Stranded Trucker Encounters Mysterious Stranger - Scary Horror Stories

Can't sleep? Welcome back to another bone-chilling episode of the Nighttime Scary Tales Podcast. This is where your deepest nightmares come to life. 

Tune in for a mix of spine-tingling horror fiction, terrifying paranormal encounters, and bone-rattling true crime stories that blur the line between nightmare and reality. We'll dive into the darkest corners of the supernatural, from ghostly sightings to otherworldly encounters that will leave you frozen in fear. These stories will haunt your mind far longer than that weird noise in your attic. We'll keep you on the edge of your seat, with your heart racing, as each tale tightens its grip on your imagination. After listening, we'd love to hear your thoughts—leave a review on your preferred podcast platform and let us know what sent shivers down your spine.

Subscribe so you don't miss any of the horrifying tales we have coming your way. So, sit back, unwind, and brace yourself for a chilling experience. Keep your lights on and your doors locked. Sweet dreams... 

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Welcome to another episode of the Nighttime Scary Tales Podcast, where we explore the dark side of storytelling. Tonight, prepare for spine-chilling tales featuring original horror stories, eerie supernatural encounters, and real-life crime that reveals the darker aspects of human nature. Each story is designed to keep you on the edge of your seat long after it ends. We’d love to hear your thoughts! Share your most chilling moments by leaving a review on your favorite podcast platform. More haunting stories are coming, so keep your lights on and your doors locked. Sweet dreams… if you can find them!

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:07):
I've always liked the isolation of trucking. Some folks can't
handle the endless stretches of road and empty landscape, but
for me, it's peaceful. It's just you, your rig and
the road. You don't have to deal with anyone, and
you can get lost in your thoughts, or at least
that's how it normally is. I had been driving somewhere

(00:27):
in the middle of Nevada on a deserted highway with
no real sign of life in any direction. It was
one of those stretches of road where you could go
hours without seeing another vehicle, let alone a town. It
was close to midnight when I started noticing something was
off with my rig. The engine made a faint, sputtering noise,

(00:47):
barely noticeable at first, but enough to catch my attention.
I looked down at the dashboard. Nothing seemed wrong, no
warning lights, no signs of trouble, but the noise persisted,
a quiet, regular cough from the engine, as if it
were struggling. I had another two hours before the next
truck stop, but I figured i'd make it there before
anything serious happened. At least that's what I thought about.

(01:11):
Twenty minutes later, the sputtering turned into a full on stutter,
and before I knew it, the engine just died. The
truck coasted to a slow halt on the side of
the road, the hum of the engine fading into nothing,
leaving me in the oppressive silence of the night. I
sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel. I'd
maintained my truck religiously and it hadn't given me any

(01:34):
issues before I turned the key, hoping it was just
a fluke, but the engine wouldn't turn over, just that
awful clicking sound of a dead engine. Great. I flicked
on the hazard lights and stepped out of the cab.
The night air hit me like a wall of heat,
even though it was well past sundown. Desert nights are
supposed to be cool, but there was something strange about

(01:57):
the air. I popped the hood and grabbed my lashlight
from the toolbox, shining it over the engine. I'm no mechanic,
but I know enough to spot the basics. Everything looked fine,
no obvious leaks, no signs of damage. But something wasn't right.
It didn't matter how many times I tried to start
the truck. It wasn't going anywhere. I grabbed the CB

(02:19):
breaker won nine. Anyone out there. I'm stuck on the
side of the highway, rigs dead, anyone nearby. My voice
echoed through the cab, but the response was only static.
I tried again, a little louder this time, my unease growing.
Come on, someone's got to be out there. I could
use some help. Nothing. No crackle of a distant voice,

(02:39):
no sign of another driver, just static. I stood there
for a minute, the quiet pressing in on me. My
phone didn't have a signal, and the nearest town was
too far to walk to. I was stuck in the
middle of nowhere, with no one to call and no
way to fix the truck. I felt an eerie tingle
climb the back of my neck, that feeling you get

(02:59):
when you know something's wrong but you can't quite put
your finger on it. I was about to get back
into the cab when I saw a pair of headlights
in the distance, faint but growing closer. Relief flooded through me.
Maybe it was another trucker, someone who could help, or
at least give me a ride to the next stop.
As the vehicle got closer, I could see it was

(03:20):
an old, beat up pickup truck. It rolled to a
stop a few yards ahead of my rig, and a
man stepped out. He was tall and lanky, his clothes
worn and dusty, like he'd been on the road for days.
There was something about him that immediately put me on edge.
You need some help, he asked, his voice gravely and low.
For a second, I wasn't sure how to respond. Something

(03:43):
about him felt off. But what choice did I have.
I was stranded in the middle of nowhere, and I
couldn't afford to be picky. Yeah, my truck broke down,
I said, forcing a smile. I'm not sure what the
problem is. It just died. The man nodded slowly, his
eyes flicking toward my rig. Mind if I take a look,
I hesitated, But what was I gonna say? No? I

(04:04):
was stuck and this guy was the only person around. Sure,
go ahead. He walked over to the truck, moving with
a strange, deliberate slowness, and I felt my unease grow.
He didn't ask any questions about the truck, didn't seem
all that interested in the engine. He just stood there,
peering under the hood, his back turned to me. Something

(04:26):
about the whole situation felt wrong. Like I was missing
something obvious. The hair on my arm stood up, and
I took a step back, trying to keep some distance
between us. The man stayed under the hood for longer
than seemed necessary. He wasn't moving much, just standing there,
his head tilted slightly, as if he was listening to something.
I shifted on my feet, feeling more uneasy. See anything wrong,

(04:49):
I asked, trying to break the silence. He didn't respond
at first, just stood there still as a statue. When
he finally turned to face me. Looks like you're in
a bit of trouble, he said, his voice low and
almost amused. But I can help. There's a place not
far from here, just off the highway. I've got some
tools there. We can tow your rig and get you

(05:10):
fixed up. My gut was shouting at me to refuse.
There was something in his voice, something in the way
he looked at me that felt wrong, like he wasn't
offering help at all, but something else, something darker. I
appreciate the offer, but I think I'll just wait for
a toe. Shouldn't be too long before someone comes by.

(05:32):
The Man's eyes narrowed slightly for a moment, we just
stood there staring at each other in the dim light
from my truck's headlights. You sure, he asked, taking a
step closer. It's a long way to the next town.
Could be hours before anyone else comes through. I could
feel my heart beating in my throat. Something was very
wrong here, and I knew it, but I couldn't afford

(05:53):
to show fear. Not yet, I'm sure, I said, forcing
a smile. Thanks for stopping, though. The man stared at
me for a long moment, his eyes cold and calculating,
like he was weighing his options. Then, without another word,
he turned and walked back to his truck. But the
way he did it, slow and deliberate, made it clear
this wasn't over. I watched as the man climbed into

(06:16):
his truck, but he didn't drive away. He just sat there,
his engine idling. I backed up toward the cab of
my rig, my hands shaking as I fumbled for the
door handle. I climbed in and locked the doors. The
man's truck hadn't moved. He was still sitting there, waiting.
I tried to tell myself it was fine, that he'd
leave soon, but the uneasy feeling in my gut wouldn't

(06:38):
go away. It felt like he was planning something, like
he was waiting for the right moment. Minutes passed, then
an hour. The man's truck still hadn't moved. My palms
were slick with sweat, my nerves fraying with every second
that ticked by. Suddenly, the man's truck lurched forward, pulling
up alongside my rig. My stomach twisted with dread as

(07:00):
I saw his silhouette through the window, his face illuminated
by the dim glow of his dashboard lights. He was
watching me, his expression unrettable, but there was something in
his eyes that gave me an eerie, chilling feeling. He
rolled down his window and leaned out, you sure you
don't want that help, buddy? I didn't answer. My heart

(07:20):
was pounding so hard I thought it might burst out
of my chest. I reached from my phone again, hoping
against hope that I'd somehow gotten a signal, but the
screen was still blank. The man got out of his truck,
leaving the engine running, and started walking toward my door.
My hands fumbled for the keys, desperately trying to start
the engine, but the truck still wouldn't turn over. As

(07:44):
he drew closer. Panic surged inside me, that same slow,
deliberate walk that had set off alarms in my head
from the start. I grabbed the tire iron from under
the seat, gripping it tightly in my trembling hands. If
he tried to get in, I'd have to defend myself.
There was no option. He reached the door and knocked hard.

(08:04):
Open up, he said, his voice low and menacing. Let's
have a talk. I didn't move, didn't breathe just sat there,
clutching the tire iron, my pulse roaring in my ears.
He knocked again, harder this time. Don't make this difficult.
The truck's engines still wouldn't start. My mind raced, trying
to figure out what to do, but there were no

(08:24):
good options. I was trapped. Then, just as he reached
for the door handle, I heard the sound of another
engine in the distance. Headlights appeared in my rearview mirror,
and I felt a surge of hope. Another truck was approaching,
its lights cutting through the darkness like a beacon. The
man froze, his hand still on the door handle, his

(08:45):
eyes narrowing as he looked over his shoulder at the
approaching vehicle. For a moment, I thought he was going
to try to break in anyway, but then he turned
and walked back to his truck Without another word. He
climbed in, slammed the door, and peeled out, speeding off
to the night. The other trucker pulled up behind me.
I was too shaken to get out at first, too

(09:06):
stunned by what had just happened, but eventually I forced
myself to step out to wave down the driver. He
was a fellow long haul trucker just passing through. When
I told him what had happened, he offered to stay
with me until a tow truck arrived. I don't know
how much time passed before help finally showed up, but
the man never came back. I've been driving trucks for years,

(09:28):
but that night was the closest I've ever come to
real danger. The man on the highway may have seemed
like he was offering help, but I know now that
his intentions were anything but good. And to this day,
whenever I'm driving through a deserted stretch of highway, I
keep my eyes on the road and I never ever
stop for strangers. Sometimes the people who offer help are

(09:49):
the ones you need to fear the most. For close
to two decades, I've been on the road as a
long haul trucker. You get used to the solitude, the
long hours, and the isolation that comes with it. I've
driven through every kind of weather, on roads that seemed

(10:09):
like they stretched forever, and into towns so remote they
barely existed on a map. But in all those years,
there's only one particular night that continues to haunt my nights.
I was on a cross country hall from Arizona to Georgia.
It was late October and i'd just made it past
the New Mexico border when I realized I needed to

(10:30):
pull over for the night. I'd been on the road
for nearly eleven hours straight and my eyelids were getting heavy.
You know the feeling your brain starts to slow down
and before you know it, you're nodding off at the wheel.
Not safe. I wasn't near any major truck stops though,
just a long, empty stretch of highway with nothing in sight.

(10:52):
I figured I'd keep an eye out for the next
rest stop and pull over there for a few hours
of sleep. It wasn't ideal, but I've done it. Plenty
of times before. That's when I saw the sign rest
stop two miles perfect timing. I slowed down as I
approached the exit and pulled off the highway. As I
rolled into the rest stop, I could already tell something
was off. The place was practically abandoned. There were only

(11:15):
two other trucks in the lot, both of them parked
at the far end, their cabs dark, no signs of life. Inside.
The rest stop itself wasn't much to look at, just
a few parking spaces, a couple of picnic tables, and
an old, beat up restroom building. There were no lights
except for a single flickering street lamp near the entrance,
casting eerie shadows across the cracked pavement. I parked my

(11:39):
rig near the middle of the lot, not too close
to the other trucks, but not too far either. Something
about the isolation didn't sit right with me, but I
figured I was just being paranoid. I cut the engine
and sat there for a minute, letting the silence of
the desert settle around me. It was unnervingly quiet. No wind,
no crickets, no distant hum of track, effic just dead,

(12:01):
suffocating silence. I grabbed my thermos and took a long
swig of coffee, hoping it would shake off the uneasy
feeling creeping up my spine, but it didn't. After a
few minutes, I decided to stretch my legs and use
the restroom before settling in for some sleep. I grabbed
my flashlight from the glove compartment and stepped out of
the cab. The night air was cold and the ground

(12:24):
crunched under my boots as I walked toward the restroom building.
The restroom was in worse shape than I expected. The
door hung slightly off its hinges, and the walls were
covered in graffiti. I pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The smell hit me first, musty, damp, like the place
hadn't been cleaned in ages. I flicked on the light switch,

(12:46):
but nothing happened. I pointed my flashlight at the cracked
tiles and peeling paint, trying to find the least disgusting
stall to use. As I was doing my business, I
heard it the sound of footsteps, soft at first, then louder,
like someone was walking slowly around the building circling it.
I froze. The rest stop had been empty when I

(13:07):
pulled in. No other cars had arrived, and the trucks
parked at the far end were still dark and silent,
So who the hell was walking around? I quickly finished
up and stepped out of the stall. I listened carefully,
straining to hear, but the footsteps had stopped. Maybe it
was just my imagination. Maybe it was the wind, or
an animal or something else. I opened the door, shining

(13:30):
my flashlight around the lot. Nothing just the same eerie
silence and the dim glow of the street lamp flickering
in the distance. I took a deep breath, trying to
calm my nerves, and made my way back to my truck.
I was halfway back to my rig when I saw him,
A man standing by one of the picnic tables. I
could barely see him in the dark. He was with

(13:52):
his hands stuffed into the pockets of a heavy jacket,
his face hidden by the hood pulled over his head.
I stopped in my tracks, my heart skipping a beat.
He hadn't been there when I'd gotten out of my truck.
I was sure of it. I hadn't seen or heard
anyone else when I pulled in, so where had he
come from? I kept my flashlight trained on him, but

(14:13):
he didn't move. He just stood there, completely still. I
couldn't make out his face, but something about his posture,
the way he stood there, like he was waiting for something,
made my skin crawl. I forced myself to keep walking,
not wanting to show any sign of fear. As I
got closer to my truck, I looked over my shoulder.
The man hadn't moved. He was still standing there watching me.

(14:37):
I climbed into the cab, locking the doors behind me,
and sat there for a moment. My hands were shaking.
I told myself it was nothing, just some guy passing
through another trucker maybe, But why hadn't I seen him
pull in, and why was he just standing there. I
peeked out of the window, but the man was gone.

(14:57):
I tried to relax, telling myself that everything was fine,
that I was just tired. I lay down on the
bed at the back of the cabin, figuring i'd try
to get some sleep, but the unease I felt earlier
had only grown worse. I couldn't stop thinking about the
man by the picnic table, the way he'd been standing
there watching me in the shadows. I turned off the
interior light and lay in the darkness of the cab,

(15:20):
listening to the silence outside. I couldn't escape the nagging
feeling that I was being watched. Every time I closed
my eyes, I pictured the man's silhouette standing motionless in
the dark. I don't know how long I lay there,
but it must have been close to an hour. I
was starting to drift off when I heard it again, footsteps,
this time right outside my truck. I shot up. I

(15:44):
grabbed my flashlight and shined it through the window, but
there was no one there, just the empty parking lot,
the flickering street lamp, and the endless blackness of the desert.
The footsteps continued circling the truck, now slow, deliberate. My
stomach twisted with fear. It wasn't my imagination. Someone or
something was out there. I listened as the footsteps stopped

(16:07):
right outside my door. I held my breath, waiting for
something to happen. But the next sound I heard wasn't footsteps.
It was a knock, soft at first, almost polite, like
someone tapping gently on the door. I didn't move. I couldn't.
Then the knock came again, louder, this time more insistent,
I leaned forward, trying to peer through the window without
making it obvious, but I couldn't see anyone, just the

(16:30):
edge of the truck bathed in the dim light of
the street lamp. Then from the other side of the cab,
I heard it again, another knock, like someone or more
than one person was tapping on both sides of the
truck at once. I grabbed my phone, hands trembling as
I dialed nine to one one, but there was no signal.
I cursed under my breath, knowing how remote the area was.

(16:54):
Of course, there was no service out here. The knocks continued,
more aggressive. Whatever was out there wasn't just messing with me.
They wanted in. I debated getting out, trying to scare
them off, but something told me that was a bad idea.
There was more than one person out there, I could
feel it, and they were waiting for me to make
a move. I don't know what made me do it,

(17:15):
but I reached over and slammed my fist against the horn.
The loud blare echoing through the empty rest stop for
a moment, the knocking stopped. I waited, my breath caught
in my throat, listening for any sign of movement. Then
I heard it, a car engine, headlights illuminating the darkness
as another vehicle pulled into the lot, its bright beams

(17:37):
sweeping across the pavement and illuminating the shadows that had
been lurking outside my truck. Three figures stood there, scattered
around my rig. They were all wearing dark clothes, their
faces hidden by hoods. When the car's lights hit them,
they froze, then quickly scattered, disappearing into the darkness of
the desert. I didn't waste any time. I turned the key,

(18:00):
started the engine, and peeled out of that rest stop
as fast as I could. My heart was racing, my
hands shaking as I gripped the wheel. I didn't look back.
I didn't want to. I drove straight through the night,
not stopping until I hit a well lit truck stop
a few hours later. Even then, I didn't feel safe.

(18:20):
I couldn't stop thinking about the figures knocking on my doors.
I told a few other truckers what had happened, and
one of them told me he'd heard rumors about that
rest stop. Apparently it wasn't the first time something like
that had happened there. People had gone missing trucks found abandoned,
but there was never any proof, just stories. I never

(18:40):
stop at rest stops that remote anymore. You never know
who or what might be waiting for you in the dark.
And the worst part, I still hear those knocks sometimes.
I've been a trucker for over twenty years. Let me
tell you I've seen some strange things out on the road.

(19:03):
Long stretches of highway at night can play tricks on
your mind. Sometimes you see shadows that aren't really there,
or your tired eyes start to blur reality. You get
used to the isolation, the endless miles of nothingness. But
there was one night, one stretch of road that I'll
never forget. It was a late November night, and I
was hauling a load through Texas, heading down a remote

(19:26):
highway that cut through miles of empty desert. The road
was as straight as an arrow, with no towns for miles,
no gas stations, no rest stops, just pitch black on
either side of me. I usually don't mind the solitude.
It gives me time to think, to clear my head,
but that night something felt off. The air was heavy,

(19:46):
the kind of weight that sits on your chest and
makes it hard to breathe, my headlights illuminating nothing but
the cracked asphalt in front of me. I looked at
the clock on my dash eleven forty seven pm. I
still had a few hours to go before I'd planned
to pull over for the night. But I wasn't feeling tired.
There was an uneasy energy in the air that kept

(20:07):
me alert, like my body knew something was coming before
my mind did. It must have been another hour of
driving when I first noticed the car. At first, it
was just a pair of headlights in my rear view mirror,
far in the distance. I didn't think much of it.
It's rare to see other vehicles out on roads like
these at that time of night, but it's not unheard of.

(20:29):
Maybe another trucker, maybe someone driving cross country. I kept
an eye on it though It's a habit I picked
up over the years. Knowing what's behind you is just
as important as watching what's in front. But the car
didn't seem to be gaining on me. It stayed back,
keeping the same distance. After about twenty minutes of this,

(20:50):
I started to get a little suspicious. I'd been driving
at a steady pace around sixty five miles per hour,
and any car behind me should have caught up by now,
or at least gotten closer, but this one stayed exactly
where it was. I did my best to dismiss the
discomfort growing in the pit of my stomach. I told
myself it was just some guy who didn't want to pass,

(21:11):
maybe nervous about being out here alone. Still, I couldn't
help looking back at the mirror every few minutes, waiting
for the car to either speed up or fall behind.
But it didn't. It just stayed there. Another thirty minutes
passed and the car hadn't budged. My palms were starting
to sweat, and I couldn't focus on the road ahead

(21:33):
of me. All I could think about was those headlights
in my mirror. My heart started beating faster, even though
nothing had really happened yet. But something deep down was
telling me that this wasn't normal. This wasn't just some
guy driving through the desert at night. There was something wrong.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I'd

(21:54):
been through worse. I'd driven through blizzards, nearly jackknifed on
icy roads, and been stuck in dead zones where I
couldn't get help. For hours. This was just my imagination,
I told myself. But no matter how many times I
tried to push the fear aside, it kept creeping back in,
like a cold hand gripping the back of my neck.
I turned up the radio, hoping to drown out my thoughts,

(22:16):
but all I could find was static. Of course, out here,
stations are few and far between. I switched it off
and tried to focus on the road, but that damn
car was still in my mirror, a pair of unwavering
eyes that never blinked. I'd had enough. I decided I
was going to slow down and let the car pass me.
If this guy was just messing with me, i'd call

(22:38):
him out. If not, maybe he'd finally get the hint
and go around me. I eased off the gas and
watched the car in the mirror, expecting it to get closer.
But it didn't. I slowed down more, down to fifty
miles per hour than forty. The car stayed exactly where
it was, not getting closer and not falling behind. My
heart was racing. Now this wasn't possible. I slowed down

(23:01):
even more until I was barely crawling along. At thirty
miles per hour, but still the headlights in the distance
didn't move. It was like they were glued to that
spot in the mirror. What the hell was going on?
I pressed the brakes, bringing my truck to a complete
stop in the middle of the road. I sat there,
staring into the rear view mirror, waiting for the car

(23:22):
to catch up. But when I looked again, it was gone.
The road behind me was empty, no headlights, no car,
just darkness stretching out for miles. I leaned forward, squinting
into the mirror, trying to see if the car had
turned off or maybe pulled over somewhere I hadn't noticed.
But there was nothing. A car couldn't just disappear like that,

(23:43):
not out here on this dead straight road with no
turn offs, no exits, no place to go. I must
have missed something. I had to. I threw the truck
into gear and started moving again, faster this time. My
hands were slick with sweat, and I could barely keep
my grip on the wheel. My mind raced with explanations.
Maybe the guy had turned off his lights, or maybe

(24:05):
I just imagined the whole thing. But no matter how
hard I tried to rationalize, it. I had a nagging
feeling that something was very wrong. I'd been driving for
about fifteen minutes when the headlights reappeared in my mirror.
My stomach dropped. The car was back, same distance, same
exact spot in my rear view. It was like nothing

(24:26):
had happened, like it had never disappeared at all. My
hands trembled on the wheel, and I could feel the
panic rising in my chest. I didn't know what to do.
I couldn't just stop again, not with whatever was happening
behind me, and speeding up didn't seem to make a
difference either. I tried to stay calm, tried to focus
on the road ahead, but every few seconds, my eyes

(24:49):
flicked back to the mirror, watching those headlights like they
were some kind of predator stalking me. I thought about
pulling over at the next gas station, but there wasn't
one for another forty miles, and something told me stopping
wouldn't help. That's when the car started moving. I blinked,
not sure if I was seeing things right, but no,
it was getting closer, now slowly at first, but then

(25:11):
picking up speed. My heart slammed against my ribs as
I watched it approach It wasn't swerving, wasn't flashing its lights,
just coming straight for me, steady and fast. I floored it,
speeding down the highway at seventy eighty miles per hour.
But no matter how fast I went, the car kept
gaining on me. It was like something out of a nightmare.

(25:34):
The headlights filled my rear view so bright I had
to squint to see the road in front of me.
Then the car was right on me, so close I
could almost see the shape of it in my mirrors.
I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think. I just knew I
had to get away. But just as quickly as it
had appeared, the car veered off into the darkness, disappearing

(25:54):
from my mirror. I didn't stop until I hit the
next gas station, a small, decaying place, the sort that
looks like it's been untouched since the seventies. But I
didn't care. I pulled into the lot, jumped out of
my truck, and ran inside, my legs shaking so badly
I could barely stand. The attendant looked at me like
I was crazy, but I didn't care. I just needed

(26:17):
to be around people to feel like I wasn't alone. Anymore.
After a few minutes of pacing, I told the attendant
what had happened. He just shrugged and gave me a
knowing look. You're not the first trucker to see something
strange on that road, he said, happens more than you'd think.
Some folks say there's a haunted car that follows drivers
out there, but it never actually does anything, just scares

(26:38):
the hell out of you. I didn't know what to say, haunted.
That couldn't be it, But then again, I couldn't explain
what had happened either. I stayed at that gas station
for an hour, long enough for my heart to stop
racing and my hands to steady. I didn't want to
get back on the road, but I didn't have a choice. Eventually,

(26:59):
I myself to climb back into my truck and keep driving.
I haven't taken that route since. I avoid it like
the plague, because no matter how much I try to
tell myself it was just my imagination, there's a part
of me that knows whatever was out there that night,
it wasn't normal, and I'm not sticking around to find
out what happens if it catches you. I like to

(27:26):
think of myself As a person who values practicality, working
long haul trucking for as many years as I have,
you deal with things head on, flat tires, bad weather,
endless nights on empty highways. But there was one night,
one stretch of road that still haunts me to this day.
It was about six years ago, and I was driving

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through the Appalachian Mountains. I'd been on the road for hours,
running a late night haul from North Carolina up into
West Virginia. The job was simple enough, pick up the load,
drive through the mountains, and deliver by morning. I'd done
the route a dozen times before, and I wasn't expecting
anything out of the ordinary. But that night, let's just

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say something was different. The weather had taken a turn
for the worse. Earlier in the evening, a thick fog
rolled in, the kind that clings to the ground and
makes it feel like you're driving through a dream or
a nightmare. My headlights cut through the mist, but barely.
Visibility was terrible. I could only see a few feet
ahead of me, the winding road disappearing into the fog,

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like it was leading me somewhere I wasn't supposed to go. Still,
I pressed on. I had a delivery window to make,
and I wasn't about to let a little fog slow
me down. I tried to focus on the road, but
something about the silence felt oppressive. It wasn't just the
lack of sound. It was the way the fog seemed
to swallow everything around me, leaving me completely isolated. It

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must have been around two am when I first heard it,
a whisper so soft it nearly blended with the sound
of my truck's engine. At first, I figured it was
just my mind messing with me. Long hours on the
road can mess with your head, make you hear and
see things that aren't really there. But the whisper didn't
go away. I turned my head slightly, listening, trying to

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make out the sound. It was soft, like someone was
murmuring right behind me. I looked into the back of
the cab, but of course there was no one. I
shook my head, telling myself I was just tired that
I needed a break, But deep down I knew that
wasn't it. It wasn't just in my head. It was
like it was inside the truck with me, lingering just

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behind my ears, slipping through the cracks of my sanity.
I turned up the heat, hoping the warmth would wake
me up a bit. The fog outside was thick as ever,
and I couldn't afford to let my mind wander. But
the whisper didn't stop. It grew louder, more insistent. I
couldn't make out the words, but the tone it was cold,
almost angry. My skin prickled with unease. I tried to

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focus on the road to push the sound out of
my mind, but it was like trying to ignore a
persistent itch. It was there, nagging at the back of
my brain, making it impossible to think about anything else.
About an hour later, things started to get worse. I
was rounding a sharp curve when I caught movement in
my rear view mirror, just a flicker of something, a

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shadow disappearing into the fog behind me. I nearly slammed
on the brakes, my heart jumping into my throat. For
a moment, I thought it was an animal or another vehicle,
But when I looked again, there was nothing there, just
the road stretching behind me, empty and swallowed by the mist.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.

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You're seeing things, I told myself. You're tired and the
FOG's playing tricks on your eyes. But that explanation didn't
sit right with me. The shadow had been too distinct,
too human, And it wasn't just that I'd seen something.
It was the feeling that came with it, that prickling
sensation on the back of my neck, like someone was
watching me. I checked the rear view mirror again, my

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eyes scanning the empty road behind me. Nothing just fog
and darkness. I gripped the wheel tighter and tried to
shake off the feeling, but it wouldn't go away. By
the time four am rolled around, I was a mess
of nerves. The whispering hadn't stopped, and the shadows in
my mirror had become more frequent. Every time I looked back,

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I saw something, just for a split second, a figure
standing in the fog, watching me, But when I blinked,
it was gone. I was starting to think I was
losing my mind. Maybe the isolation was getting to me.
Maybe the fog, the late hour, and the stress of
the job were pushing me to the edge. But then
something happened that I couldn't explain away. I was driving

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down a long stretch of road the fog so thick
I could barely see past the hood of my truck.
The whispering had grown louder, almost frantic, but I still
couldn't make out the words. I kept looking in the
rear view mirror, half expecting to see another shadow. When
I saw it, a face. I slammed on the brakes,
my truck screeching to a stop in the middle of

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the road. My chest tightened, my heart hammering while I
stared at the mirror, struggling to catch my breath. There
in the back seat of my cab was a face, pale,
expressionless and cold. It stared at me through the reflection,
its eyes dark and hollow. Terror gripped me, freezing me
in place. I whipped around, expecting, no dreading, to see

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someone sitting behind me, but the back seat was empty.
I sat there for a moment, my heart thudding in
my ears, trying to process what I had just seen.
There was no way, no way someone could have gotten
in the truck without me noticing, no way they could
just disappear like that. I forced myself to breathe, my
hands shaking as I gripped the wheel. I didn't want

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to look in the mirror again. I didn't want to
see that face, but I had to know. Slowly, I
looked up at the rear view nothing just the back
seat empty as ever. But that didn't make me feel
any better. I could still feel it, whatever it was,
lingering in the cab with me watching, waiting. I needed
to get out of there. I needed to keep driving,

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to put as many miles between me and this cursed
road as possible. I started the truck again, my hands
trembling as I gripped the wheel. I kept my eyes
on the road ahead, refusing to look in the mirror,
no matter how much I wanted to. The fog was
still thick, but I didn't care. I just needed to
get away from whatever had found me in the mountains.
Then the radio crackled to life. At first I thought

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it was just static, but as I listened closer, I
realized it wasn't. There was a voice in the static,
distorted and faint, like someone was trying to speak to
me for miles away, and they were saying my name, Marie.
I froze. The voice was low, guttural, like it was
coming from deep within the earth. I reached out to

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turn off the radio, but before I could the voice again, Marie,
don't look back. I yanked my hand away from the dial.
I felt like I was going to be sick. The
voice was still there, repeating the same phrase over and
over again, each time growing louder, more desperate. Don't look back.
I didn't want to. I knew that if I looked
in the mirror again, i'd see something I couldn't unsee.

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But the voice, it was compelling me, pulling me toward
the rear view, daring me to defy its warning. My
hand trembled as I reached up, my fingers, brushing the
edge of the mirror. I had to know, I had
to see. Slowly, I adjusted the mirror just enough to
catch a glimpse of the back seat, and there it
was again, the face, just staring at me. I slammed

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the mirror back into place and floored the gas pedal,
speeding down the fog covered road at a dangerous pace.
But I didn't care. I needed to get away. The
voice on the radio had grown louder, now, a cacophony
of distorted sounds, all screaming the same thing. Don't look back.
I didn't dare. I kept my eyes on the road ahead,

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even as I felt the cold presence in the cab
grow stronger, as if the face was moving closer, inching
toward me. My hands shaking so badly I could barely
control the wheel. I had no idea where I was,
no idea if I was still on the right road.
All I could see was fog and darkness, the world
outside my truck disappearing into the mist. The voice on

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the radio crackled, sputtered, then went silent. For a moment,
there was nothing but the sound of my engine and
my ragged breathing, And then, just as suddenly as it
had started, the fog lifted. I kept going for hours
until I made it to the next town. I pulled
into a diner parking lot, my hands still trembling as
I cut the engine. I sat there for a long time,

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trying to steady my breathing, trying to convince myself that
what had just happened wasn't real. But no matter how
hard I tried, I couldn't get rid of the sense
that it really was. I didn't tell anyone what had happened.
Who would believe me? Go face in my rear view,
a voice on the radio warning me not to look back.
It sounded insane even to me, but I know what

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I saw, I know what I heard, and to this day,
I haven't driven through those mountains again because no matter
how much time passes, I can't forget that face. I
can't forget the way it stared at me. I still
hear the whisper sometimes late at night, when I'm alone
on the road. Don't look back, and I never do.
If these stories sent shivers down your spine, don't forget

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to hit that like button and share the fear with
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safe out there, because sometimes what's lurking in the shadows
is all too real. Thanks for watching, and drive carefully.

(36:51):
I'll see you in the next nightmare.