I should have known the night would be different the second
Ben rolled up in that old sedan he'd borrowed from his brother.
Usually we relied on battered skateboards or our own 2 feet
for these late night Hangouts, but something about having a car
at our disposal made everything feel way more daring.
Ben's grin told me he was itching to push our usual
boundaries, and Mark and Josh had that same spark in their
eyes. We piled in, the seats creaking
beneath us, and my nerves started buzzing the instant Bend
turned the key. The headlights sliced through
the darkness as we backed out of my driveway like we were on some
secret mission. Nobody mentioned a destination.
We just drove, letting the quiet roads guide us wherever they
felt like leading. I remember trying to crack a few
jokes, maybe poke fun at the squeaky belt in the engine, but
my voice sounded strained. Deep down, I couldn't shake the
anxiety that tonight held an edge I hadn't felt before.
The highways were ghostly, the moon hid behind layers of thick
clouds, and the few vehicles we passed seemed in a hurry to
vanish. Even the passing signs, those
that lit up under our headlights, felt somehow
ominous, like they'd been left there decades ago and never
replaced. Mark elbowed me in the back
seat, muttering something about how cool it'd be if we found an
abandoned playground or an old factory to explore.
I tried to nod along, but the silence in the car seemed
heavier than usual, wrapping around us every time we stopped
talking. Eventually, Ben pointed at the
fuel gauge with a curse. We were running low, so he said
he'd pull off at the next station he saw.
We found one, a grimy little place with a single humming
fluorescent light. It looked half dead, like nobody
had bothered to give it a fresh coat of paint in years.
Still, it was our only option, so we tumbled out of the car,
stretching stiff limbs and blinking against the flickering
glow. I took a few steps away from the
car to scope out the area. The night air tasted slightly
stale, but there was also a dank, earthy smell lingering.
That's when I noticed a sign at the edge of the lot.
It was old, peeling, but I could just make out the words Forest
preserve entrance beneath a layer of Moss.
Right away, I had this creeping sense that we weren't meant to
be here. Mark, on the other hand, was
practically giddy. He kept nudging Ben and Josh,
telling them we should check it out.
Ben, eyes gleaming with mischief, went along without
much prodding. Josh shrugged, half smiling like
he was up for anything as long as we didn't bail on him.
I watched them gather near the broken fence that led into the
preserve. My pulse hammered in my ears.
I told them I wasn't so sure, that maybe we should stick to
safer spots for once, but that didn't slow their enthusiasm.
They insisted it'd be quick, just a peek, and that we'd find
a trail cutting straight through to another gas station on the
opposite side. I wish I could say I found a
solid excuse, some ironclad reason to keep us out of those
trees, but I only muttered 1/2 hearted protest before following
them back to the car. My footsteps felt like lead, and
that heaviness in the air was stronger the closer we got to
the tree line. The headlights briefly lit up
the first few trunks, revealing tangles of branches overhead.
The shapes twisted in a way that made my stomach not I couldn't
bring myself to enter that path, and I finally admitted it out
loud. Look, I'll meet you all on the
other side. I said, trying not to sound
terrified. The plan, if you could call it
that, was for them to cut straight through the preserve
while I walked around on the main roads.
They teased me, called me the cautious one, but I could tell
none of us was really laughing. Something about those woods
seemed off even to them, so I watched them disappear into that
blackness, 3 moving silhouettes swallowed by the trees.
That was the moment when I felt sure we'd cross some unspoken
boundary. My heart was thumping, but I
forced myself to turn away, determined to stick to the
roads. As I set off, the wind picked up
rustling leaves somewhere behind me.
Or maybe it was just my imagination.
Either way, I started walking faster.
I had no clue then just how bad things would get or the sight
that would greet me at that next gas station.
All I knew was that I didn't trust those woods, and even with
the uneasy feeling trailing me, it felt safer on the open Rd.
Looking back, I guess that small spark of caution might have
saved me from whatever lurked in those trees, but it also left me
alone, pacing empty streets in the pitch black, with nothing to
distract me from the endless possibilities my mind kept
conjuring. I kept reminding myself it was
only a 30 minute walk around the perimeter, but it might as well
have been hours. The roads were eerily quiet, no
headlights passing by, no distant hum of late night
traffic, Just the soft crunch of my shoes against the gravel
shoulder and my imagination going wild.
Every so often I'd glance back, half expecting to see the others
trailing behind me, but no one emerged from that dark tree
line. The gas station finally came
into view, a lone beacon of fluorescent glow in the
distance. My relief was short lived
though. As soon as I stepped onto the
cracked asphalt, that weird tension in the air hit me like a
wave. I peered through the glass door,
searching for any sign of my friends.
The board clerk at the register glanced up, gave me a nod, then
went back to his magazine. Apparently 3 frantic teenagers
had not come flying through the door.
I lingered by the cold beverage coolers trying to look casual.
10 minutes ticked by. 10 ridiculously long minutes.
Mark, Josh and Ben were nowhere to be found.
I started to wonder if they decided to bail and head back to
the car, or worse, maybe something had happened inside
those woods. I was trying to tamp down my
anxiety with logical explanations, but it was no
good. Each passing moment tighten the
knot in my stomach. The door jingled behind me, but
it was just an older woman buying a late night snack.
I asked the clerk if he'd noticed 3 teenage guys wandering
in and he gave me a flat out no. My nerves were about to boil
over. One part of me considered
charging straight back into the forest.
Another part insisted I'd be insane to do that alone.
Suddenly I heard heavy footsteps clattering on the concrete
outside. I spun around just as Mark,
Josh, and Ben tore around the corner of the building.
They looked wrecked, drenched in sweat, faces pale, eyes darting
everywhere. I rushed to meet them, feeling a
weird mix of relief and terror. If they were safe enough to run,
that meant they were alive, but their expression said they'd
come far too close to something. We tumbled into the gas
station's tiny seating area. The harsh lighting made them
look even more rattled. Nobody could talk.
For the first few seconds. They were panting and leaning
over the small plastic table like they'd just sprinted a
marathon. What happened?
I finally managed to get out. Barely above a whisper.
Ben tried to speak, but ended up shaking his head, as if words
weren't enough. Mark took a shaky breath, then
started explaining. Halfway through the path, they
noticed weird noises behind them, like crunching leaves and
snapping twigs. At first they thought maybe it
was a deer, but it grew heavier, more deliberate.
Then they spotted it, A tall, pale figure among the trees.
The shape was vaguely human, but bulkier and unnaturally long,
limbed, with burning red eyes that seemed locked onto them.
My mind went blank for a second. I'd heard plenty of ghost
stories from the guys before, but none of them had ever looked
this spooked. Josh added, his piece describing
the sounds of branches cracking like something big was pushing
through at high speed, pursuing them.
The moment they glimpsed those eyes, logic went out the window.
They just bolted, not caring what they tripped over or how
loud they screamed. I pictured them crashing through
the undergrowth, chased by something they couldn't explain.
The thought made my skin crawl, they said.
When they finally reached the edge of the forest, they could
sense that presence still behind them, breathing, thrashing
through leaves until they burst out on to the road.
That was the first time they felt it hesitate.
Mark said. He looked back and caught one
final glimpse. The thing stood at the edge of
the trees, unmoving, like it was testing whether to follow.
Then, with no warning, it just sort of vanished back into the
darkness. I asked if maybe they were
messing with me, but their expressions didn't waver.
Josh had tears in his eyes he was trying to hide, and Ben
looked on the verge of hyperventilating.
They were beyond done with the night's adventure, and honestly,
so was I. The four of us decided we'd had
enough. We scrambled outside and huddled
together, scanning the tree line across the street.
My imagination made every shifting shadow look like that
pale shape was about to burst out again.
I swear, none of us even blinked.
For a good minute. We must have looked like a bunch
of cornered animals. Finally, I managed to break the
spell urging us to get back to the sedan.
Our nerves practically screamed at us to run, so we did.
The journey down the road to the car felt like sprinting a
gauntlet, each step fueled by a desperation to put as much
distance as possible between US and whatever had prowled those
woods. When we reached the vehicle, Ben
fumble with the keys for a good few seconds before getting the
door unlocked. My heart hammered so loudly I
was sure everyone else could hear it.
We piled in and slammed the doors, as if that ancient metal
frame could protect us from all the horrors out there.
No one said anything for the first mile or two of the drive
home. We just stared at the passing
scenery. Deserted sidewalks, empty
fields, the occasional flickering street light.
Every dark corner felt like it might be hiding that same entity
we'd left behind. By the time we finally saw the
faint outlines of our own neighborhood, the sky was
starting to lighten. Not enough to wash away our
fear, though. I'd never been so happy to see
my own driveway. We sat there for a second,
engine ticking, exhausted beyond words.
Gradually, we mumbled quick goodbyes and stumbled out, each
of us craving the safety of our rooms.
That night, or what was left of it, barely let me rest.
Every time I closed my eyes, I pictured that looming shape.
I replayed my friends frantic breaths and trembling voices.
We'd always thought we were unstoppable, just a bunch of
teens chasing the thrill of exploring creepy spots.
But this was different and we all felt it.
Something was out there beyond any rumor or urban legend we
joked about before. And after experiencing that kind
of terror first hand, we knew our late night adventures had
changed forever. I woke up that morning with a
weird mixture of excitement and nerves, thinking the trip to
Dahili in Bukidnon Park would be smooth sailing.
My cousins and I were crammed into the back of my uncle's big
SUV, giggling over who'd get the window seat.
We had snacks, music and all the naive optimism in the world.
If I'd known what was coming, I probably would have stayed in
bed. The GPS was the first problem,
though I didn't see it at the time.
We were so sure this fancy app would guide us perfectly.
My uncle, who's usually a careful driver, put all his
faith in that digital voice telling us where to turn.
The day started bright, the sky so blue it almost hurt my eyes
when I glanced out the window. Everything seemed perfect, at
least until we left the familiar main highway.
We ended up on a narrower Rd. that slithered through some
thick trees. At first it felt like an
adventure, like we were discovering a hidden gem.
My mom, perched in the front seat, leaned forward, double
checking the map on her phone. She mumbled something in Tibuano
under her breath, and I caught the serious look in her eyes.
She started asking my uncle to slow down, repeating it in a
tighter voice. The sunlight kept slipping lower
and lower, and a dull orange glow tinted everything around
us. It created this weird sense that
time was running out, like we needed to find our way before
darkness took over. The SU VS wheels crunched on
gravel as the path beneath us grew even more precarious.
One side was a tumble of rocky drop offs, the other side looked
like a barricade of looming trunks.
My stomach nodded every time the car swayed a bit too close to
the edge. Eventually my head got heavy
from the tension and I started drifting off in my seat.
I tried to keep my eyes shut, hoping it would calm me down.
Suddenly my mom's voice got sharper, telling my uncle again
to be careful. I peered outside and realized
the road had become ridiculously thin.
It felt like we were driving on a ribbon of land, suspended over
some dark pit. I couldn't see, and I forced
myself to breathe slowly. My cousins, who'd been laughing
just an hour earlier, were dead quiet.
One of them clutched the seat in front of him, as if that could
keep us from veering off the edge.
The tension in the SUV was almost suffocating.
My eyes darted around, noticing how the trees kept pressing in,
almost as if they didn't want us there.
When my uncle tried to crack a joke, something about how
adventurous we were, I didn't even fake a laugh.
I just wanted this part of the drive to be over.
We crawled forward, inch by inch.
The car's headlights started to make everything look more
sinister than it should, illuminating random branches
that stretched out like thin arms.
The sunset had nearly vanished, so our own lights were the only
thing guiding us. My mom's voice grew louder each
time the SUV jolted and my uncle's knuckles turned white
around the steering wheel. Then, up ahead, I saw a slightly
wider patch of dirt, a spot where we could maybe turn
around. Relief fluttered through me, but
I was still on edge. My uncle inched the vehicle
forward, tires kicking small rocks into the darkness below.
This was the moment we'd all been holding our breath for.
Could we actually make that turn without tipping?
The entire car seemed to shift as my uncle eased the steering
wheel, backing up and turning in tiny increments.
My heart hammered so loudly that I was sure the others could hear
it, too. I watched the side mirror nearly
scrape against a protruding Rockwall.
At the same time, the other side of the SUV felt like it was
hovering over emptiness. But my uncle kept going,
focusing on my mom's guidance as she checked the wheel clearance.
When we finally completed that 3 point turn, the car's nose
pointed downhill again, and I realized I was practically
shaking from the tension. My mom let out a wavering sigh,
and my cousins exhaled all at once.
Even my uncle, who tried to stay calm, showed this nervous grin
that told me he was just as relieved as the rest of us.
I looked outside. The same path that felt
impossible just moments ago suddenly seemed like the only
safe direction we had. We started heading back toward
what we hoped was a main road. My uncle speed up ever so
slightly, and I felt a flicker of hope that the worst part was
behind us. My mom kept watch at the window,
still whispering that we'd made the right choice by turning
around. I remember thinking nothing
could top the terror of that narrow road and that we'd never
again trust a phone app with our lives.
But a tiny voice in my head warned me we weren't off the
hook yet. The sky was darkening rapidly
and we still had hours of driving ahead.
Hours I had a feeling would test our nerves in ways we weren't
prepared for. And so, with that tense U-turn
behind us, we pressed on. My family tried to act normal,
but the rattled energy in the car clung to us like a static
charge. I stared through the window,
hoping for city lights or any sign of civilization while the
last streaks of daylight vanished.
We all silently wondered if our excursion would lead to
something better, or if we'd stumble into something even more
unsettling just around the bend. We'd been on the road longer
than planned, but my uncle seemed determined to find
another way to Dahle and Bukidnon Park.
The days earlier scare still lingered in my mind, making
every minute feel heavier. The GPS had lost our trust, so
he relied on a faint memory of back roads he was sure he'd
taken years ago. There were no St. lights out
here, just the glow of our headlights sweeping across
endless rows of looming trunks. The night felt darker than
usual, like a thick curtain we couldn't push aside.
I tried to look out the windows, but there was nothing but the
reflection of our own anxious faces.
My mom huddled up front, murmuring that maybe we'd be
better off pulling over and waiting until daylight.
My uncle insisted we keep going, convinced the main road was just
a bit further. As we pressed on, the path
turned rough. Loose gravel rattled under the
tires with every bump. A wave of tension rippled
through everyone in the SUV. The interior light was off, but
even in the dim glow from the dash, I could see worry etched
on my cousin's faces. They clutched their seats as
though bracing themselves for another unexpected drop off.
Meanwhile, I could barely ignore the unsettled feeling in my gut,
a warning sign I couldn't shrug away.
Then the SUV rolled to a halt. The headlights revealed the road
simply ended, as though some giant hand had torn it away.
My uncle killed the engine for a moment, muttering about how
something wasn't right. Outside, the dark stretched out
on all sides. The silence was so absolute I
could almost hear my own pulse. My mom coaxed him into stepping
out to see if maybe there was a hidden turn or a gap.
We hadn't noticed when he opened the door, a blast of cold air
whipped inside. It smelled earthy, damp, almost
like the area wanted to swallow us whole.
I leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse from where I
sat, but my uncle had disappeared into the blackness.
All of us stayed quiet, waiting until his figure flickered back
into the headlights. By his expression, I knew there
was nothing else out there, no quick path to salvation.
He climbed back in, locked the door and flicked on the high
beams. That's when I noticed a row of
silhouettes, people clustered just beyond the tree line.
At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks, but no, there
were multiple figures standing too still.
My mom whispered under her breath, asking who they could
be. No one had an answer.
The strangers didn't wave us down, didn't call for help.
They just remained there. Which was somehow more
unsettling than if they'd shouted or approached.
My uncle hesitated, like he was debating whether to call out or
flash the horn. My heart hammered so hard I
could barely focus. The two or three seconds he
spent in that indecision felt like an eternity.
Finally, he slid the SUV into reverse, and I felt that
creeping worry intensify. Those people didn't move as our
headlights panned away. If they were travellers, they
would have done something, asked for assistance or signaled a
warning. Instead, they just observed us.
My body felt drained, the day's stress catching up to me.
I must have dozed off for a bit in sheer exhaustion.
Next thing I knew, the rumble of the engine had changed tone.
We were on paved road again. Lights gleamed in the distance.
Actual city lights. The kind I never thought I'd be
so relieved to see. My mother pointed out a 711 and
my uncle quickly pulled in. Just like that, it felt like
we'd rejoined reality. Climbing out of the Suvi noticed
my legs were shaky. The store's neon sign lit up the
parking lot in an artificial glow.
We piled inside for warm food and something to drink.
My cousin seemed to snap out of their days.
They grabbed hot dogs, chips, anything to fill the gnawing
hunger. My mom looked around like she
could hardly believe we were safe.
Eating never felt so comforting, yet every bite reminded me of
that uneasy darkness and the silent group we left behind.
My uncle muttered that he'd never trust that old route
again, and I was ready to agree with him 1000%.
Part of me needed a moment to catch my breath and really
process the fact that we'd escaped.
But a deeper worry wouldn't let go.
What if we'd stayed just a minute longer?
Would those people have approached us?
Would we have gone missing without a trace?
Even though the worst had passed, the images wouldn't
leave my mind. Sometimes the most terrifying
experiences aren't the near accidents on a narrow Rd.
they're the ones you can't logically explain.
Those watchers in the shadows, the question of why they were
out there in the middle of nowhere, gave me more sleepless
nights than the thought of tumbling off a Cliff.
The hum of the 711's cooling system and the fluorescent
lights offered a false sense of security.
My mom patted my shoulder, asking if I was OK.
I nodded, my eyes drifting toward the darkness outside,
half expecting to see those figures again.
We'd found our way back onto the main road this time, but a
little piece of me stayed behind in that forest, haunted by the
unknown. If I learned anything, it's that
not every Rd. on a map is meant to be travelled.
Not by us anyway. We'd stumbled onto something
beyond our understanding, and maybe we'd done the smart thing
by leaving quickly. Some nights, though, I wonder if
I'd prefer having a good explanation over that eerie
silence that clings to me. Still, I decided on a whim to
head out to San Felipe Rd. at around 3:00 in the morning,
dragging a couple of friends along for the ride.
We figured we'd drive until we got that creeped out thrill you
only feel in the dark when the world seems a little too quiet.
The minute we turned onto that road, though, I knew we were in
for something else entirely. It was like the temperature
around us dipped the second we passed the final St. lamp.
Even the air tasted heavier. The fog showed up out of
nowhere. 1 moment we could see a good stretch of Rd. the next we
were practically crawling along trying not to drive off into the
trees. Our headlights cut through Milky
walls that made the whole place look like a dream, or maybe a
nightmare. The car fell silent as the
driver eased up on the gas. I caught myself gripping the
passenger door handle, pulse racing for reasons I couldn't
quite pin down. After a few minutes, someone in
the back asked if we were sure about this, which sent a ripple
of second thoughts through me, but I kept telling myself we'd
be fine. We weren't exactly ghost
hunters, just a bunch of night owls looking for a little
excitement. The emptiness of the road,
though, had a weight to it that pressed on my thoughts.
It felt like everything around us was watching, even though I
couldn't spot a single living thing through the fog.
Eventually, my eyes locked on a vague shape ahead, barely
visible beyond the headlights. It was so faint I thought I
might be seeing patches of mist swirling in a weird pattern, but
the driver cursed under his breath.
He spotted it too. He slowed to a near stop, trying
to figure out what we were looking at.
I leaned forward, squinting, my pulse hammering away.
The outline was odd, kind of box like, except the edges rippled,
like they couldn't decide if they wanted to stay solid.
My nerves flared and everything in me wanted to tell him to hit
the gas. Before I could speak, one of my
friends in the back started yelling.
They sounded scared out of their mind, pointing to something up
in a massive tree. They kept insisting they could
make out a heavy form with fur, some sort of claws scraping the
bark. I swear I only glimpsed a
flicker of movement. It might have been a branch
shifting in the wind, but the panic in my friend's voice said
otherwise. The driver slammed down the
accelerator and we shot forward in a blind rush to get away.
All the while I was convinced we were about to crash.
The fog seemed thicker now, as if the road wanted to keep us
there. The engine roared, Everyone was
yelling at once, and fear rattled around inside my head.
I glanced back, half expecting to see some monstrosity bounding
after us, but it was just a blur of headlights on white mist.
My chest felt like it was going to burst from the pressure of
pure, raw panic. Somehow we ended up on a clearer
stretch and the fog lifted. It was jarring going from that
suffocating blanket to an almost normal Rd.
We all took a second to breathe, but the car was filled with this
shared dread. Nobody knew what to say.
Did we really see something? Or was it a trick of light and
fog? One thing was certain, if we did
see what we thought we did, we sure as hell wanted no part of
it. It wasn't until we got even
farther away that words came back to us.
Everyone tried to talk at once, each describing a slightly
different horror. The driver couldn't shake the
image of that transparent, boxy thing near the base of the tree.
The two in the back were still reeling over the creature they
were convinced was clinging to the trunk.
Personally, I didn't know what to think.
All I knew was the road felt more hostile than any place I'd
ever been, and I was ready to put as many miles between US and
San Felipe as possible. When we finally came to a stop
safe on a wider stretch of Hwy. nobody could ignore how shaken
we were. We stayed in the car with the
doors locked, just sitting there hearing our own breathing,
trying to puzzle out how a stupid idea for a late night
drive turned into something that left us cold with fear.
I don't remember who broke the silence, but they said exactly
what I was already feeling. We're never going back there
again. No one argued.
After that harrowing night, I couldn't bring myself to sleep
more than a couple of hours. Every time I shut my eyes,
flashes of fog, shrouded roads and warped shapes hit me like a
twisted reel on replay. It wasn't just me.
Everyone in our group was rattled.
We texted each other at weird times, sharing bits of restless
frustration and half baked theories about what we'd
witnessed. Some suggested we'd seen a wild
animal, others swore it was something far beyond that.
But as the hours slipped by, curiosity snuck up on us.
Despite the knots in our stomachs, we agreed to head
back. Yes, back, just to confirm we
weren't losing our minds. Part of me screamed that I
should let it go, but a stronger part insisted on a second look.
Maybe we needed proof we weren't collectively hallucinating.
We waited until midnight, then drove intense silence through
familiar streets. The closer we got to San Felipe,
the more my nerves wound tighter.
The road was still and unnervingly clear tonight, all
the fog gone like it had never existed.
The driver slowed near the spot where everything went haywire
before. Even though the headlights swept
over the same towering tree, the branches looked different in the
glare. No trace of that boxy phantom,
no sign of the bulky, clawed figure gripping the trunk.
We pulled over to the side, hearts pounding, but kept the
engine running like we needed a safety net in case anything
lunged out from the shadows. I stepped out, half expecting
something to charge at us from the darkness.
The air was crisp, almost too quiet.
I circled the tree where we'd first glimpsed the nightmare,
shining a flashlight up the trunk.
I wanted to see if there were any scraps of fir footprints,
anything that could validate our story.
The bark had a few deep scratches, but for all I knew,
they could have been there for years.
No weird footprints, no slime, no matted fir.
Just our collective dread and a big tree rustling in the light
breeze. Standing there made me feel
exposed, like eyes hidden among the branches were sizing me up.
I kept spinning around, scanning the tree line with my
flashlight. Each brush of leaves against
leaves made me jump. It was obvious I wasn't going to
find any neat evidence, but I still lingered, as if a clue
might materialize out of thin air.
Eventually, we decided we'd seen enough.
That's when the 1st wave of real paranoia sank in.
Maybe we were being watched, the idea whispered through my head.
Something could be crouched behind those trunks, silently
observing. The only thing we heard, though,
was our own unsteady breathing and the occasional shift of
undergrowth, so we made a quick exit, feeling foolish that we'd
even bothered to come back. Afterward, we drove aimlessly
for a bit, trying to calm down. Nobody wanted to go home just
yet, so we ended up in a deserted parking lot, all of us
wired and rattled. We swapped stories we'd heard
about San Felipe, tales of a solitary figure robed in black,
weird shrieks echoing through the trees, monstrous silhouettes
slinking past unsuspecting drivers.
Some accounts sounded bizarre, but honestly, after what we'd
seen, I was in no position to dismiss anything outright.
Over the next few nights, the dread followed me like a shadow.
Each time I shut off the lights in my room, I'd sense that thick
fog creeping back into my thoughts.
If a branch tapped against the window, I'd jolt upright,
convinced something was trying to claw its way inside.
My dreams were worse nightmares where I'd be stuck on San Felipe
alone, shining a flashlight onto a hollow eyed creature perched
on a tree. Sometimes it would crawl down
toward me and I'd wake up in a trembling panic, wishing I could
forget every detail. The others described similar
dreams, glimpses of that shapeless, boxy thing hovering
over them, or twisted figures prowling along the roadside.
A friend claimed they heard footsteps outside their window
late at night. Another said they saw fleeting
movement in their peripheral vision whenever they thought
about that drive. We wondered if any of it was
real or just our imaginations running wild.
Either way, it was seeping into every corner of our lives.
I tried to push it all aside and get back to some sense of
normal, but each time I glanced at the map and saw how close my
house was to that eerie stretch of Rd., a pit opened in my
stomach. It gnawed at me that the weird
sightings had happened practically in my backyard.
Rumors started swirling about other people spotting things or
hearing wails that resembled a person's scream.
Someone even mentioned hooded figures lurking by the trees at
dawn. Every new story kept the anxiety
alive. I tell myself I was done with
that road, that I had no reason to risk it again.
Yet deep down, part of me wanted another shot at understanding.
What was it about that place? Why did the fog roll in there
like a deliberate cloak 1 moment, then vanish without
warning the next? And what was that squarish,
translucent form or that heavy fur covered shape in the tree?
For now, though, none of us had the nerve to investigate
further. We'd already learned our lesson.
Whether it was some strange animal, a supernatural force, or
pure collective hysteria, we didn't want to provoke it.
Our nightmares were bad enough, so we kept to our lit up
streets, tried to fill our days with normal routines, and clung
to the hope that whatever lurked out there in the darkness would
stay far, far away from the safety of our homes.
If it decided otherwise, I wasn't sure we'd be prepared to
face it again. I'd been driving for what felt
like ages, chasing the horizon in 1/2 awake state.
The clock on the dash kept taunting me with 3:48 AM, then
349, like each minute was dragging itself across my
nerves. The highway stretched on in a
straight line, dark and empty, and the cold managed to seep
through every crack in my old Dodge.
There were moments when I thought about just pulling over
and sleeping for a couple of hours, but the fuel gauge needle
dipped closer to empty every time I glanced at it, so I
pushed on. When I finally spotted lights,
my first reaction was sheer relief until I actually got
close enough to see what I was dealing with.
It wasn't a bustling rest stop or even a brightly lit
convenience store. Instead, a single flickering St.
lamp revealed a tiny gas station that looked like it belonged in
another decade. The paint had chipped off the
walls. The windows on the adjacent
shops were either boarded up or covered with a layer of grime so
thick you couldn't see inside. It reminded me of one of those
sets they use for low budget horror flicks.
Perfectly quiet, perfectly still, and way too inviting for
trouble. I stepped out of my truck and
the biting air made me wince. My breath hung in front of my
face for a split second before drifting off.
The silence around me was so thick that every movement felt
magnified. The pump made a dull hum as I
slid my card and tried not to think about how dark everything
was. Beyond that single pool of
light. Not a single car passed on the
road behind me. The whole place seemed deserted,
like I'd wandered into a forgotten world.
Then I saw it. The outline of a sleek black low
rider at the back of the building, almost swallowed by
shadows. I hadn't noticed it at first,
probably because the cars, tinted windows and midnight
paint jobs seem tailor made for blending into the gloom.
Standing around it were four guys who looked like they
belonged anywhere but this freezing ghost town.
Tattoos stretched across their arms, covering most of their
exposed skin. They wore shorts, tank tops, and
high socks, acting like the temperature didn't matter.
The quiet grew even heavier as I realized they weren't chatting
or moving around. They were just leaning there,
watching me fill the tank. My heart felt like it wanted to
leap straight up my throat, but I tried to keep calm, focusing
on the pump like it was the most fascinating thing in the
universe. The neon bulb above me buzzed
and flickered, occasionally bathing them in a sudden light
that made their tattoos shine. I wasn't sure if they'd been
waiting for me to notice them or if this was just chance, but the
moment felt loaded with tension. Their eyes, though I could
barely see them in that half light, seemed to lock on me, and
I didn't sense any hint of friendliness.
They started moving my way in unison, slow and deliberate like
they had all the time in the world.
This was when I realized how alone I truly was.
No cashier behind the counter, no late night travellers rolling
in with headlights slicing through the dark.
Just me, my sputtering truck, and a half lit station in the
middle of nowhere. My brain kicked into OverDrive.
Should I try to greet them politely, pretend everything was
normal, or just get the hell out of there?
I decided to trust my gut. I yanked the nozzle free,
spilling some gas in my rush, and practically dove into my
truck. The engine hesitated for a split
second before roaring to life in the rear view mirror.
I caught sight of them stepping closer, their silhouettes
looming larger. The overhead lamp flickered a
few times, throwing their shapes in and out of view.
It was unsettling enough that I didn't even consider sticking
around to see what they wanted. Gripping the wheel, I slammed
the accelerator to the floor. The tires spun briefly on the
cold pavement before the truck surged forward.
As I pulled out onto the road, I couldn't help glancing over my
shoulder. They were still there, just a
few steps away from where I'd been, and I thought I caught a
gleam in one of their gazes under the dying fluorescent
light. My breath rattled in my chest as
I speed away, the station shrinking in the mirrors.
Part of me felt stupid for reacting like that, Maybe they
were just harmless locals, but something about that silent
approach in those intense stares convinced me otherwise.
The entire town, or what passed for one, seemed to vanish behind
me, and I told myself I wouldn't stop again until I hit a place
brimming with neon lights and other people.
Little did I know my heartbeat was about to spike all over
again because the road behind me wouldn't stay empty for long.
I'd barely cleared that rickety gas station when I caught
headlights in the rear view mirror, a telltale sweep of
harsh white cutting across the road.
The rational part of me hoped it was a coincidence, that maybe
these guys were just heading in the same direction, out for a
spin at an hour that made zero sense to normal people, but this
definitely didn't feel normal. My hands started to shake on the
steering wheel and every nerve in my body went on high alert as
those lights grew stronger, closing the gap in seconds.
My old Dodge rattled as I floored it, the engine growling
like it was ready for a fight. The cold air blasting through
the cracked windows whipped around me, and the tires
screeched in protest when I veered onto the main highway.
In the mirrors, the low rider's shape cut through the darkness,
a sleek predator hungry for a chase.
They stuck to my tail for the first half mile, headlights
flickering against the battered tailgate of my truck.
I kept praying to see any sign of other cars or some night
shift folks commuting somewhere, but the highway was as empty as
a tomb, just a lone set of bright beams bearing down on me.
The truck shuddered again. But it held on, which was a
small miracle. I figured they assumed I was
driving an underpowered rust bucket that would fold under
pressure. Poor assumption on their part.
My heart pounded so hard that my breath kept catching in my
throat. The engine roared as we tore
along the open road, and I leaned forward, silently begging
my truck for more speed. Some part of me relished how
unsuspecting my old ride seemed. On the outside it was all
peeling paint and squeaky belts, but beneath that hood I'd put in
a performance tuned hemi. I never imagined I'd actually be
relying on that secret weapon to outrun a group of shady
characters in the dead of night, but here we were.
They tried to keep up, pushing that low rider for everything it
had. I saw them drawing closer in
short bursts, as though maybe they'd catch a draft or find a
sweet spot behind me. But each time I'd press down
even harder on the gas. The truck kept responding, a
deep rumble matching the adrenaline flooding my veins.
The lonely strip of asphalt blurred under my headlights,
mile markers whipping past so fast I could hardly read them.
Eventually the distance started to stretch.
Those headlights fell behind, drifting into smaller and
smaller specks. My heartbeat was still slamming,
and I half expected them to pull off some trick, zigzagging onto
a back Rd. to cut me off. Or maybe they'd radio for
backup. My imagination ran wild,
conjuring up every worst case scenario, but after a few more
frantic minutes, their lights diminished into the blackness
and I was left with only the pounding of my pulse and the
quiet hum of the highway. I didn't let up on the gas for a
long while. Every time I told myself they'd
given up, a sliver of doubt prodded me to keep racing
forward. By the time I finally eased off,
the engine let out a weary cough like it was just as tense as I
was. I pulled over for a second,
blinking into the rear view to be absolutely sure nothing was
lurking back there. Darkness.
No headlights, no sign of that low rider.
A shaky laugh tumbled out of me. It sounded a little unhinged,
even to my own ears. Maybe this was the part where I
was supposed to celebrate outrunning them, but I felt more
uneasy than triumphant. Whatever those guys were up to,
I wanted no part of it. No telling what could have gone
down if they'd cornered me on a lonely stretch of Hwy.
Especially if they were more than just rowdy locals.
The thought of it made my stomach twist.
I didn't share the story with anyone until I got to a bigger
town that morning. After finding a place that
served coffee something cheap and scalding, I started spilling
the details to a friend of mine who happened to be a local cop.
He listened, hardly blinking, and by the time I reached the
part about the low rider roaring out from the station, his
expression said it all. He told me that route had a Rep
for cartel runs avoiding the main Interstate patrols.
He said it so calmly, like someone just talking about how
the weather might turn tomorrow. I felt my skin prickle as
everything clicked into place. Those tattoos, that silent
confidence. I realized my run in might have
been more than just a bad luck encounter with local tough guys.
Maybe they wanted my truck. Maybe they thought I was an easy
target. Who knows?
He shrugged and said I was lucky.
One of those times you outrun trouble before it drags you into
a place you can't escape from. Lucky, sure, but the relief I
felt was tied up with a heavy dose of dread, because I knew
I'd walked a razor's edge without even realizing it.
The memory of that flickering light at the gas station and
those blank, watchful faces was still burned into my mind, and
it made my teeth clench every time I thought about how quiet
they'd been. And that's basically where I
left things. I drove on, praying I'd never
see another ghost town station again.
If I do, I'm rolling right past it, no matter how low my fuel
gauge might be. Some lessons come wrapped in
fear, and this one taught me that in the middle of nowhere,
anything can happen. And it usually does when you're
least prepared. I woke up before dawn, throwing
my bag into the back seat of my dusty sedan and waving to my
wife, who was still half asleep on the porch.
We always exchange a few words before I head out, though
neither of us expects anything thrilling to happen during that
long trek across the Mojave. Once I got on the road, I dialed
her up again, just to keep myself company, and settled into
the drive, resigned to the endless sea of cracked earth and
faded Hwy. stripes. The sun rose in slow increments,
turning the skyline a hazy orange.
Everything outside the window felt stubbornly still, like the
desert itself was listening. My wife's voice drifted in and
out, the signal wavering as I passed through spots where the
terrain dipped. Truth be told, I was less
focused on our conversation than on the shimmering blacktop
stretching out in front of me. A faint sense of nerves gnawed
at me, and I couldn't figure out why.
It was just a standard day, a regular commute.
But something about that morning felt off, like the land was
warning me to stay on high alert.
After an hour or so, a motorcycle appeared in the
distance. At first it was just a flicker
of movement, a lone rider hugging the road, weaving
expertly past tumbleweeds and sand drifts.
I remember thinking he looked too calm, too assured.
The speed limit out here is already high, but he was pushing
it even further, easily bouncing between 70 and 90.
My wife asked if everything was OK, probably sensing my
distracted tone, and I said something vague about traffic.
As I continued. I couldn't stop watching him.
There's a certain unpredictability to these desert
highways. A sudden bend can appear right
after a deceptively straight mile.
Signs marked sharp curves at 45 mph, but folks often ignore
them. Still, seeing him approach a
particularly nasty turn at such a breakneck pace made my stomach
twist. I told my wife to hold on a
second. My eyes locked on the
motorcycle. The rider either didn't notice
the sign or didn't care. He didn't lean, He didn't slow.
In a blur, he flew off the road's edge. 1 moment he was
there, the next he'd vanished, swallowed by the drop off beyond
the guardrail. A harsh burst of panic seized
me, and I uttered some kind of startled grunt into the phone.
My wife's voice spiked with alarm, but I could barely speak.
My mind ran wild, picturing twisted metal, a figure sprawled
in the desert scrub. I forced myself to end the call,
God knows what I sounded like, and jerk the wheel to pull onto
the shoulder. The tires crunched over loose
gravel. Everything felt unreal.
The sun was glaring in my eyes, my phone already in hand,
dialing 911 without me really thinking about it.
That was the moment I realized I might have just witnessed
something no one would ever want to see.
Over the dispatcher's voice. I could hear my own breathing,
ragged and uneven with my kit under one arm.
I stepped out into the desert heat, my legs feeling strange,
like they wanted to lock up. That's when I peered over the
side, bracing for something horrific and knowing that no
matter what I found, I wouldn't be the same afterward.
I think I nearly dropped my phone as I scrambled down that
slope, the 911 dispatcher's voice echoing faintly in the
background. My hands shook despite the
punishing desert heat, and each step sent loose gravel skidding
beneath my boots. Part of me expected to find the
rider instantly sprawled out in a motionless heap, but the
embankment was sharper than it looked from the road.
It felt like descending into some hidden Canyon where
anything could be waiting. The dispatcher was still on the
line. I stammered details about the
crash. Motorcycle going way too fast,
Took the curve straight on, that kind of thing.
The dryness of the air clung to the back of my throat, making it
harder to speak. By the time I reached the
bottom, I realized just how far the rider must have flown.
After careening off that asphalt, any sane calculation
told me I'd find a tragedy. When I stepped around a boulder,
I braced for the worst. Instead, I spotted movement.
Somebody actually on their feet. For a second, I froze.
Was I imagining this, the shape of a young man, maybe mid 20s,
stumbling forward like he was trying to walk off a bad fall?
Dust clung to his clothes, bits of sagebrush caught on him.
His helmet dangled from one hand, cracked near the visor,
and he looked so rattled he might topple over any second.
Hold on, buddy, stay still. I called, my voice shaking.
The dispatcher's questions blurred and I fumble my phone
into my pocket, trusting them to pick up what they could through
the rustle of my kit. I jogged over, heart hammering,
half convinced he'd collapse under his own weight.
Up close, the kid was covered in scrapes.
He had a cut on his forehead that left a thin trail of blood
across his face. His collarbone was obviously
messed up, jutting slightly where it shouldn't.
Somehow he was still moving, though every step must have felt
like fire. I told him not to push it, let
me check him over. My gloved hands ran through a
quick trauma assessment. No immediate gushing blood,
breathing rapid but functional. He mumbled something about
losing control, his eyes darting around like he was afraid the
ground might open up beneath him again.
I glanced back at the mangled remains of the bike.
It was destroyed, the front wheel bent at a 90° angle, torn
metal scattered like shrapnel. The fact he'd survived being
thrown that far was flat out miraculous.
I remember thinking that if he could survive something like
this, maybe I needed to trust the desert a little more.
Or respect it a lot more. Either way, I tried to keep him
conscious while the dispatcher repeated instructions about
waiting for an ambulance. Within minutes, I heard sirens
keening over the hum of the wind.
I helped guide the rider to a safer patch of ground, careful
not to jostle his shoulder. Dust clouded the air as the
paramedics arrived, kicking up grit that stung my eyes.
They hurried over, expressions shifting from urgent focus to
outright astonishment when they saw him not only alive but
standing. They slid a brace around his
neck, strapped him to a stretcher, and carried him up
toward the waiting ambulance. I shadowed them, adrenaline
still pumping, replaying the moment he'd soared off the
curve. I told the EM TS everything, his
speed, how he didn't even try to turn.
They nodded, probably used to people overestimating what they
can handle on these desert roads.
One of them looked at me and said he's lucky you were right
behind him. But luck didn't begin to
describe what I felt. Relief, definitely, but also a
lingering dread, like I'd wandered into a story with an
ending I could never have predicted.
When the ambulance finally pulled away, sirens fading, the
hush of the Mojave slipped back over me.
I stood there, scanning the scattered debris, trying to come
to grips with what had just happened.
My sedan waded up on the road, looking oddly insignificant
against the dunes and scrub. The entire scene felt like a
glimpse into how fast life can flip on you.
One minute you're cruising in the desert, watching another
driver, the next you're staring at a near corpse who somehow
held on to life. I trudged back up the slope,
feeling drained, each footstep sending tiny rocks clattering
behind me. By the time I reached my car, my
phone was buzzing again, my wife calling, frantic about why I'd
vanished mid sentence. I answered, my voice raw.
There was nothing supernatural about what I'd seen, yet it
rattled me more than any ghost story ever could.
All I could think about was how close that rider had come to
tragedy, how quickly something ordinary had turned into a
nightmare, and how, even with him safe in an ambulance, the
desert seemed to watch me like it still had another trick up
its sleeve. I climbed behind the wheel, took
a few seconds to steady my breathing, and turned the key.
The engine's rumble felt too normal after everything.
Pulling back onto the highway, I told my wife I'd explain
everything once I got a better grip on it myself.
The road looked strangely different now, less predictable,
more ominous. Every curve felt like it might
hide another disaster waiting to happen.
I tightened my hands around the steering wheel, determined to
stay alert. Nothing around me had changed,
but I certainly had. And somehow I suspected I'd
never view that lonely desert stretch the same way again.
I've driven this route through Tennessee more times than I can
count, but somehow everything about it felt hostile.
That evening my husband was dozing in the passenger seat and
that left me alone with the darkness outside, the rhythmic
slap of wiper blades, and the never ending twists in the road.
Rain misted the windshield and the fog gathered in dense
patches that forced me to lean forward like it would help me
see through the murk. Something about the night made
my nerves feel exposed. It wasn't just the weather,
though that was bad enough with winding lanes and slick
pavement. It was a kind of heavy quiet in
the air. No other cars seemed willing to
brave that stretch of Rd. Every time I glanced at the rear
view mirror, I was half hoping to spot headlights just so I'd
know we weren't the only ones out there.
But it was all emptiness behind me.
Every few miles the fog would open up and the headlights would
reveal a glimpse of towering trees leaning in on either side,
forming a tunnel of branches and dripping leaves.
The occasional sign, wet and reflective, reminded me we were
still on a state highway. Otherwise I could have sworn we
drifted off into some deserted back Rd. with no clear end.
The rhythmic static on the radio did little to settle my nerves.
Each pop or hiss felt like a whisper, suggesting something
was lurking just beyond my field of vision.
I tried not to wake my husband. He'd been exhausted, and there
was no sense in both of us suffering through that drive.
Still, part of me wanted to give him a gentle nudge, say hey,
something about this place is wrong, just so I wouldn't feel
so alone. But I kept quiet.
Instead, I stayed glued to the road, breathing in shallow
bursts every time I rounded another tight curve.
Around one particularly narrow bend, the trees were almost
uncomfortably close. My headlights only illuminated a
few feet ahead, leaving everything else wallowed by
gloom. Then, off to the left, I saw
movement in my peripheral vision.
Maybe 20 feet away, something massive peeled away from the
tree line. At first, my brain refused to
register what I was seeing. It was as if an entire trunk had
stepped free from the rest of the forest.
A jolt of unease shot through me, and I gripped the steering
wheel until my knuckles ached. My mind scrambled for a logical
explanation. Maybe the fog was playing tricks
with shadows. Maybe a snagged branch moved in
the wind. But it was huge, taller than any
living thing has a right to be, and it seemed to vanish back
into the darkness in one smooth motion. 1 moment there was this
towering shape, the next nothing.
I wanted to slam on the brakes and get a better look, but I was
afraid the car might skid on the wet asphalt.
Besides, I couldn't risk stopping in such an isolated
spot with no shoulder to pull onto and no visibility behind
me. For a few seconds, I seriously
questioned my own eyes. A detached part of me was
yelling it was just the fog, while another part insisted I
just witnessed something that didn't belong in any nature
guide. My breath came quicker as I
pressed the accelerator, motivated by a primal instinct
that shouted GET AWAY. Each second dragged until the
next clearing appeared where I spotted a lonely, flickering
motel sign in the distance. It seemed like a tiny beacon of
safety, a reminder that civilization still existed.
I exhaled a bit, thinking maybe I'd just let my mind wander.
The gloom could have twisted a perfectly ordinary tree trunk
into something monstrous. Right then the pang of doubt
came roaring back. I'd seen it move.
It didn't sway like branches in the wind.
It slinked back the way a tall person might step behind a wall.
Only this was the height of a three story building, maybe
taller. No way that was normal.
I thought about stopping at that motel, but it looked deserted.
Just a handful of rooms with the lights off.
It didn't feel any safer than the open Rd. so I kept going.
My husband stirred in his seat, mumbled something about the
rain, and drifted back to half sleep.
I envied him for a second. I'd give anything not to be so
keyed up right now. We pressed on the road, curving
again under a canopy of dripping leaves.
My eyes kept darting to the side, expecting another glimpse
of that shape. Each time the wind rustled the
branches, my pulse picked up, but the trees refused to reveal
any more secrets. I was tempted to rifle through
the radio channels again, just for some human voices, but I
realized my hands were shaking and I didn't want to lose focus
on the wheel. Eventually we came upon a
slightly wider stretch, and there was a rundown diner with
all its lights off. It was just as desolate as the
motel, but the parking lot offered a place to pull over.
I did, briefly, to calm my nerves.
My husband blinked awake, asked if everything was all right.
I wanted to tell him everything, but the words refused to come.
I just stared at the dripping overhang above the diner's door,
half expecting that giant figure to emerge from behind the
building. We didn't stay long.
Soon I was back on the road, forcing myself to concentrate on
the dark pavement ahead. I glanced at the clock and
realized how little distance we'd covered In what felt like
an eternity. Every minute felt stretched and
distorted, as if time was slowed down by the anxiety gnawing at
me. As the highway wound deeper Into
Darkness. I kept looking into the mirror,
certain I'd catch a glimpse of that towering shape following
us, only to see fog and empty Rd. in the passenger seat.
My husband stirred again, concerned by my quiet tension,
but I just told him I was fine. No point in scaring him until I
had my own mind sorted out. Soon enough, the road
straightened and the forest retreated into the background.
The uneasy wait on my chest eased, though it never vanished
completely. I spent the remaining miles
mentally replaying what I saw back there, my thoughts racing.
Had I really seen a tree move? A Cryptid?
Was it just a trick of shadows? But each time I recalled how it
vanished, I shuddered. The memory refused to feel like
a simple illusion. We finally passed a sign
announcing we were close to the state line.
I breathed a cautious sigh of relief.
Maybe once we made it into Kentucky, the night would lose
its menace and I could chalk the whole thing up to a creepy
roadside hallucination. But something in my gut insisted
the memory would linger long after the fog lifted, and as we
drove on, I stole one last glance behind us, half convinced
that shape was still out there, concealed in the dark, watching
me leave. I pulled into the truck stop
around midnight, drawn to its flickering neon sign like a
castaway spotting land. Fat droplets of rain tapped
against the roof as I parked beneath a weak St. lamp.
Even in that dim light, the place looked worn down.
Faded paint, old vending machines humming in the corner,
and a few greasy puddles on the asphalt.
I sat in the driver's seat for a moment, just letting the engine
idle. My husband, now fully awake,
looked over at me with worry, no doubt sensing the tension
radiating off me. I still hadn't told him about
what I witnessed earlier, and part of me didn't know how it
sounded insane, even in my own head.
Despite my reluctance, we climbed out.
We needed a break from that winding Rd.
The air smelled like diesel and damp concrete.
The light above the pumps flickered and buzzed every few
seconds, making shadows shrink and grow across the parking lot.
That steady pulse kept me on edge.
I couldn't stop imagining that giant shape from earlier lurking
just beyond the glow. Inside the cramped convenience
store, I grabbed a coffee while my husband wandered off to
stretch his legs. I opened a search on my phone,
half embarrassed to type keywords like massive tree
creature, Tennessee Cryptid, anything that might explain what
I'd seen. Nothing relevant popped up, just
a scattering of myths and rumors about odd shapes in the woods,
local ghost stories or sightings that never went anywhere.
The lack of answers made me feel more alone than ever.
We stepped back out into the damp night and my husband
started filling the tank. The single attendant on duty, an
older man, approached with a polite nod.
When I blurted something about the road being eerily empty, he
just shrugged. His eyes flicked toward the dark
highway like he knew more than he was letting on.
We get travellers coming through, he muttered.
Some swear they see things this time of year.
Then he clammed up, almost like he regretted saying anything at
all. I wanted to press him for
details, but I couldn't shake the sense that he'd just shut
down. My husband looked at me with
concern, probably wondering why I was so rattled.
I offered a tight smile, hoping he'd chalk it up to exhaustion.
Truth was, my mind was spinning with thoughts of that impossible
sight. The longer we stood there, the
more I felt the darkness pressing in on all sides, as if
something huge and watchful hovered right outside the circle
of light. We got back into the car and
pulled away from the truck stop, leaving that wavering neon sign
in the rear view. The fog welcomed us again,
thicker than before, swallowing the road so thoroughly I had to
keep the speed way down. The headlights carved out a weak
tunnel of visibility, and every shape beyond that felt ominous,
like it might flicker to life at any second.
Not 20 minutes later, the highway curved sharply through
another stretch of dense forest. My husband finally spoke up,
asking why I seemed so paranoid. I was about to give him a half
truth, blame it on the weather, when a tall, warped silhouette
emerged by the edge of the tree line.
It vanished almost immediately, but I caught a glimpse of
something that didn't fit any known animal, Long sinewy, limb
like shapes rustling the branches as if brushing them
aside. My husband glanced out his
window, alerted by my sudden intake of breath, but whatever
it was had melted into the shadows.
I was left gripping the wheel, pulse hammering in my ears,
replaying the moment it had moved again, just like before.
A silent, calculated shift deeper into the woods.
I pressed my foot down on the accelerator, not caring about
the slick Rd. anymore. All I wanted was distance.
He started to ask what I saw. I stumbled through words like
something really big might have been a tree, but they sounded
ludicrous even to me. He didn't seem convinced,
though. He caught on to my panic and
urged me to slow down, worried I'd lose control of the car.
Instead, I kept pushing forward, wanting to leave that region
behind as fast as possible. A couple more miles bled into
the night, and finally the Welcome to Kentucky sign shone
faintly through the haze. Relief trickled in, though it
never fully chased away the dread lodged in my gut.
Lights became more common. Small roadside houses, the
occasional gas station, traces of normal life creeping back in.
Still, I couldn't forget the way that shape had loomed at the
tree line. My eyes flicked to the side
Mirror Now and then, almost expecting to see an impossibly
tall figure keeping pace in the distance.
We arrived at my family's place right on the edge of dawn.
Porch lamps illuminated a gravel driveway, and a sense of
familiarity tried to comfort me. But as I stepped out onto the
soggy ground, every rustle of leaves behind the house made me
twitch. My relatives came out to greet
us, calling out how they'd worried we'd get stuck in the
storm. I forced a smile, pretending the
only issue was the weather. Deep down, I was still replaying
that moment of second sighting on the road, feeling that it had
looked right back at me. Fully aware inside, I slumped
into a chair, trying to shake off the unease.
My husband hovered close, sensing I wasn't just tired.
The warmth of the room, the smell of coffee, and the soft
chatter of my family were comforting, yet a knot of
tension clung to me. Each time a branch tapped
against the window. I thought about what might be
out there, looming in the dark, waiting.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of half hearted
conversation and restless pacing.
Nobody else knew about the haunting images stuck in my
mind. That night when everyone turned
in, I sat by the window, peeking out at the rows of trees behind
my family's home. A small hope flickered that
morning light might erase the fear, but something told me that
what I'd encountered wasn't the kind of thing you just leave
behind. It stayed with you like a
secret. Only you and it understood.