Speaker 2: Story one.
Speaker 1: I've never told anyone this in full detail, because honestly,
Speaker 1: I'm not sure anyone would believe me. But if you're
Speaker 1: reading this, I hope you understand just how close I
Speaker 1: came to losing everything, my life, my friends, maybe even
Speaker 1: my sanity. It happened during the summer of twenty twelve.
Speaker 1: I was living in a small town in southern Missouri,
Speaker 1: the kind of place where folks swap gossip at the
Speaker 1: gas station and tornado sirens are as familiar as church bells.
Speaker 1: A few friends and I had decided to escape the
Speaker 1: grind of daily life by camping out in the Ozark
Speaker 1: National Forest. We were a mixed group of free spirits, musicians, artists,
Speaker 1: and wanderers, all looking for something out there. What that
Speaker 1: something was, I don't know. Maybe it was peace, maybe
Speaker 1: it was chaos. Either way, we found it. The day
Speaker 1: started out sticky and humid, a thick blanket of air
Speaker 1: hanging over us as we set up our little camp
Speaker 1: near a ravine. We'd been there about a week by then.
Speaker 1: That's when the first rumble of thunder rolled across the sky.
Speaker 1: The forecast had called for rain, sure, but this was different.
Speaker 1: This was the kind of thunder that shakes you to
Speaker 1: your core, A low, guttural growl that seemed to rise
Speaker 1: out of the earth itself. Y'all hear that, I asked,
Speaker 1: looking up at the others. They were sprawled out on
Speaker 1: a patch of mossy ground, passing around a battered acoustic
Speaker 1: guitar and talking about nothing in particular. Storm's coming, Jake said,
Speaker 1: strumming a lazy cord. His voice didn't match the tension
Speaker 1: building in the air. It was as if the forest
Speaker 1: was holding its breath. Then came the sirens. Faint at first,
Speaker 1: just a distant well carried on the wind, but unmistakable
Speaker 1: tornado sirens. Everyone froze, their faces snapping to attension, like
Speaker 1: deer caught in headlights. We've got a mover, I said,
Speaker 1: standing up so fast my head spun. I wasn't from
Speaker 1: the area, but I'd heard enough stories to know these
Speaker 1: storms don't play around. Get your stuff and follow me.
Speaker 1: Most of them hesitated, their movements sluggish as they packed up.
Speaker 1: Some of them were high, some just naive. But I
Speaker 1: didn't have time to argue. The sky had turned an
Speaker 1: eerie greenish gray, and the wind was picking up, rattling
Speaker 1: the trees. Above us, branches creaked and groaned like old doors.
Speaker 1: Where are we going? Asked Mia, her voice trembling as
Speaker 1: she struggled with her backpack down. I said, we need
Speaker 1: to find low ground. The ravine seemed like our best bet.
Speaker 1: It wasn't far from where we'd set up camp, and
Speaker 1: I figured the rocks would offer some shelter from flying debris.
Speaker 1: But as we scrambled down, I realized we had another problem.
Speaker 1: The river running through the ravine was already swelling from
Speaker 1: the rain, which had started falling in the thick fat drops.
Speaker 1: The air was electric, crackling with something primal and dangerous.
Speaker 1: We found a spot near a two tier shale waterfall,
Speaker 1: crouching beneath an overhang of rock. It wasn't perfect, but
Speaker 1: it was the best we could do. I could feel
Speaker 1: the tension in the group, a collective unease that had
Speaker 1: nothing to do with the weather. This isn't safe, Jake muttered,
Speaker 1: his earlier bravado gone. He was gripping a broken tree
Speaker 1: branch like it was a lifeline. Nowhere safe right now.
Speaker 1: I snapped, my voice harsher than I intended. Just stay
Speaker 1: low and keep quiet. The wind howled through the ravine,
Speaker 1: and the rain turned into a torrential downpour. Then came
Speaker 1: the sound I'll never forget. It wasn't just a roar,
Speaker 1: it was a living, breathing thing. The river, swollen and furious,
Speaker 1: surged with terrifying speed. I turned just in time to
Speaker 1: see it, a wall of water, barreling down the ravine
Speaker 1: like some unstoppable force of nature. It was easily fifteen
Speaker 1: feet high, dark and churning with debris. Hold on, I shouted,
Speaker 1: though I wasn't sure what we were supposed to hold on.
Speaker 1: To the ground beneath us trembled as the floodwaters smashed
Speaker 1: against the rocks, spraying us with icy mist. The noise
Speaker 1: was deafening, a cacophony of crashing water, snapping branches, and
Speaker 1: our own panicked breaths. We huddled together, clinging to the
Speaker 1: rocky outcrop, as the water rushed past mere feet below us.
Speaker 1: For a moment, time seemed to stretch, each second in eternity.
Speaker 1: My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst.
Speaker 1: And then it was over. The water receded as quickly
Speaker 1: as it had come, leaving behind a scene of utter devastation.
Speaker 1: Trees had been uprooted, their massive trunks tangled in the
Speaker 1: remnants of the torrent. The air was thick with the
Speaker 1: smell of wet earth and something metallic like blood. Is
Speaker 1: everyone okay, I asked, my voice barely audible over the
Speaker 1: ringing in my ears.
Speaker 2: One by one they.
Speaker 1: Nodded, their faces pale and shell shocked. We didn't speak
Speaker 1: much after that. There was nothing to say. We climbed
Speaker 1: out of the ravine in silence, our clothes soaked and
Speaker 1: our spirits battered. I don't think any of us ever
Speaker 1: went back to that spot. The forest had shown us
Speaker 1: just how small we were, how fragile. That that was enough
Speaker 1: to haunt me for a lifetime.
Speaker 2: Story two.
Speaker 1: It all happened on a Tuesday morning, the kind where
Speaker 1: the world feels oddly still. My name's Caleb, and I
Speaker 1: live in a small mountain town called Ridgeview. Were surrounded
Speaker 1: by steep inclines and dense pine forests. Life here is
Speaker 1: simple quiet, but the kind of quiet that carries an edge,
Speaker 1: like something's always waiting just out of sight. That's probably
Speaker 1: why I never thought twice about heading up that winding
Speaker 1: dirt road alone.
Speaker 2: That morning.
Speaker 1: I was driving my old pickup truck, a clunky but
Speaker 1: reliable beast that had seen its fair share of tough roads.
Speaker 1: I'd planned to collect some firewood from the higher elevations.
Speaker 1: With winter on its way, everyone in Ridgeview knew to
Speaker 1: stock up. The road was narrow, barely wide enough for
Speaker 1: one vehicle, with sheer drops on one side and jagged
Speaker 1: boulders scattered along the other. I'd driven it dozens of
Speaker 1: times before, so I wasn't worried, not yet anyway. About
Speaker 1: halfway up the mountain, the air started to change. A
Speaker 1: thick fog rolled in out of nowhere, blanketing everything in
Speaker 1: a gray haze. Visibility dropped to almost nothing. I slowed
Speaker 1: to a crawl, my hands gripping the wheel tighter than
Speaker 1: I'd like to admit. The tires crunched over loose gravel,
Speaker 1: and I couldn't shake the feeling that the mountain itself
Speaker 1: was watching me.
Speaker 2: Then it happened.
Speaker 1: The truck's back tires hit a patch of loose dirt,
Speaker 1: and before I knew it, the whole thing started sliding.
Speaker 1: Time stretched out in that moment. I remember the sickening
Speaker 1: lurch in my stomach, the way the steering wheel felt
Speaker 1: useless in my hands as the truck veered toward the edge.
Speaker 1: My heart was pounding so loud it drowned out the
Speaker 1: sound of gravel scattering under the tires. No no, no,
Speaker 1: I yelled, yanking the wheel to the right, but it
Speaker 1: was no use. The truck tipped the passenger side, lifting
Speaker 1: off the ground. As the weight shifted, I could see
Speaker 1: the drop, now hundreds of feet down, into a mess
Speaker 1: of rocks and trees, and then a jolt, the truck
Speaker 1: slammed into something solid. My head snapped forward, hitting the
Speaker 1: steering wheel. Stars danced in my vision, but I was alive, barely.
Speaker 1: When I opened my eyes, I realized what had stopped me.
Speaker 1: A massive boulder, weathered in gray, had wedged itself under
Speaker 1: the truck's frame three inches to the left or right,
Speaker 1: and it would have missed entirely. I would have been
Speaker 1: nothing more than a headline in the local paper, man
Speaker 1: found dead after truck plunges off mountain road. My hands
Speaker 1: were trembling as I turned the ignition off. I didn't
Speaker 1: dare move, afraid any shift in weight might dislodge the
Speaker 1: precarious balance. The boulder groaned under the truck's weight, and
Speaker 1: I could hear the faint creak of metal protesting against gravity. Okay, Caleb,
Speaker 1: I muttered to myself, trying to stay calm. Think you
Speaker 1: just gotta get out, easy, does it? I unbuckled my
Speaker 1: seat belt, every motion feeling like it took an eternity.
Speaker 1: The door on the driver's side was wedged against the
Speaker 1: rock wall, so I had no choice but to crawl
Speaker 1: over to the passenger side. With every shift of my weight,
Speaker 1: the truck grown louder. My breath caught in my throat
Speaker 1: when I felt it tilt ever so slightly. Finally I
Speaker 1: managed to get the passenger door open. The fog had
Speaker 1: thickened even more, swirling like smoke around me. I could
Speaker 1: barely see the ground below the truck, but I had
Speaker 1: no choice. I grabbed the edge of the doorframe and
Speaker 1: swung my legs out, praying the truck wouldn't give way.
Speaker 1: The moment my boots hit solid ground, I ran. I
Speaker 1: didn't stop to look back, didn't stop to think. My
Speaker 1: legs carried me down the mountain faster than I'd ever.
Speaker 2: Moved in my life.
Speaker 1: Adrenaline and sheer terror were the only things keeping me
Speaker 1: upright as I stumbled over rocks and roots. It wasn't
Speaker 1: until I reached a clearing a good half mile down
Speaker 1: that I allowed myself to stop. My chest heaved and
Speaker 1: my hands were scraped and bloodied from the fall. I
Speaker 1: looked back up the mountain, but the fog had swallowed everything.
Speaker 1: For a moment, I wondered if it had all been
Speaker 1: some kind of hallucination, a cruel trick of the mind.
Speaker 1: But then I saw the faint outline of the truck
Speaker 1: still perched on that boulder, like a warning. I made
Speaker 1: it back to Ridgeview that afternoon, shaking and pale. When
Speaker 1: I told my story at the local diner, no one
Speaker 1: believed me at first. You've got the luck of the devil,
Speaker 1: old mister Barrett said, shaking his head.
Speaker 2: Maybe he was right.
Speaker 1: That boulder saved my life, But to this day I
Speaker 1: can't shake the feeling that something else was at play.
Speaker 2: It wasn't just luck. It was too perfect, too precise.
Speaker 1: Sometimes late at night I think about that fog and
Speaker 1: the way it rolled in out of nowhere. It's the
Speaker 1: kind of thing that makes you question everything, that leaves
Speaker 1: you wondering if the mountain wanted me dead, or if
Speaker 1: it had decided for some reason to let me live.
Speaker 1: Story three. It was a regular Tuesday morning, or so
Speaker 1: I thought. My name's Tim and I live in Wichita, Kansas.
Speaker 1: I'm just your average office worker, the kind who punches
Speaker 1: in at nine and punches out at five, counting down
Speaker 1: the hours in between. That day started like any other, coffee,
Speaker 1: a bagel, and the endless loop of emails. But by lunch,
Speaker 1: things took a turn that I can only describe as surreal.
Speaker 1: It started with a strange feeling, almost like I wasn't
Speaker 1: entirely in my body. Not an out of body experience,
Speaker 1: per se, but a sensation that I was just a
Speaker 1: fraction off, like my soul had shifted a couple of
Speaker 1: inches to the left. The fluorescent lights above my desk
Speaker 1: felt harsh, their flicker more noticeable than usual. The hum
Speaker 1: of the office buzzed in slow motion. I was present,
Speaker 1: but not quite there. Tim, you good, my co worker
Speaker 1: Steve asked. He's one of those guys who's annoyingly observant,
Speaker 1: but at that moment I was grateful for it. I
Speaker 1: I don't feel right, I admitted, my voice sounding distant
Speaker 1: to my own ears. Not right like flu not right,
Speaker 1: or not right like er not right. His tone turned serious.
Speaker 1: He could tell this wasn't a run of the mill complaint.
Speaker 1: Maybe urgent care, I mumbled, trying to stay calm. He
Speaker 1: grabbed his keys without hesitation. Let's go at the clinic.
Speaker 1: The nurse checked my blood pressure, and her expression immediately shifted. Sir,
Speaker 1: you're going to need to head to an emergency room.
Speaker 1: There's one five minutes from here. Uh okay, sure, I replied,
Speaker 1: still feeling like I was observing the scene from outside
Speaker 1: my body. The drive there felt like it was happening
Speaker 1: in a dream. Everything blurry, the world moving at half speed.
Speaker 1: The er was unusually quiet, almost unnervingly so. Within minutes,
Speaker 1: I was hooked up to machines, nurses whispering to each
Speaker 1: other as they worked. A doctor appeared at my side,
Speaker 1: her face set in a professional mask, but her eyes
Speaker 1: betrayed her concern.
Speaker 2: Tim we're going to.
Speaker 1: Move you upstairs to the ICU, she said, her voice
Speaker 1: calm but firm. Your blood pressure is dangerously high. We
Speaker 1: need to get it under con troll. Immediately, the words
Speaker 1: hit me like a truck.
Speaker 2: I see you.
Speaker 1: That's for people who are dying. That's for people who
Speaker 1: don't leave the hospital. They wheeled me upstairs. The fluorescent
Speaker 1: lights blurring overhead in the ICU, the room was eerily quiet,
Speaker 1: except for the rhythmic beeping of the machines. I lay
Speaker 1: there staring at the clock on the wall, watching the
Speaker 1: seconds tick by. I couldn't help but notice how carefully
Speaker 1: the nurses moved, their voices hushed as they communicated. One
Speaker 1: nurse leaned over me, her face kind but tense. We've
Speaker 1: given you some medication to bring your pressure down. Just relax,
Speaker 1: You're in good hands. But relaxing was impossible. I could
Speaker 1: feel the panic bubbling just below the surface. My chest
Speaker 1: felt tight, my head pounding like a drum. The world
Speaker 1: around me felt unreal, like I was teetering on the
Speaker 1: edge of consciousness. As I lay there, trying to calm
Speaker 1: my racing thoughts, something changed.
Speaker 2: In the room.
Speaker 1: The air grew heavier, pressing down on my chest in
Speaker 1: a way that had nothing to do with my condition.
Speaker 1: The clock on the wall seemed to slow even further
Speaker 1: each tick, stretching into an eternity. I turned my head
Speaker 1: to look at the doorway, and that's when I saw it.
Speaker 1: A figure, no, a shadow, stood just outside the room.
Speaker 1: It wasn't shaped like a person, not exactly. It was
Speaker 1: too tall, its limbs too elongated, and its edges seemed
Speaker 1: to blur and waver like smoke. The lights in the
Speaker 1: hallway flickered, and for a moment, it felt like the
Speaker 1: entire hospital had gone silent. Even the machines around me
Speaker 1: seemed to pause. They're beeping, replaced by a low hum
Speaker 1: that vibrated through my skull. I tried to call out,
Speaker 1: but my voice caught in my throat. The shadow moved closer,
Speaker 1: stepping into the room. It didn't walk, it glided, as
Speaker 1: though the floor didn't exist. My heart raised faster than ever,
Speaker 1: the machines beside me screaming with alarm. The figure stopped
Speaker 1: at the foot of my bed, and though it had
Speaker 1: no face, I felt its gaze pierce through me. Tim
Speaker 1: It whispered, the sound like a thousand voices layered on
Speaker 1: top of each other. You were not supposed to leave.
Speaker 1: Leave leave where my mind reeled, unable to make sense
Speaker 1: of the words. The shadow reached out a hand, or
Speaker 1: what I assumed was a hand, long, spinly fingers stretching
Speaker 1: toward me. Cold radiated from it, chilling me to my core.
Speaker 1: I wanted to scream, to fight, but my body wouldn't respond.
Speaker 1: I was frozen, trapped in my own skin. Just as
Speaker 1: its fingers brushed against my arm, the door to the
Speaker 1: room burst open. A nurse rushed in, followed by the doctor.
Speaker 1: The shadow recoiled, fading into the corner of the room
Speaker 1: before disappearing entirely. The lights returned to normal, and the
Speaker 1: beeping of the machines filled the.
Speaker 2: Air once more.
Speaker 1: Tim stay with us, the doctor shouted, her hands moving
Speaker 1: quickly to adjust the equipment. The nurse injected something into
Speaker 1: my IV and within moments, the crushing weight on my
Speaker 1: chest lifted, My body relaxed. The world came rushing back.
Speaker 1: I didn't tell them what I saw. How could I.
Speaker 1: They chalk it up to the stress, the medication, the
Speaker 1: dangerously high blood pressure. But I knew better that shadow
Speaker 1: wasn't a hallucination. It was something else, something real, and
Speaker 1: its words still haunt me to this day. You were
Speaker 1: not supposed to leave. I'm alive now, and my health
Speaker 1: is better than it was before. Story four. I grew
Speaker 1: up in Vermont, where snow wasn't just a season, it
Speaker 1: was a way of life. Winters there were like something
Speaker 1: out of a postcard, all frosted pine trees and glittering hills.
Speaker 1: I'm no stranger to the cold or the dangers of snow,
Speaker 1: but this one night I realized how unforgiving it could be.
Speaker 1: I was visiting a ski resort with some friends. By day,
Speaker 1: the place was a noisy playground for skiers and snowboarders,
Speaker 1: but at night it transformed into something quiet, almost eerie.
Speaker 1: We'd all been at the lodge drinking by the fire
Speaker 1: when I decided to step out outside for a bit
Speaker 1: of fresh air. I didn't bother telling anyone. I just
Speaker 1: grabbed my coat and walked out, leaving the warmth behind.
Speaker 1: It wasn't snowing, but the air had that biting chill
Speaker 1: that seeped through your clothes. The moon was bright, lighting
Speaker 1: up the endless white expanse. It was peaceful, almost hypnotic,
Speaker 1: and I wandered further than I realized, crunching over untouched
Speaker 1: patches of snow. I remember thinking how surreal it was,
Speaker 1: just me in the winter night, and then the ground disappeared.
Speaker 1: I didn't even have time to scream before I plunged
Speaker 1: into the snow. One moment I was upright, the next
Speaker 1: I was buried up to my shoulders in what felt
Speaker 1: like quicksand made of ice. My arms flailed, but every
Speaker 1: movement made the snow collapse further around me, pulling me
Speaker 1: in deeper.
Speaker 2: I froze.
Speaker 1: Panic was creeping in, but I forced myself to breathe.
Speaker 1: I tried to move slowly, thinking I could push the
Speaker 1: snow down enough to climb out. It didn't work. The
Speaker 1: more I shifted, the more it swallowed me. My gloves
Speaker 1: were useless. They slid against the soft, powdery snow. I
Speaker 1: yelled for help, my voice echoing into the void, but
Speaker 1: I knew no one would hear me. The lodge was
Speaker 1: too far and the wind carried sound away like it
Speaker 1: didn't belong. That's when it hit me. If I didn't
Speaker 1: get out, no one would find me until morning. By
Speaker 1: then I'd be frozen solid. I started digging with my hands,
Speaker 1: desperate now, but it was like trying to claw through water.
Speaker 1: I remember thinking about all the stories i'd heard as
Speaker 1: a kid about people who went missing in the snow.
Speaker 1: They'd find their bodies months later, perfectly preserved, as if
Speaker 1: winter itself had claimed them. And then the strangest thing happened.
Speaker 1: I felt something or someone grabbed my arm. It was sudden,
Speaker 1: a firm grip, like a hand reaching through the snow.
Speaker 1: Relief surged through me. Someone must have found me. I
Speaker 1: called out, thank you, I'm stuck, but there was no ana.
Speaker 1: I looked up, expecting to see a face, but there
Speaker 1: was no one there, just the moonlit snow, untouched except
Speaker 1: for the hole I'd fallen into. The grip didn't let go, though,
Speaker 1: If anything, it tightened, pulling me downward. My relief turned
Speaker 1: to terror. I screamed, thrashing against whatever had me. But
Speaker 1: the harder I fought, the more it pulled. It felt cold,
Speaker 1: colder than the snow, and impossibly strong. My legs were
Speaker 1: completely numb now, and I could feel myself sinking deeper.
Speaker 1: Let me go, I shouted, my voice cracking with fear,
Speaker 1: and just like that it stopped. The grip released, and
Speaker 1: I was left gasping, chest heaving, frozen in place. I
Speaker 1: didn't waste a second. I clawed at the snow with
Speaker 1: everything I had, dragging myself out inch by inch until
Speaker 1: I was finally free.
Speaker 2: I didn't look back. I couldn't.
Speaker 1: I ran, stumbling and slipping until I saw the lights
Speaker 1: of the lodge. When I burst through the doors, my
Speaker 1: friends turned to melaughing at first until they saw my face.
Speaker 1: What happened to you one of the masts? I couldn't
Speaker 1: explain it. How do you tell someone about a hand
Speaker 1: that wasn't there, about being pulled by something you couldn't see.
Speaker 1: I didn't sleep that night or the next. Even now,
Speaker 1: years later, I can still feel that icy grip on
Speaker 1: my arm. Sometimes in my dreams, I'm back there, sinking
Speaker 1: into the snow, and I wake up gasping, my heart pounding.
Speaker 1: I've avoided ski resorts ever since. Snow might look beautiful
Speaker 1: under the moonlight, but I know better now. It hides things,
Speaker 1: things that don't let go.
Speaker 2: Story five.
Speaker 1: I was seventeen when it happened, living in a small
Speaker 1: town in Montana, where the winters seemed endless and the
Speaker 1: roads disappeared under thick layers of snow and ice. You
Speaker 1: could walk a mile without seeing a single house lit
Speaker 1: up at night. My dad always joked that this place
Speaker 1: was perfect if you liked the quiet, the kind of
Speaker 1: quiet that could swallow you whole. That night, it almost did.
Speaker 1: I had just finished a sh at the diner where
Speaker 1: I worked after school. It was a cold Tuesday, and
Speaker 1: I was walking home because my car was in the shop.
Speaker 1: My breath fogged up the air in front of me,
Speaker 1: and the only sound was the crunch of my boots
Speaker 1: on the icy road. The town was deserted, not a
Speaker 1: soul in sight, and the street lights barely pushed back
Speaker 1: the darkness. The walk from the diner to my house
Speaker 1: wasn't long, maybe twenty minutes, but it took me through
Speaker 1: a stretch of wooded road that always gave me the creeps.
Speaker 1: Something about the way the trees closed in made it
Speaker 1: feel like the shadows had eyes. I'd walked this road
Speaker 1: a hundred times before, but that night felt different, like
Speaker 1: the cold wasn't just outside but inside me, clawing at
Speaker 1: my gut. I kept telling myself I was being paranoid,
Speaker 1: but I picked up my pace anyway. About halfway through
Speaker 1: the wooded stretch, I saw headlights in the distance.
Speaker 2: A car was coming up behind me, slow and deliberate.
Speaker 1: At first, I thought it was someone I knew, a neighbor,
Speaker 1: maybe offering me a ride. But the car didn't pass me.
Speaker 1: It just rolled forward at a crawl, staying a few
Speaker 1: feet behind. The sound of the tires crunching on the
Speaker 1: ice matched my footsteps. I turned around squinting against the
Speaker 1: glare of the headlights and raised a hand to wave.
Speaker 1: No response, just the hum of the engine and the
Speaker 1: blinding light. My gut tightened. Something was wrong, really wrong.
Speaker 1: I stepped to the side of the road to let
Speaker 1: it pass, but the car stopped dead stop. My heart
Speaker 1: started pounding as I turned back toward the trees. Keep walking,
Speaker 1: I whispered to myself, Just keep walking. I tried to
Speaker 1: act normal, like I didn't notice the car, but my
Speaker 1: legs felt like jelly. The headlights flicked off, plunging the
Speaker 1: road into darkness. That's when I heard the car door open.
Speaker 1: A single heavy footstep hit the icy road, then another hey.
Speaker 1: A voice called out, deep, raspy, you need a ride.
Speaker 1: My stomach dropped. I didn't turn around. No, I'm good, thanks,
Speaker 1: I shouted, trying to sound casual. My voice cracked halfway through.
Speaker 1: The footsteps started again, faster this time. I could hear
Speaker 1: them crunching behind me, closing the gap. I didn't think.
Speaker 2: I just ran.
Speaker 1: My boots slipped on the ice, but adrenaline kept me moving.
Speaker 1: The trees blurred as I sprinted down the road, my
Speaker 1: breath coming in short, sharp gas. I didn't dare look back, Hey, stop,
Speaker 1: the voice shouted closer now. My mind raced with thoughts.
Speaker 1: I couldn't finish. Who was this guy, what did he want?
Speaker 1: What would happen if he caught me? I saw a
Speaker 1: narrow path veering off into the woods and darted onto it,
Speaker 1: hoping the thick trees would slow him down. My lungs
Speaker 1: burned and my legs screamed for rest, but I didn't stop.
Speaker 1: I could hear him crashing through the underbrush behind me,
Speaker 1: his heavy boots snapping branches and crunching snow. The sound
Speaker 1: was relentless, like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.
Speaker 1: Then suddenly silence. I stopped, chest heaving and leaned against
Speaker 1: a tree. My ears strained against the quiet. Nothing, no footsteps,
Speaker 1: no voice, just the eerie stillness of the forest. I'd
Speaker 1: lost him, or so I thought. As I stood there,
Speaker 1: trying to catch my breath. A sound cut through the quiet,
Speaker 1: A soft, deliberate crunch of snow directly ahead of me.
Speaker 1: My head snapped up. A shadow moved between the trees,
Speaker 1: tall and broad. He had circled around. My heart felt
Speaker 1: like it was going to explode. I turned and bolted
Speaker 1: in the opposite direction, but my foot hit a patch
Speaker 1: of ice and I went down hard. Pain shot through
Speaker 1: my wrist as I landed, but I barely noticed. I
Speaker 1: scrambled to my feet, slipping and sliding, and kept running.
Speaker 1: The trees began to thin, and I saw the faint
Speaker 1: glow of a house in the distance. Help someone, please,
Speaker 1: I screamed, my voice echoing through the woods. The shatto
Speaker 1: behind me hesitated, then stopped. Maybe he heard the desperation
Speaker 1: in my voice, or maybe he saw the lights and
Speaker 1: decided it wasn't worth it.
Speaker 2: Either way, he didn't follow me.
Speaker 1: By the time I reached the house, I was sobbing,
Speaker 1: banging on the door like my life depended on it.
Speaker 1: An older couple answered, their faces a mix of concern
Speaker 1: and confusion. I babbled something about a man chasing me,
Speaker 1: and they pulled me inside without hesitation. The police were called,
Speaker 1: but they didn't find anyone, no car, no footprints, just
Speaker 1: an empty road. In my shaken story, they said it
Speaker 1: was probably some drifter trying to scare me, or maybe
Speaker 1: even my imagination playing tricks in the dark.
Speaker 2: But I know what I heard, I know what I felt.
Speaker 2: Story six.
Speaker 1: I grew up in the suburbs of Pittsburgh, where water
Speaker 1: parks were the summer escape. My family loved them, especially
Speaker 1: my dad. He had this thing about chasing thrills, always
Speaker 1: grinning like a maniac when whenever he dragged us into
Speaker 1: his next hair brain scheme. That's how we ended up
Speaker 1: at Splash Haven, a place I'll never forget for all
Speaker 1: the wrong reasons. The day was stiflingly hot, the kind
Speaker 1: where the air itself feels heavy. Kids shrieked, lifeguards barked orders,
Speaker 1: and the chlorine smell was so overpowering it made my
Speaker 1: eyes water. My dad, older brother Mike, younger sister Emma,
Speaker 1: and I made our way to the Riptide Rush, a
Speaker 1: water slide so massive it cast a shadow over half
Speaker 1: the park. The thing spiraled and twisted like a snake
Speaker 1: before spitting riders out into a shallow breaking pool. Dad,
Speaker 1: with that grin of his, clapped his hands together. Let's
Speaker 1: do a family train, you know, link up the tubes.
Speaker 1: It'll be fun. Even then, I had a bad feeling
Speaker 1: about it. I don't think that's allowed, I mumbled. But
Speaker 1: Dad's enthusiasm was infectious. He waved off my concerns. Relax,
Speaker 1: it'll be fine. What could go wrong. That's a question
Speaker 1: never one answered. We lined up. I got stuck in
Speaker 1: the front, my smaller frame making me the easiest target
Speaker 1: for Mike and Dad's weight to push forward. Mike settled
Speaker 1: behind me, his linebacker's shoulders dwarfing his tube. Dad came next,
Speaker 1: his laugh booming. As Emma climbed into the last tube,
Speaker 1: clutching the handles like her life depended on it. The
Speaker 1: lifeguard gave us a skeptical glance, but said nothing. As
Speaker 1: we shoved off from the first twist, it was chaos.
Speaker 1: The combined weight of Mike and Dad turned us into
Speaker 1: a runaway freight train. Water roared around us, and the
Speaker 1: slide walls blurred as we hurtled through each curve. My
Speaker 1: knuckles whitened as I clung to my tube, my heart
Speaker 1: pounding in my ears. Slow down, I screamed, but my
Speaker 1: voice was lost in the cacophony. Everyone else was laughing
Speaker 1: like lunatics. As we neared the final stretch, a straightaway
Speaker 1: leading into the breaking pool, dread clawed at my chest.
Speaker 1: We weren't slowing down, if anything, we were speeding up.
Speaker 1: The surface of the pool glittered like glass, and beyond
Speaker 1: it the unforgiving stone stairs loomed closer with every second.
Speaker 1: We're going too fast, I yelled, my voice cracking, and
Speaker 1: then we hit. My tubes slammed into the water, but
Speaker 1: instead of slowing down, it skimmed across like it was possessed.
Speaker 1: The edge of my tube caught on something, flipping me forward.
Speaker 1: My back crashed against the jagged stairs, pain exploding through
Speaker 1: me as my legs folded awkwardly. Before I could scream,
Speaker 1: Dad's tubes slammed into me, driving me deeper against the stairs.
Speaker 1: That's when I realized my head was underwater. I opened
Speaker 1: my mouth to gasp, and icy water filled my lungs.
Speaker 1: My chest burned, my spine screamed in protest, and I
Speaker 1: could feel the rough stone grinding against my skin. The
Speaker 1: world above the surface blurred into chaos. My own gurgling
Speaker 1: cries were drowned out by the roar of water and
Speaker 1: the muffled sounds of shouting. Then it got worse. Something
Speaker 1: cold brushed against my arm. At first I thought it
Speaker 1: was a strap from my tube, but then it moved deliberately.
Speaker 1: My heart froze as what felt like a hand tightened
Speaker 1: around my wrist. I thrashed trying to pull free, but
Speaker 1: the grip only tightened.
Speaker 2: My mind raised.
Speaker 1: Was it debris, a stray rope? Number it felt human?
Speaker 1: Panic set in as I flailed, my movement sluggish under
Speaker 1: the weight of water and pain. The grip on my
Speaker 1: wrist jerked, yanking me deeper into the water. My back
Speaker 1: scraped against the stairs, and I swear I heard something
Speaker 1: crack above the surface. Distorted by the water, I saw
Speaker 1: my dad's face, eyes wide with terror. He was shouting,
Speaker 1: his voice barely cutting through the haze. And then, just
Speaker 1: as suddenly as it appeared, the grip vanished. A violent
Speaker 1: tug pulled me upward, and I broke the surface, coughing
Speaker 1: and choking. My dad had yanked me out, his arms
Speaker 1: trembling as he dragged me onto the concrete. I collapsed
Speaker 1: in a heap, my chest heaving as I sucked in air.
Speaker 1: Oh my god, Oh my god. Dad kept muttering, his
Speaker 1: voice shaky. Mike and Emma were there too, their face
Speaker 1: as pale as they hovered over me. The lifeguard sprinted
Speaker 1: over his whistle, shrieking, Can you move?
Speaker 2: Are you hurt? He asked, his tone urgent. I couldn't answer.
Speaker 1: My back felt like it was on fire, and my
Speaker 1: legs were trembling so hard I couldn't stand. As I
Speaker 1: lay there, shivering and disoriented, I glanced back at the pool.
Speaker 1: For a split second, I thought I saw something, a
Speaker 1: shadow slipping beneath the surface, too large and too fast
Speaker 1: to be a trick of the light. My dad must
Speaker 1: have seen my face, because he crouched next to me
Speaker 1: and grabbed my hand. It's over, he said, softly, his
Speaker 1: voice breaking. You're okay, You're safe now. But I wasn't
Speaker 1: not really that shadow, that grip on my wrist, It
Speaker 1: wasn't normal. Something was in that pool. Story seven. You
Speaker 1: ever have one of those moments that stays with you,
Speaker 1: not like a memory, but like a weight pressed against
Speaker 1: your chest that tightens every time it crosses your mind.
Speaker 1: I live in a small town in western Oregon, surrounded
Speaker 1: by thick pine forests and hills that never dry out,
Speaker 1: not even in summer. My name's Marcus. I'm thirty two now.
Speaker 1: But this happened when I was eleven. I still have
Speaker 1: dreams about it. Sometimes they're so vivid. I'll wake up gasping,
Speaker 1: heart pounding, like I'm falling all over again.
Speaker 2: Back then, we had this tradition. Me and two of my.
Speaker 1: Friends, Danny and Leo, we'd head out into the woods
Speaker 1: behind my neighborhood and just wander. We'd build forts, throw
Speaker 1: rocks at trees, climb stuff. We were too old for
Speaker 1: toys but too young for girls, so we climbed everything,
Speaker 1: especially trees. There was this one tree we called the Spire.
Speaker 1: It was the tallest one in the area, a Douglas
Speaker 1: fir that had to be at least one hundred feet tall,
Speaker 1: way taller than anything nearby. The trunk was thick, straight
Speaker 1: and covered in tight branches almost all the way up.
Speaker 1: It didn't curve until maybe ninety feet or so. It
Speaker 1: looked like something out of a cartoon, perfect for climbing
Speaker 1: if you were stupid enough, and I was. I still
Speaker 1: don't know what got into me that day. We were
Speaker 1: daring each other to see who could climb the highest,
Speaker 1: and I just went for it. Danny stopped maybe twenty
Speaker 1: feet up, Leo maybe thirty.
Speaker 2: I didn't stop. I don't think I even looked down.
Speaker 1: I just kept grabbing, pulling, stepping on smaller and smaller
Speaker 1: branches until I realized I couldn't hear them anymore. They
Speaker 1: weren't calling to me. They were way below. When I
Speaker 1: finally did look down, I nearly blacked out. The ground
Speaker 1: was so far it looked like a patchwork of moss
Speaker 1: and dirt, unreal and distant. The tree wasn't still either.
Speaker 1: At that height, every gust of wind pushed the top
Speaker 1: back and forth in these huge, slow swings, probably fifteen
Speaker 1: twenty feet side to side. I swear I could hear
Speaker 1: the tree creaking. That's when panic hit me. My hands
Speaker 1: locked around the branch in front of me. I didn't
Speaker 1: trust any step, didn't think anything below would hold if
Speaker 1: I tried to go back, And then the thought slammed
Speaker 1: into my brain like a punch. If I fell, I'd die.
Speaker 1: That wasn't a maybe, it was just fact, Marcus. I
Speaker 1: could faintly hear Leo yelling, come down, man, I'm stuck,
Speaker 1: I shouted back, voice shaking.
Speaker 2: I can't.
Speaker 1: The wind picked up again, and the whole top of
Speaker 1: the tree swayed, with me clinging to it. My stomach
Speaker 1: flipped so hard I gagged. I don't know how long
Speaker 1: I stayed up. There could have been fifteen minutes, could
Speaker 1: have been an hour. Time stopped meaning anything. I just
Speaker 1: remember how my muscles burned from holding on, and how
Speaker 1: my legs started to cramp from being in that weird
Speaker 1: crouch on the narrow branch. Eventually I knew I had
Speaker 1: to move or I'd fall, just from fatigue. I started
Speaker 1: easing down, slowly, inch by inch, telling myself not to
Speaker 1: look down, but of course I did. Everything below was
Speaker 1: still blurry and too far, and now was starting to rain,
Speaker 1: one of those light organ drizzles that makes every surface
Speaker 1: slick without you noticing. One branch cracked under my foot,
Speaker 1: not all the way, just enough to make that loud
Speaker 1: snap that gets under your skin. I jerked my leg
Speaker 1: up so fast I nearly lost balance, heart thudding so
Speaker 1: hard I could feel it in my throat. I made
Speaker 1: it down, maybe fifteen feet Before it happened. My left
Speaker 1: foot missed the branch I meant to step on, wasn't there.
Speaker 1: I went weightless. That's the only way I can describe it,
Speaker 1: like my body disappeared and I was just this shape
Speaker 1: falling through air. I remember this horrible whipping sound as
Speaker 1: the wind rushed past my ears, And in that moment,
Speaker 1: it wasn't panic.
Speaker 2: I felt it was clarity.
Speaker 1: I saw myself sprawled on the forest floor, bones bent
Speaker 1: the wrong way, neck twisted. I don't know how to
Speaker 1: explain that. I saw it like an image forced into
Speaker 1: my brain. My face pale and wide eyed, mouth stuck open, dead,
Speaker 1: not scared, not screaming, just broken. I don't even know
Speaker 1: if that was imagination or some weird hallucination, but it
Speaker 1: was real to me, still is. I didn't fall all
Speaker 1: the way though. Something caught me, not a branch. I
Speaker 1: was sure i'd passed the last big one. It felt
Speaker 1: like hands, two cold, hard grips wrapped around my forearms
Speaker 1: and stopped me midair. I didn't see anyone. I looked
Speaker 1: around frantically, but there was no one there. No one
Speaker 1: above me, no one below, just me, hanging breathless, rain
Speaker 1: falling around me, gripped by something invisible. For maybe three seconds,
Speaker 1: I dangled there long enough to think I'm dead.
Speaker 2: This is it.
Speaker 1: Something's taking me. Then I dropped the last few feet
Speaker 1: onto a branch that cracked but held. I clawed onto
Speaker 1: the trunk like an animal, crying, shaking, half hysterical, I
Speaker 1: screamed for help. Danny and Leo were at the base
Speaker 1: the tree, shouting back up, but I could barely hear them.
Speaker 1: My ears were ringing. I kept yelling there's something up here,
Speaker 1: but I don't think they understood. I scrambled down so
Speaker 1: fast I tore my palms open. My shirt got snagged,
Speaker 1: ripped across the back. I didn't care. I hit the
Speaker 1: forest floor knees first and collapsed, sobbing mud all over me.
Speaker 1: Leo ran up and grabbed me by the shoulders. Dude,
Speaker 1: what happened? You just you just dropped. I didn't fall,
Speaker 1: I whispered, something caught me. Danny looked up at the tree.
Speaker 1: What do you mean?
Speaker 2: I don't know.
Speaker 1: I was shaking too hard to talk right. It grabbed me.
Speaker 1: I swear to god, it grabbed me. They thought I
Speaker 1: was just in shock. I didn't blame them. I didn't
Speaker 1: climb another tree after that, not once. It's been over
Speaker 1: twenty years and I still don't have an explanation. I've
Speaker 1: replayed it a hundred times in my head, wondering if
Speaker 1: I imagined the whole thing.
Speaker 2: But I didn't.
Speaker 1: I know what I felt, the grip, that freezing touch,
Speaker 1: whatever it was, it didn't want me to die just yet,
Speaker 1: but it didn't want me safe either. I don't go
Speaker 1: near the woods. Anymore, and I'll never climb again. Story eight.
Speaker 1: I grew up in a small town called Auburn, out
Speaker 1: in northern California, tucked between thick pine woods and winding
Speaker 1: two lane highways. I don't live there anymore, but I
Speaker 1: still pass by the old cul de Sac every now
Speaker 1: and then, just to look. I don't even know why.
Speaker 1: Maybe I keep hoping I'll see something that makes it
Speaker 1: all make sense. This happened when I was ten on
Speaker 1: Christmas Day. We just finished opening gifts. The house still
Speaker 1: smelled like cinnamon rolls and pine needles, and I was
Speaker 1: riding high off the sugar and excitement of getting my
Speaker 1: very first real bike, a red BMX with black grips
Speaker 1: and pegs. I remember tearing open the garage door and yelling,
Speaker 1: I'm going to ride it. My dad hollered after me,
Speaker 1: stay in the cul de sac, but I was already gone,
Speaker 1: tires squealing on the driveway. The cul de sac was
Speaker 1: shaped like a lollipop. Our house was halfway down the stick.
Speaker 1: At the end of the circle, there was a slope
Speaker 1: that dipped sharply into a blind corner where the neighborhood
Speaker 1: road met a bigger, faster one. You couldn't see what
Speaker 1: was coming until you were already in the street. It
Speaker 1: was quiet that morning, Christmas Day, early, barely any cars.
Speaker 1: The sun was bright but low, casting long shadows off
Speaker 1: the pine trees. I remember laughing and pushing the petals
Speaker 1: as hard as I could. That feeling pure speed wind
Speaker 1: in your face. It felt like flying. I whipped around
Speaker 1: the circle once twice. Then I got cocky. I stood
Speaker 1: up on the pedals and aimed straight down the slope
Speaker 1: out of the cul de Sac. No hesitation, no looking
Speaker 1: halfway down. I heard it, not a sound I recognized
Speaker 1: at first, just this high whine rising fast. I didn't
Speaker 1: process it. I was too focused on keeping my handlebar straight.
Speaker 1: Then there was a flash, a reflection off a windshield
Speaker 1: coming around the blind curve, a white SUV barreling fast.
Speaker 1: I don't remember screaming. I don't remember thinking. There wasn't time,
Speaker 1: but something happened. I didn't fall, I didn't swerve, I
Speaker 1: didn't turn. I was moved. I don't know how else
Speaker 1: to say it. I was peddling hard. I had momentum.
Speaker 1: There was no way I could have just stopped or
Speaker 1: jumped off. But one second I was going straight into
Speaker 1: the street, and the next without any break in motion.
Speaker 1: I was in the grass off to the right of
Speaker 1: the driveway, like someone had picked me up mid air
Speaker 1: and set me down. The car missed me by maybe
Speaker 1: a foot. It didn't break until it was past the
Speaker 1: cul de sac. Then it stopped hard. I looked back, confused, panting.
Speaker 1: My bike was tilted halfway into a bush, and I
Speaker 1: had no memory of turning or jumping or anything. Then
Speaker 1: I saw my dad. He was standing at the top
Speaker 1: of the driveway, white faced, completely still, not yelling, not moving, just.
Speaker 2: Staring the driver.
Speaker 1: A middle aged guy in a blue shirt jumped out
Speaker 1: and ran over to him. I couldn't hear what they
Speaker 1: were saying, but I remember how the guy's hands were
Speaker 1: shaking as he talked. He kept looking over at me.
Speaker 1: His eyes were wide, like he was in shock. I
Speaker 1: pushed my bike up and slowly walked back toward the garage.
Speaker 1: My dad still hadn't moved. I asked what happened. He
Speaker 1: didn't answer right away. Then finally he said, you were dead.
Speaker 1: You should have been dead, that's all he said. Inside
Speaker 1: the house, Mom kept asking what was wrong, but neither
Speaker 1: of us really answered. I just remember sitting on the
Speaker 1: couch with my hot chocolate going cold, hands still shaking.
Speaker 1: I didn't ride the bike again for a week. Later
Speaker 1: that night, my dad came into my room. He was
Speaker 1: quiet for a long time. Then he said, I saw it.
Speaker 1: I asked, saw what he hesitated. You didn't jump out
Speaker 1: of the way, you didn't stop. You were in the road,
Speaker 1: and then you weren't. It was like you were pulled, yanked,
Speaker 1: but nothing touched you. I asked if maybe he just
Speaker 1: imagined it, he'd been scared after all, but he shook
Speaker 1: his head. It was like something invisible grabbed your whole
Speaker 1: body mid air and tossed you off.
Speaker 2: Course. I didn't know what to say to that. Still don't.
Speaker 1: Here's the part I never told anyone else, not even him.
Speaker 1: In that split second before I got moved, right before
Speaker 1: the car would have hit me, I felt something cold,
Speaker 1: like a hand, not on my shoulder, not on my leg.
Speaker 1: It was like something gripped my entire chest from behind,
Speaker 1: not squeezing, holding, and it whispered something I couldn't understand,
Speaker 1: right into my left ear.
Speaker 2: It didn't sound human. That's the best way I can
Speaker 2: describe it.
Speaker 1: The whisper was too low and too fast, like words
Speaker 1: were spilling backwards, and it wasn't outside my ear, it
Speaker 1: was inside it, And then I was on the grass.
Speaker 1: Later I tracked down the driver. I found his name
Speaker 1: from an old neighborhood directory my mom kept.
Speaker 2: I emailed him, just.
Speaker 1: Said I was the kid from the Christmas Day bike
Speaker 1: incident and wanted to ask him something. He replied the
Speaker 1: same night, said he remembered, said he thought about it
Speaker 1: every year, said he was one hundred percent sure he'd
Speaker 1: hit me, swore he saw my body going under the
Speaker 1: front grill, but there was no impact, no dent, no sound,
Speaker 1: just nothing.
Speaker 2: Then I was gone.
Speaker 1: Said it was the single weirdest thing he'd ever experienced.
Speaker 1: He ended the email with I don't believe in ghosts,
Speaker 1: but I also don't believe in impossible things happening, and
Speaker 1: what happened that day was impossible. I never replied. There's
Speaker 1: one more thing. I looked at some old photos from
Speaker 1: that Christmas morning. There was one taken right before I
Speaker 1: rode off. I'm holding my bike, grinning at the camera
Speaker 1: behind me, just barely visible through the garage window as
Speaker 1: the street, and in the reflection of that window, there's
Speaker 1: something standing at the edge of the cul de sac
Speaker 1: A not quite. It's tall, blurry, almost like smoke, long arms,
Speaker 1: no face, but there's a clear outline of it, like
Speaker 1: it's watching. I asked a friend to look at it.
Speaker 1: He said it was probably glare. But it's not glare
Speaker 1: because I have another photo taking a split second later,
Speaker 1: different angle, but that same shape is still there, same spot,
Speaker 1: same thing. I deleted the photos. I don't want them anymore.
Speaker 1: I don't want proof. I already know something pulled me
Speaker 1: out of that road. Story nine. We were coming back
Speaker 1: from my cousin's birthday party in Bakersfield. My mom, me,
Speaker 1: and my little sister asleep in the back seat. It
Speaker 1: was already past ten pm and we still had a
Speaker 1: long drive back to Kettleman City. I remember waking up
Speaker 1: when the car suddenly jerked. My mom swore under her
Speaker 1: breath and eased it onto the shoulder. We rolled to
Speaker 1: a stop on the side of the five surrounded by
Speaker 1: nothing but dark, open farmland. Our old careory had just quit.
Speaker 1: No warning lights, no sputtering. It was like something just
Speaker 1: switched it off. I sat up, groggy, rubbing my eyes.
Speaker 2: What happened?
Speaker 1: Car died? Mom muttered trying to start it again. It
Speaker 1: didn't even turn over, just to click. She pulled out
Speaker 1: my dad's old Nokia, which she borrowed since hers had
Speaker 1: no battery, and called him. I could hear him over
Speaker 1: the speaker. He was annoyed, but said he'd head out
Speaker 1: and be there in about thirty minutes. Thirty minutes felt
Speaker 1: like a week to a ten year old sitting in
Speaker 1: the dark with only the faint hum of highway traffic
Speaker 1: way off behind us. Can I play snake, I asked?
Speaker 1: She hesitated, then handed it to me. Just five minutes,
Speaker 1: don't kill the battery. I didn't even make it to
Speaker 1: the third apple. The phone died in my hands. It
Speaker 1: was quiet after that, no radio, no light, no other
Speaker 1: cars nearby. I kept looking out the window at the
Speaker 1: rows of crops stretching out into blackness. My mom stayed still,
Speaker 1: both hands on the wheel, eyes fixed ahead. We sat
Speaker 1: there like that for maybe twenty minutes. I had dozed
Speaker 1: off again when I noticed lights, headlights in the side
Speaker 1: mirror pulling up behind us. I think that's Dad, I said,
Speaker 1: sitting up. But the car that pulled in wasn't my
Speaker 1: dad's truck. It was this older looking red Chevy dented
Speaker 1: on one side, head light out. It stopped maybe fifteen
Speaker 1: feet behind us. A man stepped out, tall and skinny,
Speaker 1: wearing jeans and a work shirt. He had a flashlight
Speaker 1: in one hand and walked slow, like he was trying
Speaker 1: not to scare us, but it had the opposite effect.
Speaker 1: My mom rolled her window down a little, just enough
Speaker 1: to talk through car trouble.
Speaker 2: The man asked.
Speaker 1: His voice was too calm, like he already knew my
Speaker 1: husband's on the way. My mom said, right away. I
Speaker 1: can take a look if you want. She shook her head. No,
Speaker 1: he's close. Shouldn't be long. He nodded, but didn't leave.
Speaker 1: He just stood there, smiling. He had this weird fixed
Speaker 1: grin way too wide, like he'd been holding it too
Speaker 1: long in his eyes. I don't even know how to
Speaker 1: explain them. They didn't match the smile. He wasn't looking
Speaker 1: at my mom. He was looking past her into the
Speaker 1: back seat, right at me. I sank down. You sure,
Speaker 1: he asked again. It's real easy, just a loose wire.
Speaker 1: Maybe number.
Speaker 2: Thank you?
Speaker 1: She said louder. Her voice had this edge now. The
Speaker 1: man didn't move. He stood there for another second, then
Speaker 1: finally nodded and started walking back to his car, but
Speaker 1: right before he got in, he stopped. Then he turned
Speaker 1: around and walked right back to the window. He leaned
Speaker 1: in closer, this time, just inches from the glass. My
Speaker 1: mom was about to say something when he said, real quiet,
Speaker 1: Actually it was your husband who called me to help you.
Speaker 1: The way he said it, it wasn't a question or
Speaker 1: a guess, it was a statement, calm certain. I remember
Speaker 1: my stomach flipping. The air felt cold. All of a sudden,
Speaker 1: my mom froze. She didn't blink, didn't say a word.
Speaker 1: I started crying without even realizing it. I remember saying, Mom,
Speaker 1: he's lying, right, Dad didn't he didn't call him right.
Speaker 2: But she didn't answer me.
Speaker 1: She was just staring straight ahead, one hand tightening on
Speaker 1: the wheel, like she was bracing for something. The man
Speaker 1: stood there a second longer, then just turned around, walked
Speaker 1: to his car, and got in. He pulled away slowly,
Speaker 1: his headlights off. About ten seconds later, another car came
Speaker 1: up fast behind us. I could see the silhouette of
Speaker 1: my dad's ball cap before he even stepped out.
Speaker 2: Mom jumped out and ran to him.
Speaker 1: I couldn't hear everything she said, but her voice cracked,
Speaker 1: and she kept pointing toward the road. Dad looked over
Speaker 1: her shoulder, confused, then grabbed the knakia from her hand.
Speaker 1: He pressed the power button. Nothing dead. He said, you
Speaker 1: called him. My mom said, that's what he told me.
Speaker 1: My dad looked at her like she lost her mind.
Speaker 1: We don't know anyone who drives a red Chevy, he said,
Speaker 1: I didn't call anybody. She didn't argue. She just looked
Speaker 1: down the road the way the car had gone. I
Speaker 1: never forgot the man's face. His grin frozen, like he
Speaker 1: was wearing it for someone else. His voice didn't match it,
Speaker 1: neither did his eyes. He wasn't trying to help. I
Speaker 1: don't know what he was trying to do, but I
Speaker 1: know for sure that if my dad had been a
Speaker 1: minute later, we wouldn't be talking about this as just
Speaker 1: a scare. We didn't talk about it much after. My
Speaker 1: mom didn't even want us bringing it up. She just
Speaker 1: said he didn't belong there. I don't know what she
Speaker 1: meant by that, but I believe her story.
Speaker 2: Ten.
Speaker 1: I don't usually take Bellridge Road. If you live around
Speaker 1: El Centro, California, you probably wouldn't either. It's narrow runs
Speaker 1: through old farmland and has this weird stretch with no
Speaker 1: cell signal for miles. My regular commute to the college
Speaker 1: is fifteen minutes straight down Interstate eight, but that morning
Speaker 1: some thing made me take the alternate way. I don't
Speaker 1: even remember consciously deciding. I just turned. I was running late, yeah,
Speaker 1: but not enough to gamble with a new route. It
Speaker 1: was like my hands had a mind of their own.
Speaker 1: I remember passing the sign for Bellridge and feeling this
Speaker 1: strange pressure in my ears, like I'd climbed too fast
Speaker 1: in a plane. Then everything went really quiet, like someone
Speaker 1: had hit mute on the world. About five minutes in
Speaker 1: I realized I hadn't passed a single car, no one coming,
Speaker 1: no one behind me, just empty road, low yellow grass
Speaker 1: on either side, and these broken down irrigation pipes stretching
Speaker 1: out into nothing. That quiet. It wasn't right, It wasn't peaceful.
Speaker 1: It felt like the world was waiting for something to happen.
Speaker 1: Then I blacked out. I don't remember drifting, no warning signs,
Speaker 1: I wasn't tired. I don't even remember my vision dimming.
Speaker 1: Just a snap. One second I was driving, and the
Speaker 1: next I was pulled out of myself, like I'd been
Speaker 1: yanked backward through a tunnel, but I saw everything. I
Speaker 1: wasn't in my body anymore. I saw my car veer
Speaker 1: into the other lane, slow, like it was floating. My
Speaker 1: head slumped to the side, eyes wide open but not seeing.
Speaker 1: I watched it all happen from above, like a drone's
Speaker 1: eye view, spinning slowly in the air. Then the worst part.
Speaker 1: Someone else was in the driver's seat. I know how
Speaker 1: that sounds, but I swear to God, it wasn't me
Speaker 1: behind the wheel anymore. He looked like me, same hoodie,
Speaker 1: same hands, but the way he moved jerky, mechanical, like
Speaker 1: a puppet someone was yanking around by invisible strings. His
Speaker 1: head twitched side to side like he was listening to music.
Speaker 1: I couldn't hear mouth opening and closing, just slightly grinning.
Speaker 2: That's what did it. He was smiling.
Speaker 1: The car started speeding up, not by much, just enough
Speaker 1: to be noticeable. Forty then fifty, then sixty. The road
Speaker 1: wasn't made for those speeds. I could see the curves
Speaker 1: up ahead, tight and blind, with ditches on both sides.
Speaker 1: My real self, whatever part of me was watching, started panicking.
Speaker 1: I tried screaming, but I didn't have a mouth, I
Speaker 1: wasn't in a body, and that thing pretending to be
Speaker 1: me it started laughing. The car hit seventy eighty. It
Speaker 1: was going to flip. I could feel it. And that's
Speaker 1: when I noticed something else. There were other people on
Speaker 1: the road, no cars, just people standing still in the fields,
Speaker 1: shoulder to shoulder, all facing the road. They weren't moving,
Speaker 1: just watching. I don't know how long they'd been there.
Speaker 1: I hadn't seen them before. Their clothes were torn, like
Speaker 1: they'd crawled out of somewhere, wet and deep. Their eyes
Speaker 1: those were the worst, hollow not in the poetic sense,
Speaker 1: I mean literally empty, just black holes where their eyes
Speaker 1: should have been.
Speaker 2: And they were smiling too.
Speaker 1: I didn't understand what was happening, but I knew that
Speaker 1: if the car kept going, I was going to die,
Speaker 1: not crash and maybe survive, I mean die, like my
Speaker 1: soul was going to get erased. The puppet me jerked
Speaker 1: the wheel hard left, aiming straight toward a power pole.
Speaker 1: It wasn't trying to avoid it, it was aiming for it.
Speaker 1: Then something pulled me back, not gently either. It was
Speaker 1: like getting slammed through ice water. My vision returned in flashes,
Speaker 1: hands clenched, muscles spasming. My foot hit the brake, hard, tires, screamed.
Speaker 1: I remember the impact soft, almost like the car had
Speaker 1: been caught in a net. And then I stopped, half
Speaker 1: on the road, half in a ditch. I started screaming,
Speaker 1: just screaming, no words. I couldn't stop. Next thing I knew,
Speaker 1: there was a police officer tapping on my window. I
Speaker 1: didn't even see the lights or hear the sirens, just
Speaker 1: his shape outside the glass blurred like a dream. I
Speaker 1: rolled the window down and said I didn't do it.
Speaker 1: I wasn't driving. He thought I was drunk or on
Speaker 1: something until the ambulance showed up. Apparently people had called
Speaker 1: nine one one after seeing me swerve all over the road.
Speaker 1: Some thought I'd fallen asleep. Others said it looked like
Speaker 1: I was having a seizure. But one guy he said
Speaker 1: something I'll never forget. He told the cops it looked
Speaker 1: like he was possessed. They laughed it off, but the
Speaker 1: guy wasn't joking. He said he saw my face through
Speaker 1: the windshield, and something about the way I was smiling
Speaker 1: made him stop his truck and get out. It didn't
Speaker 1: look human, he told the EMT his face wasn't moving
Speaker 1: right and his eyes they were way too wide. They
Speaker 1: ran tests, brain scans, blood work, overnight observation, nothing, no seizure,
Speaker 1: no neurological issues, no drugs, no explanation. Everyone dropped it. Eventually,
Speaker 1: even I tried to. But sometimes I drive past Belridge
Speaker 1: and I see them again, those people in the fields,
Speaker 1: not always, but sometimes just standing there, watching, waiting.
Speaker 2: I've never taken that road again.