This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/DivineAnime1 on 2024-11-21 12:59:48+00:00.
I don’t even know why I’m writing this, except maybe I need to put it out there before it drives me insane. My name’s Alex Carson, and I’m writing this on a plane at 35,000 feet, heading back to my home in Oregon. I was supposed to be on the road for another week, finishing a cross-country trip I’d planned to clear my head after my divorce. But something happened something I can’t explain and now I’m leaving my car behind, arranging for it to be shipped back to me, because there’s no way I’m ever taking that route again.
I left Denver a week ago. I wasn’t in a hurry just taking my time, driving wherever the mood struck me. By the second day, I found myself on Highway 16, deep in the Midwest. It’s one of those roads that feels endless, stretching through flat plains, dense woods, and the occasional ghost of a town. Perfect for the solitude I was craving.
That first night, I pulled into a small motel. It was the kind of place you’d pass without noticing a squat building with peeling paint and a flickering neon sign. I checked in, ate a cold sandwich from a gas station, and tried to relax. But I couldn’t shake this odd feeling, like someone was watching me.
It was subtle at first just a tingle at the back of my neck. I told myself it was just my nerves. After all, I’d been through a lot recently, and maybe the loneliness of the road was messing with my head.
But when I stepped outside for some air, I saw him.
Or it.
At first, I thought it was a man. He was standing far down the road, just outside the glow of the motel’s lights. He didn’t move just stood there, facing me.
“Great. A small-town weirdo,” I muttered, heading back inside and locking the door. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t worth worrying about, but I kept peeking through the blinds. He or whatever it was didn’t move the whole time.
The next day, I hit the road early, trying to put distance between myself and that motel. The morning was crisp, the kind of weather that usually clears your head. But as the miles rolled by, I couldn’t shake the unease from the night before.
Around mid-afternoon, as I drove past a dense stretch of woods, I heard it.
Footsteps.
At first, I thought I was imagining things. I had the windows cracked, and I thought it might just be the wind or the tires crunching gravel. But the sound was too rhythmic, too deliberate.
It took me a while to realize what was wrong. The footsteps weren’t coming from inside the car they were outside.
And they were keeping pace with me.
I slowed down, almost to a crawl, but the sound didn’t stop. It stayed with me, matching my speed exactly. I stopped the car entirely, my hands shaking, and rolled down the window. The woods were silent, except for the soft rustling of leaves.
But then I heard it again closer this time.
I slammed the window shut, my heart racing, and sped off down the road. I didn’t stop until I reached the next town, where I checked into another motel. That night, I couldn’t sleep. Every creak of the building, every gust of wind felt like something trying to get in.
By the third day, I was exhausted. My nerves were shot, but I kept telling myself I was overreacting. I had to be. The loneliness of the road, the lingering stress from the divorce , it was all in my head.
At least, that’s what I thought until the accident.
It happened just after lunch. I’d been driving for hours when I hit a deep pothole. The car jolted violently, and I heard the sickening sound of something snapping. I pulled over and saw the damage: the front axle was slightly bent, and one of the tires was flat.
I had no choice but to fix it myself. I grabbed the jack and spare from the trunk and got to work.
That’s when I felt it again...that suffocating feeling of being watched.
I straightened up and scanned the road. It was empty. But the woods, just beyond the ditch, they were too quiet. No birds, no insects, nothing.
And then I saw him.
The figure was standing just inside the tree line, maybe fifty feet away. It was the same shape I’d seen outside the motel, but now it was closer.
And it wasn’t moving.
I froze, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst.
“Who’s there?” I shouted, trying to sound braver than I felt.
No response.
I turned back to the car, working as fast as I could to change the tire. But every few seconds, I would glance back, and each time, the figure was closer.
It wasn’t walking. It wasn’t even moving in the way a person should. It was just… there, suddenly, in a new spot.
By the time I finished, it was less than twenty feet away. The face or what should have been a face was long and pale, with hollow, black pits where the eyes should have been.
And then it smiled.
It was the most unnatural thing I’ve ever seen, like someone who didn’t understand how smiles worked. Too wide. Too sharp.
I didn’t wait to see what would happen next. I threw the tools into the trunk, jumped into the car, and floored it.
I didn’t stop driving until I reached a small airport on the outskirts of a larger town. I didn’t care about the cost I booked the first flight out and left my car in the parking lot.
Now, as I sit on this plane, I keep replaying the last few moments in my mind.
As I drove away, I glanced in the rearview mirror. The figure was standing in the middle of the road, watching me.
And just before I lost sight of it, I swear I heard it whisper my name ...