Jamal hadn't intended to drive through that part of the country. The GPS had rerouted him after a rockslide on the main road, and before he realized it, he was deep in the heart of Pennsylvania's forgotten highways, the kind of roads that don't show up on tourist maps. Trees stood like solemn sentinels on either side of the winding road, their branches arching overhead like the ribs of some ancient, slumbering beast.
The last town had been over thirty miles back—nothing more than a cluster of weather-beaten houses and a gas station with a faded sign. The attendant, an old man with milky cataracts, had warned him to "stick to the highways" and "not take no detours." Jamal had chuckled, assuming it was small-town superstition or, at worst, some backwoods xenophobia. Now, though, with the sun slipping beneath the horizon and shadows creeping into every corner of his vision, he wasn't so sure.
His cell phone had lost signal half an hour ago. No GPS, no radio stations. Just the hum of his tyres on cracked asphalt and the growing sense of unease pressing against his chest like a physical weight.
Ahead, a figure appeared, standing in the middle of the road. Jamal slammed on the brakes. The car skidded to a stop, headlights casting long shadows across the figure—a woman, dressed in a long, tattered coat, her face pale and sunken.
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She didn't move.
Jamal hesitated. He'd heard enough horror stories to know that stopping for strange people in the middle of nowhere was a bad idea. But something in her eyes—wide, haunted—compelled him. He rolled down his window, just enough to hear her.
"Please," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "You have to get off this road."
Jamal felt a chill slide down his spine. "What do you mean?"
The woman glanced over her shoulder, back into the dark forest that seemed to press in closer now, as if the trees themselves were listening. "The road… it changes when the sun sets."
Jamal frowned. "What changes?"
Her eyes locked onto his, desperate. "It leads to places. Old places. Places not meant for the living."
Before Jamal could respond, a sound, distant but growing closer, rumbled through the night. It was a low, mechanical growl, like the roar of an engine—but distorted, wrong, as if it were coming from the bowels of the earth. The woman's eyes widened in terror.
"It's coming," she whispered. "You need to leave."
Jamal's heart pounded in his chest. He hit the gas, turned around and sped away without waiting to see what was coming. When he looked back, the woman was no longer there; gone, as if she never existed.