Not because it’s embarrassing or some massive secret I have to keep. The reason I don’t tell people is because I don’t understand a thing that went on that night, and it scares me to think about. The only reason I’m even writing it down right now is because my therapist told me to. Something about facing my fears and exposure therapy and yadda yadda yadda. Anyway, here you go, Dr. Liang. The night that has both literally and figuratively haunted me for the last year and a half.
It was late May. My mom, dad, brother, and I had flown to Wisconsin to watch my little sister graduate. I had driven down to my parent’s house so we could all travel together, so I left my truck at their place while we were gone. Our flight back home landed late and it was pushing 11:00p.m. by the time we got our bags and started driving back to my parent’s. The whole ride, my mom and dad were nagging me to stay a night at their house and drive the two hours home in the morning. It made sense, really. The drive between San Francisco and Sonora is all interstate, plus it was late and we were all exhausted. Still, I didn’t listen to them. You know how it is; after a vacation all you want is a night back home in your own cozy bed next to your wife. So, I started the drive home around midnight.
Everything was normal. I crossed the Dumbarton bridge and thought about how my siblings and I used to call it the “dumb farting” bridge because of the sulphur smell that emanates out of the bay beneath it. The interstate was its usual self. I passed a few cars every now and then but for the most part it was just me and the roadkill.
There’s a small little town called Escalon you have to pass through in order to get to Sonora. It’s not a nice town. There’s a bar, a Dollar General store, and a church, but that’s about it. The whole place just looks sad and rundown. I can’t even fathom that there are people from this place; people who consider it their home. I mean, just driving through it lowers my serotonin count to dangerously low levels.
Usually, I speed through Escalon so quickly that the dilapidated buildings shutter as my truck goes by. I would have went right through it that night, too, if my “low fuel” warning hadn’t come on as I passed the church. I wasn’t that far from home, but I also didn’t want to chance being stranded. There’s a gas station at the far edge of Escalon right next to the train tracks. I had never stopped there before because it usually closes early like everything else in that sleepy little town. But as I got closer, I could see there was a light on. So, I had two options. I could continue home and most likely make it back by running on fumes, or I could stop, fill up, and have plenty of gas leftover to get to work in the morning. I went with the more responsible decision.
It was a small, four pump station. There were no cars in the parking lot. It looked closed, but there was a light on in the mini-mart and the screen on the pump was prompting me to insert my card. But when I put my debit card in, a “chip malfunction” warning flashed accompanied by an awful beeping sound. I tried again and had the same results. I tried a third time and it still didn’t work. I put my debit card back into my wallet and pulled out my credit card. Chip malfunction, beep beep beep. I was beyond irritated. I had used my debit card just a few hours ago at the airport. I had some cash, but that meant I had to go into the gross mini-mart and talk to whatever yahoo was working behind the counter and pay. I was already there, so I decided just to do it.
This is where things got, well, weird. The mini-mart looked ordinary on the outside. There were signs that warned “we ID, must be 21 to purchase tobacco” and various alcohol sale advertisements plastered all over it. But when I grabbed the handle to open the door, I got this weird feeling. I was suddenly freezing cold and the tips of my fingers and toes were tingling. When I stepped inside, there was a man standing behind the counter. He looked to be in his 50’s or so. He was looking directly at me.
You know that feeling you get sometimes that something is off? You can’t necessarily explain it, but something in your brain is telling you danger? Well, that’s how I was feeling. Every bone in my body was radiating with an overwhelming feeling of “get the fuck out of there.” The tingling in my fingertips turned to burning, and the longer his eyes were on me, the worse it got. But I was frozen. I just stood there while his eyes were glued to me. The burning got worse. I felt like my blood had been replaced with boiling hot oil. And I couldn’t fucking move.
Then, the lights went out. The man didn’t flip a switch or even move at all. But every light in the store turned off. I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face. I was alone in the pitch-black darkness with the man.
The darkness broke whatever fucked up trance I was under, and I was able to move my feet. I tried to grab the door handle to leave, but something was pulling me back in and the burning sensation was getting to be unbearable. I managed to get my hand on the door and push it open while wrestling with whatever force was holding me in. As soon as it opened, I was free. The burning went away instantly. Nothing was pulling me back anymore. I sprinted to my truck. I ran as fast as I fucking could. I opened the door and started the engine. I left that gas station without so much as turning my head back for a look.
Needless to say, I made it home that night. My wife was already asleep, so I crawled in bed next to her and laid awake all night. I never even told her what had happened.
Here’s the weirdest part. If you asked me to describe what that man looked like, I couldn’t. I know he was in his 50’s, but that’s it. I don’t know how tall he was. I don’t know what color of skin he had. Or what his hair looked like or if he had a beard or tattoos or anything. I don’t remember a thing about him.
He still visits me. Sometimes in my dreams I can see him. I can feel him. On nights when it’s really bad, my fingers are bright red and hot to the touch when I wake up. On nights when it’s even worse than that, I get blisters. Even after a year and a half of these dream visits happening, I still couldn’t tell you what he looks like.
I know it sounds impossible. I know it sounds fake. I know you, Dr. Liang, or whoever the hell is reading this, probably won’t believe me. I can’t explain a single thing that happened that night. All I know is this; that man is dangerous. I can’t say for sure who he is, or what he is, but I have my own ideas.
I met the Devil that night. And he wants me to burn.