She Got Away
"Trust No Road Out"
---
It began in a message.
Four words: "Don't trust the driver."
Mira's heart pounded as she read the message on the screen of her battered phone. The number was unlisted. The ride had been rough, and the van smelled of gasoline fumes and stale cigarettes. She let her eyes slip upward, above the driver in the scratched rearview mirror.
He was humming.
They'd arrived to collect her just outside the train station—a luxury private bus service to the foothill retreat where she'd won an overnight stay. Or at least that's what she'd believed.
There were four individuals on the van when she boarded. Now there are but three. The old woman'd been dropped off an hour ago. But Mira was certain that the woman had mouthed something as she got out:
"Run while you can."
She had thought it was all garbage back then. Now… she wasn't so sure.
The driver, a late-50s man, had deep scars running down his neck, half-covered by the collar of his shirt. His knuckles were bruised and puffy. His eyes flicked towards her in the rearview mirror.
"You okay back there?" he asked.
Mira grinned tightly. "Yeah. Just exhausted."
She rummaged into her purse as if looking for gum, but texted the number that had threatened her instead.
"Who is this?"
Nothing.
The trees grew denser on both sides of the road. The GPS had lost signal ten minutes back. The other two men with her on the ride—brooding and silent both—hadn't uttered a word since she got into the truck.
Mira's fingers clenched on her phone.
Another message arrived.
"There is no escape. They're getting you to the pit."
Panic struck her like ice water.
She looked out the window. Trees. Millions of trees.
The van decelerated. The driver grumbled, "Shortcut."
He turned onto a dirt road she hadn't seen until then.
Mira motioned for air. Her heart pounded in her ears. She lunged for the door. Locked.
One of the men in the back turned to face her. Smiled. Not a friendly smile.
A sensation of realization struck her.
She wasn't meant to reach the destination.
She remembered the tiny Swiss knife on her keychain. She fumbled for it, her hands shaking. She slipped it into her sleeve, just as the van rolled to a stop near a rusted metal gate.
The forest here was dead silent.
“We’re here,” the driver said.
The man beside her grabbed her arm roughly.
“Come on.”
She screamed.
The knife went straight into his wrist. He howled, loosening his grip. Mira kicked the door—once, twice—it popped open.
She ran.
Branches clawed at her arms. She didn’t care. She ran blindly, deeper into the woods. Behind her, shouting. Heavy footsteps. Then a gunshot.
She ducked. Mud splashed on her face. She kept running.
Another message buzzed.
“Left. 300 ft. You’ll see a wire fence. Climb.”
She listened. Her legs seared. Her lungs were fire in her chest. Then—there. A knocked-down, high fence covered in vines which had overgrown it.
She launched herself at it, no regard to the pain as barbed wire cut into her pants. She fell off the other side.
Quiet.
Then—the scream of angry men, receding.
Mira did not quit. She crawled until she discovered a path. A dirt bike rested by a tree. Keys in the ignition. A note:
"Ride. Don't look back."
She took it.
---
One Year Later
Mira stood at the podium of the survivor's conference. Her voice was strong.
"I don't know who warned me that night. I never found out. But someone out there… someone made it so that I lived."
Applause. Flashbulbs.
She stepped off the stage into the lobby. A man with a twisted smile and a bandaged hand ran past her.
She came to a dead stop.
He breathed lightly, not breaking stride:
"Not everyone gets away twice."
---
One Word. End.She Got Away
Genre: Psychological Thriller / Escape
Word Count: ~820 words
---
It began in a message.
Four words: "Don't trust the driver."
Mira's heart pounded as she read the message on the screen of her battered phone. The number was unlisted. The ride had been rough, and the van smelled of gasoline fumes and stale cigarettes. She let her eyes slip upward, above the driver in the scratched rearview mirror.
He was humming.
They'd arrived to collect her just outside the train station—a luxury private bus service to the foothill retreat where she'd won an overnight stay. Or at least that's what she'd believed.
There were four individuals on the van when she boarded. Now there are but three. The old woman'd been dropped off an hour ago. But Mira was certain that the woman had mouthed something as she got out:
"Run while you can."
She had thought it was all garbage back then. Now… she wasn't so sure.
The driver, a late-50s man, had deep scars running down his neck, half-covered by the collar of his shirt. His knuckles were bruised and puffy. His eyes flicked towards her in the rearview mirror.
"You okay back there?" he asked.
Mira grinned tightly. "Yeah. Just exhausted."
She rummaged into her purse as if looking for gum, but texted the number that had threatened her instead.
"Who is this?"
Nothing.
The trees grew denser on both sides of the road. The GPS had lost signal ten minutes back. The other two men with her on the ride—brooding and silent both—hadn't uttered a word since she got into the truck.
Mira's fingers clenched on her phone.
Another message arrived.
"There is no escape. They're getting you to the pit."
Panic struck her like ice water.
She looked out the window. Trees. Millions of trees.
The van decelerated. The driver grumbled, "Shortcut."
He turned onto a dirt road she hadn't seen until then.
Mira motioned for air. Her heart pounded in her ears. She lunged for the door. Locked.
One of the men in the back turned to face her. Smiled. Not a friendly smile.
A sensation of realization struck her.
She wasn't meant to reach the destination.
She remembered the tiny Swiss knife on her keychain. She fumbled for it, her hands shaking. She slipped it into her sleeve, just as the van rolled to a stop near a rusted metal gate.
The forest here was dead silent.
“We’re here,” the driver said.
The man beside her grabbed her arm roughly.
“Come on.”
She screamed.
The knife went straight into his wrist. He howled, loosening his grip. Mira kicked the door—once, twice—it popped open.
She ran.
Branches clawed at her arms. She didn’t care. She ran blindly, deeper into the woods. Behind her, shouting. Heavy footsteps. Then a gunshot.
She ducked. Mud splashed on her face. She kept running.
Another message buzzed.
“Left. 300 ft. You’ll see a wire fence. Climb.”
She listened. Her legs seared. Her lungs were fire in her chest. Then—there. A knocked-down, high fence covered in vines which had overgrown it.
She launched herself at it, no regard to the pain as barbed wire cut into her pants. She fell off the other side.
Quiet.
Then—the scream of angry men, receding.
Mira did not quit. She crawled until she discovered a path. A dirt bike rested by a tree. Keys in the ignition. A note:
"Ride. Don't look back."
She took it.
---
One Year Later
Mira stood at the podium of the survivor's conference. Her voice was strong.
"I don't know who warned me that night. I never found out. But someone out there… someone made it so that I lived."
Applause. Flashbulbs.
She stepped off the stage into the lobby. A man with a twisted smile and a bandaged hand ran past her.
She came to a dead stop.
He breathed lightly, not breaking stride:
"Not everyone gets away twice."
---
About the Creator
Aamir Muhammad
Horror Writer:
Dark tales. Deeper chills. If you love the feeling of something watching you from the shadows, you’re in the right place.
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The Station Without Trains
Seen (1) At the far end of a desert highway stood a train station that no map acknowledged. There were no tracks leading to it, no schedules posted, and no trains that ever arrived. Still, every evening at sunset, the lights turned on. Maya found the station by accident while driving cross-country to escape a life that felt too heavy. Her radio had gone silent miles ago, and her phone showed no signal. When she saw the station glowing in the distance, she pulled over, relieved to find signs of life. The station was clean, almost untouched by time. Wooden benches lined the platform, and an old clock hung above the entrance, forever stuck at 6:40. The air smelled of dust and iron, like a place waiting to be used. “Hello?” Maya called. No answer. She sat on a bench, telling herself she would leave in five minutes. But as the sun disappeared, the lights grew warmer, softer. Calm settled over her in a way she hadn’t felt in years. A man in a conductor’s uniform stepped out from the shadows. His clothes looked old-fashioned, but neatly pressed. His face was kind, though tired. “You’re early,” he said. “Early for what?” Maya asked. “For the train,” he replied. Maya frowned. “There are no tracks.” The man smiled gently. “Not all journeys need them.” He explained that this station was a place between leaving and arriving—a pause for those who were lost, grieving, or running from something they couldn’t name. People didn’t come here on purpose. They arrived when they needed stillness. “Does the train ever come?” Maya asked. “Yes,” he said. “But only once for each person.” Maya felt a tightness in her chest. “Where does it go?” The conductor looked at the horizon. “To the life you stopped believing in.” Maya thought of the dreams she had abandoned, the version of herself she no longer recognized. Tears surprised her, sliding down her face without warning. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” she whispered. The conductor nodded. “That’s why the train hasn’t arrived.” They sat in silence as the stars appeared. For the first time in years, Maya didn’t feel the urge to run. She felt seen. Slowly, the station lights dimmed. The conductor stood. “When you leave,” he said, “you won’t remember this place. But you’ll remember how you felt.” A distant sound echoed—not a train horn, but something close to a heartbeat. Maya blinked. She was back in her car, parked on the side of the empty highway. The station was gone. The road stretched endlessly ahead. But her chest felt lighter. She turned the key and drove forward, not knowing exactly where she was going—but certain, for the first time, that she was finally on the right track.
By Do bol ho jaaye 6 days ago in Horror
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