
else. Sitting there, I must have spent
what felt like an eternity contemplating my next move.
With no cell service, I couldn't reach my husband or
father-in-law. Ultimately, I decided to turn
around and head back, but it wasn't that simple.
On A2 Lane Rd. a three-point turn would take too long.
Just as I hesitated, my rear view mirror caught sight of
shadows rapidly approaching in the moonlight.
They were about 30 feet behind my car, and as they drew nearer,
I realized they were people seemingly carrying something.
I couldn't stay put any longer. My body reacted before my mind
could catch up. I shifted the car into drive and
floored the gas pedal. While it wasn't a high
performance vehicle, it responded enough to put distance
between US and those approaching figures.
As I passed by, more people emerged from the roadside,
hurling objects in a desperate attempt to stop me.
I side swiped one of them and my windshield was struck and
cracked by a projectile. I screamed from the impact and
my daughter in turn began to cry.
I reassured her as best I could, but she was just five years old,
and my words did little to console her.
My sole focus remained on getting us away from those
people. Before I knew it, we were
pulling up to my In Law St. which had a guarded entrance.
I pressed the button to be allowed in, and the security
personnel immediately recognized our distress when they answered.
We were granted access and my father-in-law met me at the
driveway armed with a gun. I was in tears and my daughter
clung to her grandmother, equally distraught.
Once inside, I recounted everything that had transpired.
My father-in-law, fiercely protective of us, was visibly
angered by the ordeal. He repeatedly inquired if they
had followed us to this location, but I couldn't be
certain as I hadn't been paying attention to the cars behind us.
I was solely focused on reaching the safety of their house.
My in laws were known for their strict security measures,
complete with numerous firearms and surveillance cameras both
inside and outside their property.
They examined the security footage and noticed a car
passing by their front gate repeatedly as if it was circling
the area. Realizing the gravity of the
situation, we decided to contact the police.
Unfortunately, they informed us that they couldn't assist
because it wasn't considered an emergency and was beyond their
city limits. My father-in-law made it
explicitly clear that anyone entering their property would be
dealt with if necessary, and the police acknowledged his rights
before hanging up. He armed my mother-in-law and me
and instructed us to wait inside the house while he went outside
to inspect the property. We anxiously watched the
security cameras and as he approached the gate, the car
returned. This time it stopped right at
the gate and two individuals got out.
They seemed oblivious to my father in
The most important thing was that we were safe.
A few days later, we learned that there had been several
carjackings in the area. Fortunately, no one had been
seriously injured during these incidents.
I shudder to think about what might have happened had I not
spotted those individuals approaching us from behind.
I remain grateful that we emerged from that nightmarish
situation unharmed, and I've since made it a point never to
drive at night without proper protection.
Whether it's my husband or a firearm, I'll never forget that
fateful night. My girlfriend, Jessica, and I
were the adventurous type, always seeking to escape the
confines of our home and immerse ourselves in the great outdoors.
We had jobs that allowed us to set our own schedules, working
for a larger company but maintaining the freedom to
choose when and where we worked. It was this freedom that led us
to embark on a camping trip deep into the wilderness, away from
the hustle and bustle of city life.
As twilight cast long shadows over the rugged terrain, we
decided to go camping for about a week.
Our destination was a State Park known for its untouched beauty
and the fact that you could camp there for free without the need
for permits or approval. We eagerly packed our bags,
eager for the adventure that lay ahead.
We drove along a Dirt Rd. for what seemed like hours,
completely engulfed in the darkness of the night.
It was then that I made a terrible mistake.
I didn't turn on my high beams. I couldn't fathom why I hadn't
thought of it earlier, and this oversight would haunt me for the
rest of my life. To make matters worse, I was
driving too fast for the treacherous terrain, and the
combination of factors would lead us down a harrowing path.
Suddenly Jessica let out a blood curdling scream, and in the
faint moonlight we both saw it, a massive fallen tree blocking
our path. With little time to react, I
slammed on the brakes, desperately hoping we could stop
before colliding with the obstacle, but luck was not on
our side that night. The sickening crash into the
tree sent me into unconsciousness for a few
seconds. When I came to, my head was
throbbing and the ringing in my ears was deafening, but my
immediate concern was Jessica. In the dim light, I could see
that her eyes were closed and she was unresponsive.
Panic set in. My phone became my lifeline as I
fumble to turn on the flashlight, directing its beam
toward her, what I saw was beyond anything I could have
ever imagined. Blood stark against her white
shirt stained her chest. It was then that I noticed the
branch about the circumference of a finger protruding through
her chest, a gruesome sight that defied comprehension.
It was still attached to the tree, the cruel instrument of
our tragedy. Fearful of causing further harm,
I refrained from touching her. I reached for my phone to dial
911, but there was no signal in this remote location.
Desperation took hold as I considered our limited options.
The truck wouldn't start making escape impossible.
My pocket held a small knife, and it became the only glimmer
of hope in the darkness. Climbing onto the hood of the
truck, I attempted to cut the branch, but the small knife made
little progress. Panic surged through me.
Precious minutes passed, and Jessica remained unconscious.
An agonizing hour ticked by, and I could do nothing but pray.
A strange act for someone who had long abandoned faith.
I clung to hope, praying for hours in what felt like an
eternity. I dared to hope, because
miraculously, Jessica was not actively bleeding during that
hour. The branch had missed her heart,
offering a slim chance of survival.
I checked her pulse. It was weak, but it persisted.
All I could do was wait for help that seemed impossibly distant.
Then, like an answer to my prayers or a stroke of luck, I
saw headlights approaching from behind us.
My heart raced as I leaped out of the truck, screaming and
waving frantically. The driver pulled up behind us
and rolled down his window, demanding to know what was
wrong. I rushed to explain our dire
situation, stammering through the details.
It took a moment for him to grasp the gravity of the
situation. He cursed under his breath and
shown his flashlight on Jessica, confirming our worst fears.
Without hesitation, the man retrieved a chainsaw from his
truck, and I trembled at the thought of what lay ahead.
He began sawing the branch about a foot in front of Jessica's
chest while I covered her with a blanket to protect her from the
sawdust. The vibrations of the chainsaw,
though unsettling, did not stir her.
Finally, the branch was severed and Jessica was free from her
wooden prison. The man and I handled her with
the utmost care, placing her gently in the back seat of his
truck. I joined him in the passenger
seat and he speed down the treacherous Mountain Rd. heading
toward help. Jessica remained unconscious
throughout the journey. We arrived at an EMT station, a
place I had not known existed in this remote wilderness.
The medical personnel were surprised by our unexpected
arrival. They quickly transferred her to
an ambulance, and I climbed in with her.
The nearest hospital wasn't too far away, thank goodness, but it
lacked A trauma center. She needed to be airlifted to a
larger city an hour away by helicopter.
The doctor's grim assessment revealed that she had a
punctured lung, but her heart remained unscathed.
If the branch had been an inch to the left, she would have
perished within minutes. Jessica spent almost two weeks
in a coma. When she finally awakened, her
pain was excruciating and she struggled to speak due to the
trauma in her chest. She endured extensive surgeries
to repair the damage, but the possibility of a lung transplant
loomed in the future. I was grateful beyond measure
that she had survived, and I remained in close contact with
the man who had saved her life. Though Jessica still depended on
oxygen and experienced breathing difficulties, we attended her
monthly appointments determined to help her on the long road to
recovery. We understood that full recovery
might be elusive, but we were prepared to face whatever lay
ahead together. I asked Jessica to marry me
while she was still in the hospital, and she said yes.
Regardless of the challenges ahead, I looked forward to
spending the rest of our lives together.
That night will forever be etched in our memories, and
while I struggle to forgive myself for the accident, I am
grateful that it's a memory Jessica doesn't have to bear.
It was a dark, moonless night and the clock on my dashboard
read three AMI was exhausted, driving home from a work meeting
that had run late. This meeting was a once a year
ordeal, and it had taken place a grueling 8 hours away from my
workplace. The long, desolate Rd. stretched
out before me, winding through the countryside.
Driving through this part of the state was always a dreary
experience, as outside the city it was mostly farmland, with
miles and miles of plain fields of crops.
At least on these barren roads I could space out and only had to
focus on keeping my car on a straight path As I continued on
my journey, seemingly endless fields of crops blurred by in
the darkness. Then out of nowhere, I saw a
massive gap in the crops to the right of the road.
It was as if a part of the field had been torn away, revealing a
car wedged deep into the crops. It looked like the vehicle had
careened off the road and became hopelessly entangled.
This site was unexpected, and I couldn't quite understand how
driving into a field of crops could be all that harmful.
It certainly didn't seem serious enough for me to call for help,
especially since there was still cell service out here.
The car was also eerily silent, its engine off, which led me to
believe that the driver had already been picked up or had
walked away from the scene. I continued driving, putting the
peculiar sight behind me. Just a minute or two down the
road, I noticed a set of headlights approaching in front
of me. As I drew closer, it became
apparent that the vehicle ahead was moving at an exceptionally
slow pace. I had to swerve into the other
lane to pass it. The speed limit on this highway
was 80 mph, but the car in front of me couldn't have been going
more than 25 mph. It was a dangerous pace for such
a late hour. After I passed the sluggish
vehicle, I expected it to speed up and disappear into the
distance. Instead, to my astonishment, it
merged into the oncoming traffic lane and pulled up alongside my
car. I turned my gaze to the driver's
side window and was met with a chilling sight.
A man appearing to be in his mid 40s, with long, disheveled hair
and an unkempt beard was staring directly into my eyes.
What was unsettling was that he didn't seem angry.
Instead, he wore a faint, ominous smirk.
Feeling my nerves fray, I shifted my focus back to the
road, hoping that the bizarre encounter would end there.
However, the car beside me abruptly speed up, swerving in
front of me and slamming on its brakes.
I had to react quickly to avoid a collision, and I too, slammed
on my brakes, skidding to a halt behind the strange car.
It then maneuver to block both lanes of the road, leaving me
trapped. I sat there in shock, about 15
feet behind the mysterious car, unable to comprehend the
severity of the situation. The man wasted no time jumping
out of his car and sprinting directly toward me.
In one hand, He brandished a gun, and he now had a hood
pulled over his head. Panic surged through me as I
realized the danger I was in. With no time to spare, I floored
the gas pedal, desperately trying to escape.
My car lurched forward, but for a terrifying moment it felt as
though it wouldn't respond. Panic clawed at my throat and a
wave of terror course through me as I imagined the horrors that
could await me had the other car I'd seen earlier in the crops
fallen victim to this menacing stranger as well.
Suddenly my wheels found traction and I was able to
swerve my car out of the field and onto the other side of the
road. In the distance, a single
gunshot echoed, a chilling reminder of the danger I had
narrowly escaped. My heart pounded as I speed away
from that horrifying encounter. I dialed 911, my voice trembling
and provided every detail of what had just transpired.
I also mentioned the car I had seen earlier, wedged in the
field of crops. Despite the police's efforts,
the man who had tried to stop me on that desolate Rd. was never
found. They managed to locate the other
car, but it was empty, with no signs of the driver.
It was as if they had abruptly veered off the road, become
trapped, and then vanished without a trace.
The eerie similarity between their situation and what could
have happened to me sent shivers down my spine.
If I had become stuck in that field, the other person in that
car might not have been the only one to disappear that fateful
night. I really wasn't planning on
telling this story, but it's been a few years and I'm not as
freaked out by what happened as I used to be, so why not?
I was only 19 at the time. I had moved across the country
the year before college and had never had any issues driving
home for the different breaks that we had over the school
year. It was winter break and my mom
really wanted me to come home that year to celebrate the
holidays with my family since I hadn't the year before.
I agreed, but I really didn't want to leave my car for weeks.
There had been a lot of car break insurance in the city that
I lived in, and leaving my car to be vandalized, broken into,
or stolen just was not an option to me.
I told my mom that I'd be driving home and she wasn't too
happy about it, but understood. She offered to have my dad fly
out and drive with me, but I didn't want them to go through
all that trouble and I thought a few days on the road by myself
would be a good thing. I'd been having issues in my
personal life and having the time to think about it without
any distractions seemed like a good thing to me.
I packed up a few bags that wouldn't last me the next few
weeks and said goodbye to my roommate who was pretty bummed
out about me leaving. I headed out the door looking
back on it. Now.
My car probably wasn't worth what I went through during that
drive home. It was a 20 year old Honda Civic
that had the propensity to break down a lot and buy a lot.
I mean at least once a month. I just didn't have the money to
replace it. I hopped in the car and was on
the highway within a few minutes.
I got some coffee before heading out of the city so I could stay
awake as long as possible. It was still around 8:00 in the
morning, so I figured I'd drive for around 10 hours before
hopefully finding a hotel and settling in for the night.
I had no definite plans and was following the fastest route
home, which probably wasn't the best decision.
I know now that I should have taken the route that didn't
involve long stretches of Hwy. with nothing but fields for
miles and miles. I stopped a few times for
bathroom and snack breaks and by around 7 PMI was done.
I've been driving for almost 11 hours and didn't want to be a
hazard to myself or others on the road if I kept driving.
While being that exhausted, I found a relatively nice hotel
and got a room for the night, planning to continue my drive
the next morning. That day I'd be driving through
parts of the Midwest, and it wasn't necessarily something I
was looking forward to. The last time I drove through
it, it was a lot of just flat land and cornfields, both things
I thought were boring to look at on a long road trip.
It was winter though, so there was no corn.
The weather could have been better, but I had no issues the
day before, so I hoped that it would stay that way.
The day went by faster than the previous one and the sun was
down before I knew it by 6. PMI was feeling pretty good to
keep going, so I passed through the next city and drove on.
Around 7:00 I started hearing a knocking sound and I wanted to
cry when I realized that it was coming from my engine and it
started to snow. My car began to creep along the
road until I pulled to the side of the road where it completely
gave out. It was getting cold without the
heater on and I knew that I had to get help very soon.
I checked Google Maps to see if I was close to another city, but
the next town I'll be at, a very small one, was still almost an
hour away. I tried calling my parents to
tell them what happened, but my service was completely out.
I decided to use the emergency calls only button on my phone to
call for help and thank God it worked.
The only problem was the closest officer that could respond was
at least an hour away in the town that I mentioned earlier.
I told the dispatcher that obviously I'd wait and she
instructed me to lock the doors and try to hide myself inside
the car enough to where it looked as though no one was
inside. Apparently right where my car
decided to die on me also happened to be a very sketchy
section of the highway that wasn't very safe for stranded
drivers, especially young women. I'm not going to lie.
Having the dispatcher tell me that made me feel physically
I'll I felt like I was going to have a heart attack with how
fast my heart was racing. I put up a sunshield in the
windshield area and thankfully had three extra ones in the car
from when I went car camping. I decided to put those along the
sides and back windshield as well so no one could see inside.
From the outside it would look almost black.
Around 30 minutes into me waiting, I started getting the
feeling like somebody was watching me.
Now. I tried convincing myself that
it was just because of the situation that I was in and that
all the windows were covered anyway, so there was no way that
that was possible. I wanted to shake it off, but
the feeling just wouldn't go away.
No matter how much I told myself that it was OK, there was
something inside of me telling me the situation I was in was
about to get very, very scary. I turned on the screen on my
phone and faced it in the direction of the windows.
Not knowing what I was about to see would traumatize me for
years to come. At first I felt some ease seeing
only the reflection of the sun shield.
I turned my phone towards the passenger side windows and in
the small crack that wasn't covered to my horror, a strip of
window was visible. On the other side of the window
was the face of a man pressed against the glass with a smile,
staring directly at me. My first reaction was this blood
curdling scream. It was a sound that I didn't
know that I even had the ability to make.
It was like fear itself was manifesting in sound.
It almost actually rang in my ears the second the scream left
my mouth. I watched as the man lifted his
face from the glass and heard him begin to laugh, the most
awful guttural laugh I'd ever heard.
Immediately I heard the car move as the man violently tried the
door handle to get access into my car.
I was screaming and crying as he hurled himself around, the car,
howling like it was some animal between his laughing.
It felt like he was taunting me in a way.
I called 911 again and was screaming that I needed help
now. The woman who answered the
second time wasn't as friendly as the first I'd spoken to only
30 minutes prior. She kept yelling at me to stop
screaming, otherwise she wouldn't be able to help me.
I was crying, trying my best to calm down as the man just
outside my car was putting me through this.
She hung up on me and I felt completely helpless.
The only relief that I was feeling at the moment was the
fact that he hadn't been able to break into my car.
I called 911 again, hoping I'd get a dispatcher with more
empathy, and thankfully that was the case.
A man answered and immediately took my distress into account
and helped me calm down enough to get the information he
needed. The officer had been sent almost
45 minutes before and now was only around 10 minutes away.
I was told that they'd have him get to me as quickly as
possible. Given what I was going through,
I was hopeful. But that hope was ripped away
when I heard the sound of what was obviously a rock being
thrown at my windshield. It shattered just enough to
motivate the man to get on top of my hood and start stomping
the windshield until it was broken enough for him to reach a
hand inside. I screamed and climbed into the
back seat. I was trying my best to get out
of reach of this very insane and clearly dangerous person.
They started tearing the windshield out of the way and
his face was even scarier than it was the first time I saw it.
I was paralyzed with fear as I watched him begin to climb
between the glass into the car. I had no choice but to get out
of the car and hope the officer was close by.
I opened the door and turned on my phone's flashlight.
I faced it toward the hood and was so relieved to see that he
had become stuck. He was trying to climb out but
wasn't able to. I then saw the beautiful
flashing red and blue lights in the distance and heard the
sirens as he drove closer. I started frantically waving him
down and he pulled up beside me. He was out of his car in seconds
and another police car was pulling up behind him.
Only a few minutes later I was placed in one of the cop cars
and watched as they actually drew their guns out, demanding
that the man climb out of the car.
This crazy guy was screaming and thrashing his body around.
One of the officers grabbed him by the ankles and pulled him out
of the vehicle. The man tried biting him
multiple times before being slammed to the ground and
handcuffed. They put him in the back of the
other car and told me more officers would be coming down to
take pictures of the scene and a tow truck would be on its way to
tow my car. I was driven to the police
station and gave my statement about everything that happened.
I called my parents who bought me a plane ticket home from the
nearest airport, which the officers were nice enough to
drive me to. I wish I could tell you the man
who did that to me and even give a reason as to why, but he
didn't. He was so mentally deranged that
they said he wasn't even fit to stand trial.
Eventually, I guess he was taken to some state mental hospital
where the last I heard, he's still there.
I wish that there was some justice for the hell that he put
me through, and maybe some people would say there was.
But to me it wasn't justice. He isn't being punished.
The memory of what happened punishes me every day.
It's gotten easier to deal with as time goes by, but it'll
always be there to torture me anytime I'm reminded of that man
in the window. I was driving my truck back home
from my girlfriend's apartment. It was a stormy night with heavy
rain and darkness enveloping the town.
Despite the adverse weather conditions, I wasn't too
concerned. After all, my house was only a
10 minute drive away and I had to work early the next day.
All my work clothes were at my place, so I had no choice but to
brave the storm. The power had gone out, leaving
the streets in complete darkness.
The only source of illumination was my truck's headlights,
casting an eerie glow on the rain slicked road ahead.
The relentless downpour pounded on my windshield, and my wipers
struggled to keep up, making it feel like I was driving blind.
Yet I knew these streets like the back of my hand.
Muscle memory guided my turns and calculated distances as I
navigated the familiar route. I turned onto the road that led
to my house, but almost immediately a sense of unease
crept over me. Something wasn't right.
It felt as though my truck was floating, and I sensed moisture
creeping in around my feet. Inside the cab, the lights
flickered ominously. I peered out, and through my
headlights I could see the water outside rising steadily.
Panic began to set in as my truck was slowly consumed by the
encroaching flood. The current tugged at my
vehicle, dragging it further into the watery abyss.
Frantically, I unbuckled my seat belt and attempted to open the
driver's side door, but it wouldn't yield.
Water was now seeping in, rapidly reaching my knees.
I remembered my father's advice about not panicking and life
threatening situations. Taking deep breaths, I reached
for a waterproof flashlight in my glove box.
With trembling hands I turned it on, scanning the dark interior
for something to break the window.
Unfortunately, I had recently cleaned out the truck and left
my tools behind. All I had was my sweater, the
small flashlight, and a pocket knife.
Desperation compelled me to dial 911, however, I was greeted with
a recorded message informing me that all dispatchers were
occupied with other calls due to the storm.
The voice assured me that they would respond as soon as
possible. The dispatchers indifference
only fueled my fear. Time was slipping away as the
water continued to rise. The water level had now reached
my belly button and I was rapidly losing hope.
Squatting on my seat, I struggled to keep my head above
water. It was clear that most of the
water was seeping in from the driver's side door.
I grabbed my sweater and tried to use it as a makeshift
barrier, but it proved futile. 7 agonizing minutes later, a
dispatcher finally answered. I relayed my dire situation, but
they offered little comfort. They explained that many others
were also trapped in flooding situations and it would take at
least 30 minutes for help to arrive.
I pleaded for them to stay on the line, but they cited the
overwhelming demand for dispatchers during the storm and
advised me to call back if the situation worsened.
I hung up, realizing that I couldn't afford to wait another
7 minutes if things deteriorated further.
Panic surged as the water reached my chest.
My pleas to my parents went unanswered.
As I continue to record my voice messages, my shaky words filled
with a mixture of desperation and resignation.
Only 10 minutes after my call to 911, the water had climbed to my
neck and I was convinced that my time was running out.
With my cheek pressed against the roof, tears streamed down my
face. No one was coming to my rescue,
and despair gripped me. Suddenly, the sound of an
approaching engine broke through my despair.
I hadn't expected anyone to notice my stranded truck in the
darkness, but I screamed and flashed my light to draw their
attention. Relief flooded over me as a boat
pulled up alongside my truck. I directed my flashlight towards
the person who jumped into the water next to my driver's side
window. They had a window breaker and
shattered it on their first attempt.
Grabbing hold of my shirt, they pulled me out through the
window. I gasped for air as they hoisted
me onto the boat. Overwhelmed with gratitude, I
thank them profusely for saving my life.
As I took deep, shuddering breaths, an emergency blanket
was wrapped around me, providing a much needed sense of warmth
and security. We continue to rescue others
trapped in their vehicles before finally reaching an area where
police and firefighters were waiting.
I was transported to a hospital, but fortunately I didn't have
any serious medical issues. I felt immensely thankful to be
alive. It was a harrowing experience,
and I had come dangerously close to becoming a tragic statistic.
The incident left me deeply disillusioned with my city's
emergency services on that fateful night.
It was good Samaritans, not law enforcement, who had come to my
aid. I hoped that no one else would
ever find themselves in the same dire situation.
But if they did, I prayed that someone would rescue them in
time, just as I had been saved that night.
In the months that followed, I battled nightmares of drowning.
Even now, I felt a shiver of fear whenever I had to drive in
a storm or venture out on deep water.
I had attempted therapy a few times, but it hadn't provided
the solace I needed, so I had eventually stopped.
I longed for the day when I could finally move on from that
traumatic night and banish its haunting memory from my life.
I was grateful to be alive, but the scars ran deep, reminding me
of the night I had come so close to losing everything.
I had just completed a grueling 24 hour shift in construction
and management. My workplace had no qualms about
overworking us when deadlines loomed and the promise of
overtime pay often kept us going.
As I drove home from the job site, the clock was nearing 3 in
the morning and the road was empty save for the occasional
set of headlights in the distance.
The exhaustion was taking its toll on me, and I knew I was
being reckless by attempting to drive in such a state.
Nevertheless, all I craved was my bed and I pushed on.
During the drive, my eyelids drooped dangerously several
times, almost causing me to veer off the road.
Just as my weariness seemed insurmountable, a chilling sight
snapped me awake. There, on the side of the
deserted Rd. sat a young girl, no older than seven or eight.
I initially passed her by, but a nagging feeling in my gut
prompted me to turn my car around and check if she needed
help. I pulled up beside her, and her
gaze met mine. Her eyes held a peculiar,
unsettling intensity. I asked if she was OK or needed
assistance, but she remained silent, Her lips sealed tightly.
My sense of unease grew stronger, and I reassured her
that I meant her no harm. Coaxing her to get into my car,
she hesitated for a moment before finally complying.
My plan was to take her to the nearest police station, hoping
they could identify her and reunite her with her family.
I made countless attempts to elicit information from her
during the drive, but she remained mute, fixated on me
with those unnerving eyes. The silence in the car was
deafening as we continued down the dark, desolate Rd. for
another 10 minutes. Then, unbelievably, it happened
again. I spotted another child, this
time a little boy sitting on the side of the road.
He too refused to speak and without hesitation climbed into
my car. I repeated my questions, but he
responded with the same eerie silence, his gaze mirroring the
girls locked on to me. Panic began to claw the edges of
my mind. I couldn't shake the feeling
that I had unwittingly stumbled into something sinister.
Were these children kidnapped and abandoned here?
Was it some horrifying trafficking situation, or had
they simply become lost? The question swirled in my mind
unanswered. Another 15 agonizing minutes
passed and my worst fears were realized when I saw a car seat
on the side of the road. I pulled over and with
trepidation, got out of my car. To my horror, a little baby was
nestled inside. It's age unclear but seemingly
healthy. It's innocent eyes met mine and
I knew I couldn't leave it there.
I placed the car seat in the back of my car and dialed the
police immediately, relief washing over me as I got a
signal. They instructed me to go to the
nearby hospital and they promised to meet me there.
I arrived at the hospital shortly after the call and
carried the car seat inside, beckoning the children to
follow. The receptionist was the only
person there, and I frantically explained the situation.
To my bewilderment, her response was a puzzled and confused
expression. I motioned for the children to
stand beside her, imploring her to help, but she seemed
oblivious to their presence. My frustration mounted as she
repeatedly asked if I was OK, completely ignoring the children
and the baby in the car seat. I couldn't fathom why she
couldn't see them, or why she was so intent on my well-being
when it was the children who needed assistance.
As I was recounting the story to the receptionist, 2 police
officers entered the hospital. I told them the same bewildering
tale, but they too were unable to see the children standing
right in front of them. I was utterly perplexed and
growing desperate as they concluded that there were no
children with me. Instead, they believed I was
experiencing some form of mental episode.
I protested, insisting that I had never had any mental health
issues, but my pleas fell on deaf ears.
I was admitted to the hospital under a 72 hour observation
cycle due to my persistent hallucinations, as they deemed
me a potential danger to myself and others.
Their certainty was disconcerting, and I was
convinced that they were the ones who were delusional.
Over the next few days, I underwent numerous tests and
evaluations to uncover the root of my bizarre experiences.
Initially, they attributed it to severe sleep deprivation, a
common cause of hallucinations. However, even after hours of
sleep, the hallucinations persisted, raising suspicions of
a deeper issue. I was scared and felt trapped in
a nightmarish world. Desperate for answers, I called
my mother, who came to the hospital and provided our
family's medical history to the doctors.
After the 72 hours elapsed, I decided to stay at the hospital
as I had no other explanation for what was happening to me.
In the following weeks, the children continued to follow me
everywhere. They watched me sleep, providing
a strange comfort but also serving as a constant reminder
that something was profoundly wrong with me.
The hallucinations, however, were no longer my sole concern.
I began to experience speech difficulties and struggled to
think clearly, further perplexing the doctors.
This cognitive decline prompted further investigation, and
during an MRI, 1 attentive Dr. noticed a shadow.
It turned out that I had a small but malignant frontal lobe tumor
compressing the optic nerve. Regrettably, its proximity to
the optic nerve ruled out surgical removal.
Nevertheless, the doctors remained hopeful that
chemotherapy and radiation could combat the cancer cells, given
that it had been detected at an early stage.
I embarked on a course of chemotherapy and radiation and
as the weeks passed, the hallucinations diminished in
frequency. Part of me began to miss their
presence as they had become strangely familiar companions.
Most importantly, they had led me to the hospital where my life
threatening condition was discovered early.
I'm still undergoing treatment, and while my official prognosis
remains uncertain, I choose to hold on to hope.
Without the eerie encounter on that fateful night, I might have
never sought medical attention, and my life could have taken a
much darker turn. Hope is my constant companion
now, a beacon guiding me through the uncertainty that lies ahead.
I drive part time for Uber Eats as a college student, and it's a
great gig that I can work around my school schedule.
This eerie incident occurred one night after my classes, probably
around 11 PMI didn't have class until late in the afternoon the
next day, so I decided to stay up late and complete as many
food deliveries as I could. I received an unusual grocery
order to pick up from a 711 and deliver to an address about 15
minutes away. The directions led me through a
few neighborhoods, eventually taking me to the back roads that
led into a densely wooded area. As I approached the end of a
gravel Rd. I glanced at the address on the
app, which indicated that it was Down this path, however, all I
could see were safety cones and construction materials.
With no St. lights to illuminate the way with caution, I ventured
down the path, switching on my brights and carefully
maneuvering through the obstacles until I reached the
last turn. This section was even more
unsettling, resembling a path more than a Rd.
I consulted the map again, and it was clear that the address
was indeed at the end of this mysterious path.
I raised my head, peering into the darkness ahead.
As my eyes adjusted, I started to discern a structure at the
end of the path. It looked somewhat like a house,
but there was an undeniable, eerie quality about it.
My senses tingled with unease, and as I scanned my surroundings
I began to make out more houses in the vicinity.
The limited light from my headlights prevented me from
seeing them clearly, but it appeared to be a community of
newly built houses under construction.
Considering this, I reasoned that the house marked on my GPS
might be one of the few completed ones.
I turned and proceeded down the path, pulling into an empty
cul-de-sac with a lone house up close.
It was apparent that the house was not entirely finished,
although the front appeared nearly done, complete with a
door. Despite the bizarre situation, I
reminded myself that my job was simply to deliver the groceries
and not to concern myself with someone else's housing
situation. I parked my car, retrieve the
grocery bags, and approach the front door.
All the lights were off and an eerie silence enveloped the
area, making me increasingly uneasy.
Placing the bags on the doorstep, I knocked, but there
was no response. As I turned to make my way back
to the car, something caught my peripheral vision.
In the shadows near the edge of the woods, I saw movement.
My heart skipped a beat and I froze for a moment, staring into
the dark abyss. Whatever it was had ceased
moving. Panic surged through me, urging
me to hurry back to my car. I reached the vehicle, started
the engine, and as my headlights pierced the darkness, I saw a
man standing exactly where I had seen the movement in the woods.
His eyes were locked onto me, his gaze intense and unsettling.
Without taking my eyes off him, I started to back out, but my
anxiety had me gripping the wheel too tightly.
I barely noticed as my car jolted backward, first at the
rear tires, then at the front. The entire vehicle rocked
violently. For a moment, my adrenaline
surged, preventing me from getting a good look at what had
caused the disturbance. I hit the gas harder, getting
off the path and onto the Gravel Rd.
As I entered the normal neighborhood, it became evident
that my car was shaking and bumping, and there was no doubt
I had several flat tires. I managed to pull over
somewhere. I felt safer and immediately
called the police. They conducted a search of the
address and the Uber Eats account, only to find that the
address led to an unfinished, uninhabited property and the
account itself was a throwaway. The police did discover several
large sharpened metal objects on the path, likely placed there
after I had pulled in, as an attempt to immobilize me.
What the intentions of those individuals were once they had
me trapped out there in the woods remains a mystery.
Perhaps they aim to rob me, or worse, but I was grateful I
didn't have to find out. I was 17 years old and had just
gotten my driver's license. Looking back, I admit I was the
typical self absorbed teenager, too impatient and reckless for
my own good. It was a Friday night and I was
desperately trying to persuade my mom to let me take the car to
meet up with my friends. She, on the other hand, was
adamant about not letting me go. Convinced that I was planning to
go out drinking and drive under the influence.
I kept reassuring her that I had no intention of doing anything
like that, but she remained unwavering in her decision.
In a fit of frustration, I uttered the words I would later
come to regret. I hate you.
Slamming the door to my room, I resolved to sneak out later that
night around 11:00 PM. With my mom asleep in her bed
and my dad out of town, I figured it would be easy to make
my escape. Earlier in the night.
I had already swiped the car keys, so as stealthily as I
could, I crawled out of my window and onto the front lawn.
My mom had forced me to install Life 360 on my phone, a decision
I now wish I had never agreed to.
To avoid her tracking my location, I turned off the app,
thinking I could fool her if she happened to notice I was gone.
She was the type of mom who'd call the police if I didn't
return when I was supposed to. I sent a quick text to my
friends asking where they were, and predictably, they had driven
all the way to LA despite being over an hour away from their
location. I made the foolish decision to
go after them. The traffic on the freeway was
unbearable, so I decided to take some side streets, hoping for a
faster route. Living in Southern California
meant one thing for sure, traffic everywhere, all the
time. As I continue driving, I became
increasingly lost. Refusing to turn on my phone for
directions, I sought to reach a freeway, hoping it would lead me
back home. Time slipped away, and the later
it got, the more disoriented I felt.
I had to admit to myself I was scared, and all I really wanted
was my mom. I meandered through side roads,
alleys, and sketchy neighborhoods, not giving a
thought to my own safety. Then I turned down a narrow road
and was met with a shock. A truck blocking my path, parked
sideways as if deliberately. When I attempted to reverse, a
man suddenly appeared, pointing a gun at my face and pounding on
my window. Panic coursed through me, and I
did as he instructed. He ordered me out of the car and
shoved me to the ground. Another man rushed over and
started kicking me relentlessly, each blow feeling like it might
rupture my stomach. I begged them to stop screaming
for help, but a few others just stood by watching the assault,
lying there utterly helpless. All I wished for was my dad to
miraculously appear and save me. I knew it was impossible, but
the thought of seeing my parents again was the only glimmer of
hope I had. The beating seemed endless, and
I realized they believed I had passed out, though I hadn't.
I lay motionless, my arms shielding my head and face.
That was when one of them got the horrifying idea to stomp on
my face. As soon as my arms moved, his
foot came crashing down on my jaw.
In that moment, the adrenaline coursing through my body dulled
the pain, but I'd come to understand later just how
excruciating it truly was. Eventually, the beating ceased.
I guess they thought I was unconscious, but I wasn't.
I was simply incapable of moving any part of my body.
Flashes of light pierced through my closed eyelids, and I
realized they were taking pictures of me as if they were
proud of their vicious act. They laughed as they searched my
pockets, making off with my keys, wallet and phone before
driving away in my car. All I could think about was how
much I wished I had listened to my mom and stayed home.
I lay there, the pain slowly setting in.
My jaw throbbed the most. It felt broken.
With great effort, I managed to open my eyes in the dim light,
only to see red staining the asphalt around me.
I tried to lift myself up, but the agony was too intense.
Tears streamed down my face as the horrifying realization
washed over me. There was a significant chance I
might pass right there alone on a desolate St.
The last thing I had said to my mom was that I hated her, but I
didn't. I just wanted to see her more
than anything. To have her by my side, getting
me the help I so desperately needed, reassuring me that
everything would be OK. I must have lost consciousness
because the next thing I remember is paramedics waking me
up, asking for my name and what had happened.
I was still sprawled out on the road as they prepared to load me
onto a stretcher with an ambulance nearby waiting to take
me to the nearest hospital. I could barely speak, but I
managed to utter my name before blacking out once again.
It seemed like an eternity before I regained consciousness
in the hospital, A week having passed since that fateful night,
my jaw was wired shut, the result of the brutal stomp to my
face. My mom was sitting beside my
hospital bed, tears streaming down her face as I recounted the
terrifying details of what I had endured.
The police and doctors told me that it was likely part of some
gang initiation and that I was incredibly lucky to be alive.
As they described my injuries, it became painfully clear how
close I had come to losing my life that night.
Multiple broken ribs, internal bleeding from relentless kicks
to my torso, a broken jaw, nose, and various other facial
fractures, The list was harrowing, but the most
horrifying revelation was that my Achilles tendons had been
severed. To this day, nobody can explain
why they did that or why I hadn't felt it happen.
I underwent surgery on both my ankles, and even now I face the
prospect of more surgeries and extensive physical therapy
before I could even think about walking normally again.
I remained in the hospital for months before being allowed to
return home. I couldn't help but feel foolish
for my reckless decision. What had happened to me was the
worst case scenario of what could occur when a teenager
takes their parents car without permission.
I'm not sharing this story to make you believe that
disobedience leads to such horrors.
It's far from common. Instead, I hope my experience
serves as a reminder that sometimes our parents do know
best. They possess life, experience,
wisdom and unconditional love that we should never take for
granted. I'm a single mother and I know a
lot of people will roll their eyes when they read that, but
it's important to the stories, so please don't judge too hard.
The story I'm about to tell you took place when I was in my late
30s and my two daughters were 13 and 15.
I had just gotten out of an intense custody battle with
their father, but thankfully I was awarded full custody due to
his drug addiction and rocky financial status.
My girls and I were so excited to be moving to another state
away from all the drama the custody battle had caused.
There was a lot of choosing sides and blame being thrown
around, even by my daughters. So we decided that getting out
of such a toxic environment by moving was the best idea for us.
It was early June and the weather had started to warm up.
We had just packed up the last boxes in our house and decided
to leave a few days before the moving truck as we wanted to get
settled in the house before all our stuff arrived.
Even if there would be no furniture for a few days, we
were fine with that. We said goodbye to our old
house, which was a very emotional thing for us to do,
and we set off. We were taking the fast route
and according to Google, it was only supposed to take a couple
of days to get to the new house. We had the idea that we'd stay
in a hotel for one night along the way and that was super
exciting for us. My girls loved staying at hotels
like most kids do, and I love seeing them happy after hours of
driving. It was late afternoon and we
were ready to get out of the car and find a room to stay in.
I checked every hotel in the area, every app, and there was
nothing available. Literally not one room was free
in any of the surrounding cities for another three nights.
I called around and apparently there was a huge kids soccer
tournament in town, one of the largest in the country.
We decided to keep driving until we found something, but instead
we were met with a stretch of Rd. that had a lot of rest stops
but no hotels. We stopped at a gas station to
get some gas and noticed a few biker guys in the parking lot.
As I waited at the pump, I noticed one of the men staring
into the back seat of my car, clearly looking at my daughter's
who were both asleep. I felt a chill run down my spine
and I instantly had this gut feeling to get them out of
there. It just didn't seem like a great
position to be in a young mom alone with her teenage
daughters. Not great.
I didn't even wait for the gas to finish pumping.
I took it out, closed the gas cap, got back in the car as
inconspicuous as possible, and got back on the highway.
I watched to see if they were following us, but they didn't
and I thought maybe I had just been a little paranoid.
So I stopped thinking about it. The girls and I decided to stop
at a rest stop. We felt like it was safe enough
because of the time when we pulled in, there were plenty of
other vehicles and people around.
I had my daughter's cover, the back windows with the blankets
that we had brought with us, and we all fell asleep at around 8
PMI. Had the intention of only
sleeping for a few hours before heading off again, but I had
failed to remember to set an alarm.
Instead, I was woken up by the loud roar of a motorcycle
pulling up beside the car. I don't know what it is about
being a mom, but every sound I hear makes me wide awake in
seconds when my daughters are around.
I sat up and looked outside the window and I was terrified to
see the same men from the gas station, only a few parking
spots away. And they weren't alone.
There were at least 25 to 30 of them.
Now, I was fairly positive that they hadn't seen us, so I
decided not to wake the girls. I didn't want to scare them.
I started the car and turned on the headlights, but no matter
how much I tried to pull out of their unnoticed, it just wasn't
going to happen. Something in the universe wanted
those bikers to see my car and recognize it quickly.
The second my headlights switched on, every head turned
and looked directly at us. I was hoping the men from the
gas station wouldn't realize that they had seen us earlier,
but of course that wasn't the case.
I heard one of them yell out to his buddies that they knew us
and that there were a couple of hotties in the back seat.
I was immediately terrified, but also rolling my eyes, because
who even says that? Especially about two teenage
girls who were obviously underage.
But then again, they didn't seem like the kind of people who
would care about that sort of thing.
I honestly thought that if I just drove away.
It would be like the last time where they wouldn't follow, but
now they were quick to follow right behind.
I woke up the girls and I wish I could have been one of those
moms who sugar coated things to save their kids from being
scared, but there was no way to do that with what was going on.
I told them that we were being followed by some scary men and
they stayed down where no one could see them keeping the
blankets on the windows. They both started freaking out
and crying and I understood. As I speed down the highway,
these bikers got more aggressive.
They began throwing things at my car and swerving as they tried
to run us off the road. I was trying my best to stay
calm on the outside so as not to scare the girls any more than
they already were. But on the inside I was having a
full blown panic attack. I knew my main priority had to
be maintaining control of my car.
It was clear that if something happened and they were
successful in running us off the road, nothing good would come of
that. They started yelling at me to
just pull over and that they only wanted to chat.
I continued to stare forward outside the windshield and not
even acknowledge them, and they didn't like that.
They started calling me names, demanding I rolled down my
window. I did roll it down about an inch
to try and plead with them to just stop and leave us alone,
but there was no way they could hear me.
We drove like that for at least 5 miles before entering the next
city, and by that time it was already 2:00 in the morning.
Finally, I came to my senses and told my oldest daughter to just
call the police. Through tears she told them what
was going on. I don't know what they told her,
but she said that they were coming.
Unfortunately, it just wasn't soon enough.
I felt something hit the side of the car and within seconds we
were off the side of the road and headed for a tree.
I slammed the brakes as hard as I could and the car came to a
very violent halt. We were all OK, but I started to
wonder for how long though. The bikers surrounded us and
started pounding on the windows and pulling on the door handles
while the car shook. The girls were screaming at the
top of their lungs and begging me to make them go away, but
there was really nothing I could do.
I prayed to God that we would make it out of there and thank
God he answered my prayers. We heard sirens in the distance
and watched as the men all got back on their motorcycles
speeding away. We hugged each other and cried
until the officers were standing at the doors of the car.
They had to step out and we explained everything.
Now they tried to get in contact with the bikers around that
area, but they weren't able to track them down specifically, at
least not at that moment. To this day I'm still terrified
every time I see a group of motorcyclists.
My girls are older now, with children of their own, and my
biggest piece of advice to them is always carry protection.
You just generally never know when you're going to find
yourself in a situation as psychotic as that.