Shadow #10

Jack Thompson, an experienced truck driver, was on another long haul through the remote stretches of the American Southwest. It was an ordinary night—the highway was nearly empty, and his only company was the quiet music on the radio and the occasional glint of headlights in the distance. He drove cautiously, knowing this stretch of road was infamous for its bad luck. Locals called it “Shadow Road.”

Around midnight, as he navigated a narrow, winding section of the highway, Jack spotted a flickering red light on the horizon. As he got closer, he realized it was a car accident. Two vehicles were wrecked in the middle of the road—one almost overturned, the other with its front end completely crushed. Neon flashes from the hazard lights bathed the scene in an eerie glow.

Jack slowed down and pulled over, quickly grabbing his phone to call the authorities. “There’s been a car accident on Route 85, between the two inclines. Two vehicles, but I don’t see anyone outside the cars,” he reported, stepping out of his truck with a flashlight in hand.

He approached the wreckage cautiously, shining the light into the first car. It was empty. The second car was the same—no sign of anyone. Jack frowned. Could the occupants have gone to get help? But there were no bloodstains, no tracks, nothing to suggest where they might have gone.

Then he felt it for the first time—something strange. The air grew colder, so cold that he tucked his hands into his jacket. Looking around, he noticed unusual movement in the darkness—shadows, irregular and undefined, slowly shifting around him.

“Who’s there?” he shouted, swinging the flashlight toward the shapes. But there was no one, just shadows that seemed to dance at the edge of the light. His heart began to race. He turned back toward his truck, but the shadows were closer now, slowly encircling him.

By the time he reached the truck’s door, the shadows had risen from the ground, forming dark, elongated shapes that stretched toward him. Jack frantically grabbed the door handle, pulled it open, and jumped inside. He locked the doors, breathing heavily, as the dark figures pressed against the windows, leaving foggy, hand-like imprints.

The shadows were trying to get in. The truck’s headlights barely illuminated them, but they didn’t seem to be affected by the light. Jack grabbed his phone to call for help again, but before he could, he noticed flashing police lights approaching in the distance.

Two officers stepped out of their car and walked toward Jack’s truck. One of them knocked on his window. “Sir, did you report an accident?”

Jack rolled down the window, still shaken. “Yes, two cars—right there on the road!” He pointed ahead, but when he looked, the road was empty. There was no wreckage, no sign of an accident.

The officers exchanged puzzled looks. “There’s no accident here,” one of them said. “Are you sure you saw something?”

Jack stared at the emptiness ahead, struggling to explain what had happened, but no words came. He nodded weakly, pale. “There were two cars... and—and shadows...” His voice trailed off. The officers shrugged and returned to their patrol car.

That night, Jack continued driving but stopped as soon as he found a safe place to rest. From then on, he never took that route again. He told himself it must have been hallucinations from fatigue, but deep down, he knew the truth: something was wrong with that stretch of road.

Later, locals shared the story of a terrible accident that had happened at that spot years ago. Two cars collided at midnight, and everyone involved had died. Since then, drivers often reported seeing “accidents” at the same location, only for them to vanish before authorities arrived.

Jack never learned what he had witnessed that night, but Route 85 remained a place he avoided at all costs, haunted by the fear of encountering the shadows that once tried to claim him.