Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Last summer, my best friend Ryan and I decided to
take a road trip across the US. We didn't really
plant it, just packed up my old Honda, loaded some snacks,
and hit the interstate. Most nights we'd crash in cheap
motels or take turns napping at rest stops. It was
fun at first. Somewhere in Kansas, after hours of empty highway,
(00:25):
we saw a green exit sign that said Harlow Pines
two miles. Neither of us had heard of it, but
we were tired and figured a small town might have
a diner or gas station, so we took the exit.
That was mistake number one. The off ramp was longer
than normal, winding down into total darkness, no street lights,
(00:49):
no reflectors, just our headlights bouncing off the trees. At
the bottom. The road split left and right, but the
sign pointing toward Harlow Pines was half frighted and leaned sideways.
We chose left. Almost immediately, the atmosphere changed, the trees
crowded closer to the road, and the air fell heavier.
(01:13):
We kept waiting to see a gas station or even
a house, but there was nothing, just road and forest.
After about fifteen minutes, I asked Ryan to check his
phone for directions. He said he didn't have service. Neither
did I. That was mistake number two. We kept going. Finally,
(01:35):
upp ahead, we saw lights. A cluster of buildings appeared
out of the dark. Relief washed over me until I
realized something was wrong. The gas station had old fashioned pumps,
like from the nineteen sixties. The diners signed buzzed weekly letters,
half burned out. The entire place looked abandoned, but somehow alive.
(01:58):
At the same time, Ryan wanted to stop. I wanted
to turn around, He insisted, saying maybe someone inside could
point us back to the highway. So we pulled into
the diner's gravel lot. Inside, the lights were on and
a jukebox played softly in the corner, but there was
(02:19):
no one there, no customers, no staff, just empty booths
and cold coffee cups on the tables, as if people
had just gotten up and walked away. Then the jukebox clicked,
the music stopped mid song for a few seconds silence.
Then a new record dropped on its own and started
(02:40):
playing a song. Neither of us recognized. A slow, scratchy
voice repeating the same line over and over don't look
behind you. Don't look behind you. I swear the temperature
dropped instantly. My stomach twisted. Ryan tried to laugh it off,
but his voice cracked. He said we should leave. That's
(03:03):
when I realized the front door we had come through
was gone. In its place was just another booth, as
if the door had never been there. Panic set in.
We searched the diner, but every window showed nothing but
blackness outside, not the parking lot, not the car, just
endless dark. The kitchen was worse, rows of old, rusty appliances,
(03:29):
and something scratched deep into the metal fridge door stay.
We finally found a back door and bolted through it
instead of an alley. We were suddenly standing back at
the gas station across the street. Our car was still there,
head lights off, doors closed, but there were people inside it.
(03:51):
At least they looked like people. Four figures, silhouettes in
the front and back seats, sitting perfectly still. Ryan whispered,
that's us. I didn't want to look closer, but he
was right. The figures had our shapes, our exact outlines.
It was like we were watching ourselves, frozen in place.
(04:13):
We didn't wait to figure it out. We ran. I
don't even know how, but after sprinting into the woods,
we suddenly stumbled out onto the highway again, right at
the exit ramp. It was like we'd looped back to
where we started. I flowed it and we didn't stop
until the sun came up. When we checked the maps later,
there was no mention of Harlow Pines anywhere, no town,
(04:37):
no exit, nothing. Ryan doesn't talk about it anymore. He
pretends it didn't happen. But sometimes, when we're driving at night,
our glance in the rear view mirror and swear I
see someone sitting in the back seat, And every so
often the radio cuts out and I hear that same
scratchy voice whispering, don't look behind and
Last summer, my best friend Ryan and I decided to
take a road trip across the US. We didn't really
plant it, just packed up my old Honda, loaded some snacks,
and hit the interstate. Most nights we'd crash in cheap
motels or take turns napping at rest stops. It was
fun at first. Somewhere in Kansas, after hours of empty highway,
(00:25):
we saw a green exit sign that said Harlow Pines
two miles. Neither of us had heard of it, but
we were tired and figured a small town might have
a diner or gas station, so we took the exit.
That was mistake number one. The off ramp was longer
than normal, winding down into total darkness, no street lights,
(00:49):
no reflectors, just our headlights bouncing off the trees. At
the bottom. The road split left and right, but the
sign pointing toward Harlow Pines was half frighted and leaned sideways.
We chose left. Almost immediately, the atmosphere changed, the trees
crowded closer to the road, and the air fell heavier.
(01:13):
We kept waiting to see a gas station or even
a house, but there was nothing, just road and forest.
After about fifteen minutes, I asked Ryan to check his
phone for directions. He said he didn't have service. Neither
did I. That was mistake number two. We kept going. Finally,
(01:35):
upp ahead, we saw lights. A cluster of buildings appeared
out of the dark. Relief washed over me until I
realized something was wrong. The gas station had old fashioned pumps,
like from the nineteen sixties. The diners signed buzzed weekly letters,
half burned out. The entire place looked abandoned, but somehow alive.
(01:58):
At the same time, Ryan wanted to stop. I wanted
to turn around, He insisted, saying maybe someone inside could
point us back to the highway. So we pulled into
the diner's gravel lot. Inside, the lights were on and
a jukebox played softly in the corner, but there was
(02:19):
no one there, no customers, no staff, just empty booths
and cold coffee cups on the tables, as if people
had just gotten up and walked away. Then the jukebox clicked,
the music stopped mid song for a few seconds silence.
Then a new record dropped on its own and started
(02:40):
playing a song. Neither of us recognized. A slow, scratchy
voice repeating the same line over and over don't look
behind you. Don't look behind you. I swear the temperature
dropped instantly. My stomach twisted. Ryan tried to laugh it off,
but his voice cracked. He said we should leave. That's
(03:03):
when I realized the front door we had come through
was gone. In its place was just another booth, as
if the door had never been there. Panic set in.
We searched the diner, but every window showed nothing but
blackness outside, not the parking lot, not the car, just
endless dark. The kitchen was worse, rows of old, rusty appliances,
(03:29):
and something scratched deep into the metal fridge door stay.
We finally found a back door and bolted through it
instead of an alley. We were suddenly standing back at
the gas station across the street. Our car was still there,
head lights off, doors closed, but there were people inside it.
(03:51):
At least they looked like people. Four figures, silhouettes in
the front and back seats, sitting perfectly still. Ryan whispered,
that's us. I didn't want to look closer, but he
was right. The figures had our shapes, our exact outlines.
It was like we were watching ourselves, frozen in place.
(04:13):
We didn't wait to figure it out. We ran. I
don't even know how, but after sprinting into the woods,
we suddenly stumbled out onto the highway again, right at
the exit ramp. It was like we'd looped back to
where we started. I flowed it and we didn't stop
until the sun came up. When we checked the maps later,
there was no mention of Harlow Pines anywhere, no town,
(04:37):
no exit, nothing. Ryan doesn't talk about it anymore. He
pretends it didn't happen. But sometimes, when we're driving at night,
our glance in the rear view mirror and swear I
see someone sitting in the back seat, And every so
often the radio cuts out and I hear that same
scratchy voice whispering, don't look behind and
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