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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/LucyEphemera on 2024-10-12 20:07:56+00:00.
Every day, and every night of the week I made the same commute for almost three years. I used to work at the Motiva refinery in Port Arthur, but I live in Mont Belvieu, always have. It’s an hour drive, but it was simple enough. Just a straight shot down I-10 til you get to Winnie and take the exit onto Highway 73, taking you right into Port Arthur. I’ve driven that stretch of road so many times I could tell you anything you’d ever want to know about it. All the spots to fill up on gas, where to get a bite to eat, every name of every tiny town from Wallisville to Hankamer to Stowell. But, that’s not why I’m posting here. I don’t like to think, much less talk about that drive anymore if I can help it. If it can be avoided, I never drive east. At least, not that route. I’ll take the extra hour, hell I’ll take five if it means I never have to drive that length of I-10 again.
I’m only revisiting this memory that I’ve tried my best to bury for the sake of warning anyone living in the area, anyone traveling through there, a detour may be well worth your while. That drive nearly cost me my life, it’s the very reason I quit working at that refinery. If I’m still breathing after what I saw, I ought to do what I can to tell people about it. Might save someone a brush with the reaper, might not. Maybe they’ve moved on to someplace else. Either way, I like to think this is worth talking about. If nothing else comes of it, at the very least it might help me come to terms with what happened.
It started off unassuming enough. Two months ago, almost to the day, I was making my way home from work. I was tired, hungry, and ready for a shower, but even in such a state there was no mistaking what I saw. There’s a part of the drive between Winnie and Mont Belvieu where there’s little activity, especially at night. You don’t see too many other drivers, or much of anything really til you get close to Lake Anahuac.
About halfway along that quiet stretch of road is where I saw it. An orange glow, off in the distance, slowly getting closer. I could just make out the pillar of black smoke rising above it, cutting through the dark blue of the night sky. As I closed the distance, the details of the scene became clear. It was a car, completely overtaken by fire, sitting in the median strip of the highway.
At least, it had once been a car. There was little left of it besides the bones. After taking in the sight for a second something really struck me as strange, nobody was around. No cops, no fire truck or ambulance, no signs that anything was out of the ordinary. When I passed by the wreck, I could feel the heat radiating off of it even through the side of my truck. I had the brief thought to stop, see if anyone needed help, but there wasn’t anybody on the side of the road, near the car or further along. I came to the morbid conclusion that if someone was in that car, and they hadn’t already been picked up by somebody, they had gone up in smoke with the vehicle they were in.
I’ve had to deal with fighting a few fires before, a refinery’s not the safest place to work after all, but I wasn’t equipped to deal with something like this by myself. So, I drove on home, accepting that if there was even anyone left to help, I wasn’t the one to do it. When I got back to my apartment I grabbed a beer, heated up some leftovers and tried to not think about what I’d seen. But, it was useless.
For whatever reason, the image of that burning car had settled itself in my mind, there was something I found captivating about it. I questioned my decision to keep driving, my refusal to get involved. I tried to figure out what had happened with only that one piece of information, but it was futile. It felt like an incomplete picture, and I wasn’t satisfied with any answer I could come to, they all felt wrong. This argument with myself went on for an hour or so before I tired my mind out, and decided to go to sleep. That night, I saw the car again in a dream. I heard someone screaming from inside.
I woke up in a pool of sweat, like my body felt the heat of the fire even from within a nightmare. But, I had no time to worry about that, I had to get ready and hit the road in an hour if I was gonna make it to Port Arthur on time. It was another normal day at work, nothing out of the ordinary. I thought about telling my coworkers about what I’d seen but decided not to. They weren’t exactly a talkative bunch, and that kind of work doesn’t inspire much in the way of conversation. It’s hard, thankless.
Since I worked there for a while they let me take longer shifts on weekdays to get guaranteed weekends off, usually you’re expected to be available any day of the week if they need you. I took the extra money, but I didn’t see much of a difference besides that. I just got home later. I didn’t do much with my free time anyway, the weekends always escaped me.
When it came time to clock out, an anxious feeling started brewing between my temples. I got worried, wondering if I’d see something like that again tonight. I tried to shake it off, but it followed me outside, stopped me in my tracks when I reached to open my truck door. I felt silly. “What are the chances of me seeing a thing like that again in my lifetime, much less two nights in a row,” I asked myself. This question was enough to quiet my whining nerves, so I got in and drove off the lot to make my way home. If only I knew, the chances were already rigged in advance.
I felt a knot come up in my throat when I made the switch from Highway 73 to I-10 in Winnie. I felt something else was gonna happen that night, another piece of that picture was waiting for me. As my truck glided along the asphalt I scanned the sides of the road, looking for anything to confirm my aching suspicions. Then, near the same spot I’d seen that car the night before, almost down to the mile, I saw the same glow that’d haunted me all day. There was another car between the opposing sides of the interstate, cocooned in flame. But, there was something different from the first wreck I’d seen. All around the car, a circle of people were holding hands.
The sight of them standing there was enough to tip the scales, curiosity weighed too heavy on me to let me keep driving without an answer. I came to a stop, parked my truck on the shoulder and got out to ask them what was happening. But, with every step I started noticing some details about this group of strangers that made me slow my pace. They were all dressed in long black robes, and I couldn’t make out any of their faces. Their features were obscured, even those facing the bright glow of the fire.
They noticed me coming, and had stopped holding hands. Once I felt I was in earshot I had enough sense to stop my advance before I asked them, “what’s going on here? Is anyone hurt?” They didn’t offer any answer, all staying silent. There was a stomach-churning smell on the air, and it wasn’t the smoke. I tried again, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to stand that close, y’all might get hurt. I can call the police, did any of you see what happened?” At this they finally stirred, suddenly making their way towards me in unison, like they all came to the same decision at once.
I started backing away from them, saying with admittedly little confidence, “easy now, stay back.” This failed to slow their step, so I quickened mine. They didn’t utter a single word, all steadily approaching with their shrouded gazes fixed on me. “I have a gun in my truck, I don’t wanna use it, just calm down!” I was lying, out of some desperate hope this might get them to reconsider their course, but not one of them paused at the threat. I gave up any hope of reasoning with them and turned to run back to my truck. As I did, I heard the scraping of boots across gravel as they began to chase after me. A couple dozen yards had never felt so far.
Luckily I had forgotten my keys in the truck’s ignition, I’ve never been so thankful to be forgetful. I slammed the door shut and kicked the gas pedal to the ground, seeing flashes of them sprinting towards me in my right side mirror. As I took off I felt a thud against the side of my truck, but I paid it no mind as I raced back up to the speed limit. I escaped, but that anxiety I felt at the refinery was nothing compared to the panic I was lost in at that moment. Every few seconds my eyes darted from one mirror to another, looking to see if my pursuers had followed me in their own vehicle. After passing through Wallisville about 15 minutes later I finally eased up, figuring they hadn’t been after me any longer. The thought brought me very little comfort.
Even after concluding I hadn’t been chased back home, I wasn’t much less of a frantic mess when I reached my apartment. When I parked my truck I was breathing sporadically, hesitant to get out, so I took some time to catch my breath. That was when I noticed it, as my eyes reflexively checked that right side mirror again. Something was sticking out of the side of my truck bed. Whatever ease I had settled into left me, my whole body tensed up at the sight of it. I slowly opened my door and walked to the back to see what it was. It was a knife. One of them jammed it into the side of my truck right before I drove off. That’s how close they were.
After struggling for a bit I got the knife unwedged. It was a hunting knife, 8 inches long, still sharp even after being stabbed into the chassis of a truck. I ran into my apartment, dead bolte...
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