I've been a truck driver since I was 25, and I've done a lot of night drives, experiencing my fair share of odd encounters. One day, I had to drive literally from one side of California to the other to deliver a trailer full of wooden furniture items. Much of the drive was through open desert roads, promising many hours of solitude in the dark.
As I cruised down the straight, deserted highway, the flashing rear lights of a car in the distance caught my attention. I hit the brakes to a stop behind an old Chevy Impala parked on the desert dirt with its hazards on. Being a good Samaritan, I got out to check if they needed help.
To my surprise, there was no one inside the car. Puzzled, I scanned the desolate surroundings and noticed an abandoned gas station nearby, its presence unnoticed until now. Feeling helpful, I grabbed a powerful flashlight from my truck and headed towards the building.
The gas station, now dilapidated, seemed like it had seen better days. The walls were graffitied with faded tags, and broken glass littered the ground. As I cautiously approached the entrance and called out, the faint echo of my voice sent shivers down my spine. Suddenly, I heard a whisper and heavy breathing from the shadows, chilling me to the bone. My heart raced as I tried to locate the source of the eerie sounds.
Sensing danger, I hurried back to my truck and dialed 911, my hands trembling as I relayed the situation to the operator. The anticipation of help arriving felt like an eternity as I anxiously peered out into the darkness, my eyes darting between the abandoned car and the decrepit gas station.
As I waited, the car in front of me suddenly roared to life and sped away into the darkness, leaving behind a trail of dust. Panic gripped me as I watched it disappear, my mind racing with questions and concerns. What had just happened? Who was in that car? And why did they flee so abruptly?
Determined to uncover the truth, I mustered up the courage to venture back into the abandoned gas station. My heart pounded in my chest as I cautiously stepped inside, the beam of my flashlight cutting through the darkness. The air was heavy with an unsettling silence, broken only by the sound of my own footsteps.
As I explored the interior, my eyes widened in horror. In a dimly lit corner, I discovered a pool of blood, its dark hue stark against the faded tiles. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks – I had stumbled upon a crime scene. Fear and unease washed over me, and I quickly retreated from the grisly discovery.
Despite my best efforts, I couldn't provide much information to the authorities. All I could offer was a vague description of the car and the eerie encounter I had experienced. Regret washed over me for not having a dashcam installed, as it could have potentially captured crucial evidence. Determined not to repeat the same mistake, I made sure to equip my truck with one after this chilling incident.
The desert night held secrets I never wanted to uncover, and the memory of that encounter would forever haunt me. It served as a stark reminder of the dangers that lurk in the darkness, and the importance of being vigilant and prepared. From that night on, every drive through the lonely roads held an extra layer of caution and unease, as I couldn't shake off the lingering feeling that I was being watched, and that the desert held more mysteries than I could ever comprehend.