The Haunting on the Highway

Warning: The ending is probably quite gruesome for some people.

On that fateful night, my husband and I, along with our infant, embarked on a journey down a desolate highway. It was late, deliberately chosen to avoid the suffocating traffic and the relentless sun. The moon hung ominously in the sky, casting eerie shadows on the deserted road.

As my husband steered our car through the silent darkness, a strange sense of unease settled in my chest. We'd meticulously inspected the car before embarking on this journey, our baby boy bundled in the back seat. Yet, out of nowhere, our car spluttered and died. Panic clawed at my throat. My husband's brow furrowed as he attempted to revive the engine, but it refused to awaken.

"Is everything alright, darling?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"I'm not sure," he replied, his frustration palpable. "I checked the car thoroughly before we left. It shouldn't be having any problems."

With no other option, we decided to pull over to the side of the road. Fear welled within me as my husband stepped out into the inky blackness, leaving me alone with our child. I watched him intently as he popped the hood, his silhouette a mere outline in the moonlight. Minutes stretched into an eternity, and the cold seeped through the windows, making my baby stir uncomfortably.

Finally, my husband returned, his face etched with concern. "I couldn't find anything wrong," he confessed. "I even tried to start the car again, but it's just not responding."

Desperation clouded his eyes as he weighed our options. With no other cars in sight and no phone signal, we were trapped in this desolate place. He made the difficult decision to leave me and seek help from the nearest phone booth.

"Lock the doors and stay inside with our son," he urged, his voice heavy with reluctance.

I nodded, my heart heavy with anxiety. "Please hurry back," I implored.

As he walked away into the abyss, leaving me alone in the car, I could do nothing but pray for his safety and the hope that someone would pass by and lend a hand. But the minutes stretched into hours, and there was no sign of help. The isolation and silence wrapped around us like a suffocating shroud.

Fear gnawed at my core. What if something had happened to him? What if he never returned? Tears welled in my eyes, but I couldn't let my fear consume me, not with our baby boy to protect.

Suddenly, in the distance, I spotted an eerie glow of blue and red lights approaching. Relief washed over me as I saw a police car pull up behind us. A uniformed officer stepped out, casting an imposing shadow as he approached the car.

"Please step out of the vehicle quietly, ma'am," he instructed, his voice cold and deliberate. "And whatever you do, do not look back."

My heart pounded in my chest as I unbuckled my son from his car seat and followed the officer's orders. With each step, my anxiety grew, and as we reached a safe distance from the car, I couldn't resist the urge to glance back.

What I saw would haunt me for the rest of my days. My husband's head, severed from his body, rested atop our car, a gruesome sight that defied all reason. To this day, his body remains lost to the abyss.

The police officers refused to explain, only urging me to move along. As we drove away, I couldn't shake the image from my mind, nor the sinister laughter that echoed in the night.

*This was inspired by one of many horror stories I heard when I was a kid.