The Long Drive Home

Full Story

My phone showed no service—not surprising in these rural stretches. The radio picked up nothing but static, occasionally broken by fragments of voices too distorted to understand.

At midnight, I pulled into a rest stop, parking under the harsh fluorescent lights near the bathroom building. The vehicle—I could now see it was a black SUV with tinted windows—parked at the far end of the lot, headlights still on, engine running.

I waited in my locked car, watching. No one exited the SUV. After twenty minutes, I started my engine and pulled back onto the highway. The SUV followed.

By 1 AM, the rain had become torrential. The highway was deserted except for my car and the persistent follower. My exit was still over an hour away, and the gas gauge was dipping dangerously low.

I spotted a sign for an upcoming service station and felt a surge of relief. Other people, lights, safety in numbers. But as I took the exit, I realized something was wrong. The service station was dark, abandoned. Boarded windows and faded signs suggested it had been closed for years.

The SUV took the exit behind me.

With no other option, I accelerated back toward the highway entrance ramp. In my rearview mirror, I saw the SUV's high beams flash on, momentarily blinding me. When my vision cleared, the vehicle was much closer.

I floored the accelerator, but my sedan was no match for the powerful SUV. It drew alongside me, and for the first time, I could make out the driver's silhouette—a dark shape, featureless behind the tinted glass.

The SUV swerved toward me, forcing me onto the shoulder. I fought to maintain control as my tires hit gravel, then mud. The car fishtailed before coming to a stop, half in a ditch.

The SUV stopped twenty yards ahead, its red brake lights glowing ominously through the rain. My engine had stalled, and when I tried to restart it, nothing happened.

I reached for my phone again—still no service. The SUV's door opened, and a figure stepped out into the rain. Tall, wearing what appeared to be a long coat. The headlights illuminated them from behind, casting their face in shadow.

They began walking toward me.

I frantically tried the engine again. On the third attempt, it caught. I threw the car into reverse, backing out of the ditch with a spray of mud, then shifted to drive and accelerated past the SUV, back toward the highway.

In my mirror, I saw the figure standing motionless in the road, watching me flee. They made no attempt to return to their vehicle.

Ten miles later, I saw the blessed sight of an open gas station. I pulled in, hands shaking so badly I could barely turn off the ignition. The attendant looked up from his magazine as I burst through the door.

"You okay, miss? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I explained about the SUV, the pursuit, the figure on the road. He listened with increasing concern, then picked up the phone to call the police.

As he dialed, I glanced out the window at my car.

There, on the back seat, clearly visible through the window, was a long, dark coat that wasn't mine.

And in my rearview mirror, a face that wasn't my face smiled back at me.