Midday sunshine streamed down as I crossed into Colorado, the SUV’s engine humming like a hive of distant bees. I’d been on the road since California, the hours blending into one another, stealing away the sharp edges of my alertness. Every swig of caffeine or sugar from the snacks sprawled on the passenger seat felt like throwing pebbles at the looming wall of exhaustion.
Yurea. That was the name of the town I passed, the radio’s voice turned into static, cold air blasted from the vents, prickling my skin, trying in vain to keep me awake.
“I’ll stop at the next motel,” I promised myself, eager for a few hours of sleep. But the exit I chose seemed to lead to nowhere — no gas stations, no motels, no neon fast-food signs. Just a winding road through the heart of the mountains.
As I rubbed my tired eyes, the silhouette of a man appeared out of nowhere. There was no time to react or swerve on this tight mountain road. The impact, at 45 miles per hour. I felt my heart race as the man’s body hit the front of my car, smash against the windshield, and then crumple over the hood, leaving a sickening smear before tumbling onto the road.
Panic took over as I skidded to a stop. In the rearview mirror, I saw him lying there, his skin pale as if all of the blood had been drained from his body. Questions fired in my mind: “Should I call the police?” “Should I flee?”
I approached him. His skin bore brutal gashes that seemed more like deliberate carvings than injuries from the accident itself. They bled profusely, crisscrossing his body entirely. His limbs were at unnatural angles, defying human anatomy.
And then, in a sight that I will never forget, he began to move. Bones cracked and snapped, his limbs contorted as he began to rise, I watched in horror.
His entire body seemed to twist and reshape. His head, with an unhinged jaw, and eyes open wide, he snapped towards me. Adrenaline spurred my feet back to the car.
The engine roared to life, tires screeching as I tore away from the horror I had encountered. It was only when I looked in my rearview mirror that I realized this thing was no man; it wasn’t anything remotely human, it just looked like one.
This thing, or whatever the hell it was, started chasing after my car, Its body grotesque and fast, moving in a manner no human ever should. Every nerve screamed at me to go faster. The miles slowly stretched between us, and it faded into the distance.
That encounter, filled with pure terror, coursed through my veins all the way to Indiana. Sleep, it seemed, would have to wait for another time. I floored it down the road until I saw a sign welcoming me into Indiana. When I reached the city, it was only then, for the first time in hours, that I felt a sliver of safety.
Being amidst other cars and seeing the lights from buildings was, without a doubt, the best feeling I had ever felt. It’s strange how much you come to appreciate life when your very existence is threatened. This encounter made me value my life much more, yet it also lessened my desire to travel.
I can’t even begin to imagine what that thing might have been. My only hope is that any person venturing down that road steers clear of it; luck might not favor them as it did me. If ever you spot a figure, something resembling a man on that stretch, press on the accelerator, and don’t look back.