My father used to be a truck driver before he took an early retirement, there was many times throughout my childhood where I was never able to see him since his job took him across the country but boy, did he have some stories to tell us. There was one particular night, My father, Jack Thompson, had a little to much to drink and he told me the reason why he quit the industry and swore by his life to forbid me from driving rigs like he did. He took a sip of his whiskey and the story went like this.
The sun had began to dip below the Georgia horizon and hid behind the pines, casting long shadows over the winding roads that crisscrossed the southern state. I was a seasoned truck driver and seen my fair share of strange things but as all of us truckers had odd stories, I navigated my rig through the fading light, the hum of the engine blending with the cicadas' evening chorus brought me at peace, I always use to love traveling this route. I had traveled this road countless times, but tonight was different – an unsettling stillness lingered in the air.
As I approached a desolate stretch of Highway 27, the tall pines lining the roadside seemed to close in on me, creating a tunnel of shadows. The sky turned shades of crimson and indigo, and the air took on a palpable heaviness. A flicker of uncertainty crossed my mind, but I dismissed it as fatigue since I had been driving for quite some time, I took a sip of my coffee and gripped the steering wheel tighter.
My heart almost came out of my chest when my radio crackled to life with the voice of another trucker, Larry, was on the same route.
"Hey, Jack, you feel that too? Something's off about this stretch of road tonight."
I chuckled nervously, attributing the unease to the late hour and the solitary nature of the highway.
"Probably just the quiet getting to us, Larry. These roads can play tricks on the mind."
But I noticed Larry's voice was tinged with a hint of genuine concern.
"Nah, Jack, I've been down this route more times than I can count, and it's never felt like this. Keep your eyes peeled."
As the miles ticked away, my unease deepened. The forest seemed to press against the road, the trees closing in like silent sentinels. The only sound was the rhythmic thud of my truck's tires against the pavement. I began glancing at my rearview mirror and noticed a pair of headlights in the distance, steadily gaining on me.
The radio buzzed with static as Larry's voice trembled, "Jack, that driver... there's no one in there. It's empty."
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The approaching truck emerged from the shadows, an old, weather-beaten rig with faded paint laying on the horn, It bore the name "Renegade" on its front bumper, I squinted at the sight in disbelief. That truck had been decommissioned years ago after a fatal accident on these very roads.
A chill ran down my spine as I thought that It's impossible. It should be rusting away in a junkyard by now.
The truck drew closer, its headlights illuminating the road with an eerie glow. I could almost feel the weight of its history – the tragedy that had left it a ghostly relic. As it overtook me, I glimpsed at a shadowy figure in the driver's seat, its features obscured by darkness.
In the distance, the truck's taillights flickered, and it vanished into the night, leaving me stunned in silence. The air hung heavy with an unspoken understanding that something otherworldly had just passed through our lives.
As I continued down the stretch of road, a fog rolled in, obscuring the road ahead. My truck's headlights cut through the mist, revealing ghostly shapes that seemed to dance at the edge of visibility. Whispers echoed in the void, distant and indistinct. My heart raced as I pressed on, the fog thickening around me ready to take me at any given moment.
Suddenly, the radio crackled to life again, Larry's voice now laced with urgency. "Jack, you've got to get out of there! That fog, it's not natural. I'm seeing things, man, things I can't explain."
My breath became stuck in my throat as I caught a glimpse of shadowy figures moving within the fog. Desperation crept into his voice.
"Larry, I can't see a damn thing. What's happening?"
But before Larry could respond, the radio descended into a chorus of distorted voices, each one overlapping in a symphony of unsettling whispers. My heart pounded in my chest as I wrestled with the steering wheel, the fog closing in like an impenetrable wall.
The road twisted and turned, disorienting me in its haunting landscape I caught glimpses of things, ungodly things I had never seen I my most horrific nightmares, aberrations of long-forgotten travelers. The whispers grew louder, forming words that clawed at the edges of my sanity, I slammed the brakes on.
From the fog, a woman dressed in white walked in front of my rig, my stomach turned upside down and I released the contents of my stomach. I knew I had hit that woman but looking in my rearview there she was, as she had passed right through the truck like she was part of the fog itself.
The radio crackled back to life, Larry's voice unrecognizable through distortion.
The woman and the aberrations vanished in the rearview mirror as I emerged from the fog, the whispering voices gradually fading. The road stretched ahead, returning to a semblance of normalcy. The moon cast an eerie glow on the asphalt, revealing the lingering traces of my otherworldly journey.
As I continued my drive, I knew I had witnessed something beyond the realm of the living. Renegade, the fog, the spectral figures – they lingered in my thoughts like a cancer.
The radio remained silent, Larry's voice lost in the static. The highway unfolded beneath
my wheels, leading me away from the haunted stretch of road. The night pressed on, but the weight of the supernatural encounter clung to me. The road, once familiar and predictable, now held secrets that defied the logic of the living. And as I drove out of the unknown, I couldn't help but wonder, what happened to Larry or was he even real to begin with and what other mysteries lay hidden in the shadows of the southern highways.