I was driving down the road, alone, enjoying the quiet. The kind of drive where it’s just you, the
road, and a bit of freedom. It was late August, the sun was beginning to set, casting a soft golden
light over everything. It should’ve been the perfect end to a long day.
But then, my GPS started acting weird. I don’t know what happened—it just froze. The map
switched on its own, and I thought, “Alright, just a glitch.” So, I took a turn, just a small detour,
thinking I’d be back on track in no time.
I don’t know when it started to feel wrong, but it did. The road got narrower. The trees on either
side started to feel like they were closing in on me. It was quiet—too quiet. No other cars, no
signs of life. It felt like the road went on forever.
Eventually, I came upon a small gas station, the only sign of life for miles. I figured I’d stop and
ask for directions. My tire was flat anyway, so it seemed like a good idea.
When I got out of the car, I could feel the weight of the quiet pressing on me. The gas station
was dim, with just one light flickering by the door. It smelled like gasoline and something else—
a little stale. Inside, there was a guy, standing behind the counter. He was the only person there.
His face was serious, almost detached. I asked him if he could help me, and without saying
much, he nodded.
He barely looked at me as he fixed the tire. The silence between us was unnerving. I tried to
make conversation, but he just gave me one-word answers. It felt like he was avoiding eye
contact on purpose. I had to keep reminding myself that maybe it was just me overthinking it, but
the way he looked at me, without speaking, felt wrong.
After he finished, I thanked him, trying to brush off the tension that had built up. I couldn’t help
but glance back at him as I got into my car. He was still standing there, watching me leave. The
feeling of being watched lingered, but I drove away, trying to ignore it.
The road to the cabin was just as deserted as the gas station. The sun had dipped behind the
horizon now, and it was getting dark. I was starting to feel a little off—like something was just…
wrong. The further I drove, the more isolated it felt. No lights, no cars. Just me and the road. I
told myself I was being paranoid, that it was nothing. Just a quiet little area, right?
When I finally reached the cabin, I felt a strange relief. It was secluded, tucked away in the
woods—just what I’d been looking for. But something about it felt off. The house itself was
fine—nothing too strange, just old and peaceful. I set my stuff down and settled in. But I still
couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. I was here alone, but it was like the
air itself was thick with unease. The quiet, the shadows that seemed just a little too dark.
I tried to shake it off. I went to bed early, hoping to sleep it off. But then I heard it. A loud bang,
like something upstairs. It stopped as soon as I turned to look. I convinced myself it was just the
house settling, but when I checked, there was nothing. Still, the feeling didn’t go away.
The next day, I felt the same unease. Things started happening. My belongings—small things—
were out of place. I could’ve sworn I left my bag by the door, but now it was near the window. I
tried to tell myself it was nothing. Maybe I was tired, or maybe I just didn’t remember moving it.
But then, I heard it again—the bang. This time it was louder, like something—or someone—
was upstairs. But when I went to check, nothing was there. Nothing at all. The house was silent,
but that silence felt like it was pushing against me.
I was starting to feel like I wasn’t alone, even though I hadn’t seen anyone. The quiet was
oppressive, and the feeling of being watched was getting stronger. I didn’t know why, but I
couldn’t shake the feeling that the man from the gas station was still around, somehow. Every
time I went outside, I could see him in the distance, standing by the trees, just staring at the
cabin. I didn’t know how he got there so fast, but he was there. Watching. Always.
I tried to ignore it, but the feeling of being watched—followed—was getting stronger. I decided
I needed to leave. I grabbed my things and started my car, hoping to get back on track and head
home.
But when I looked at the road, I realized something strange. The road that had once been open
and clear was now blocked by trees. I thought I must’ve missed a turn somewhere, but the more
I drove, the more I felt like I was going in circles. The trees seemed to close in, and the road just
kept leading me back to the same spot.
That was when I realized—I couldn’t leave. No matter which direction I went, I was trapped. I
had been trapped by something, but I didn’t know what.
And then, I saw him again—the mechanic. He was standing at the edge of the woods, just
watching me, like he had been waiting. Waiting for me to notice him. His presence felt so
heavy, I couldn’t breathe. He didn’t move. He didn’t say anything.
I drove faster, trying to escape. But the road twisted, looping back to the same place.
I’m not sure how I got here or why I’m still here, but I know one thing—I’m not alone.
The man from the station is still out there. Watching.
“In some places, the road isn’t the only thing that keeps turning. And sometimes the feelings of
being watched will follow you, no matter how far you run.”