Samaritan Road
Samaritan Road by Spinsomniac On the outskirts of some small nameless town in West Virginia lies a miles-long, straight strip of asphalt known as Samaritan Road. The road is nestled in it’s peaceful surroundings of trees and an endless landscape of forests on both sides of it. The road itself would appear to be just your average country drive, except for the urban legend it holds. The back story to the legend does not actually exist; whether the reason is due to an uncreative author, a lack of historical information or just country folk too traumatized to verbalize whatever happened there. Whatever the case, what happens on that road to unsuspecting travelers is most certainly known by locals.
The urban legend goes like this. If you drive down Samaritan Road past midnight, about half way down the road (at least a 5 mile drive,) you will start to feel a bit sick. The sickness itself starts off as a bit of a stomach ache which makes you wonder if you ate something wrong or something inside you didn’t settle right.
Let me warn you right now: Ride out this feeling of nausea by keeping your eyes on the road, ignoring the pain and driving all the way through Samaritan Road at all costs. This is important. If you listen to my warning, you will be making the best choice of your life. If not… well, I guess it’s only fair for me to explain what will probably become of you. If you are feeling the nausea and mentally harp on the pain long enough, the sickness itself will feed on your reaction and cause the pain to grow exponentially. You will feel as though you ate scalpels, pins, needles, scissors, knives, you name it. It WILL hurt like all hell. Eventually, one thought will float through your brain that will seal your fate. “I need some fresh air.” In your mind, for some reason or another, you will not feel as though this means you should just open a window for some air. You will feel as though you should pull over and step out of the car to let the fresh forest air nestle you from your car’s processed atmosphere. Hell, even if your window was open the whole time you were driving, you will feel as though the sickness itself has been caused by the you sitting in that somehow cursed car of yours. This is what she wants you to think. As you get out, you will notice how that first rush of fresh air into your lungs feels as though you are breathing for the first time. Such a breath of life being delivered to you. Not in your wildest dreams has the process of breathing seemed so naturally joyous. As you begin to enjoy the surroundings, you may look off into the trees to see if someone is out there. Don’t worry. No one is out there in the trees. This I can promise you. You may spend a minute or two gazing out into the forestscape or checking the bottom of your car to find the source of your past case of nausea. Was there some gas leakage that you subconsciously breathed in? A bumpiness in the road you forgot that rattled your intestines? No, that can’t be it.
As you finally gaze back towards the road, your heart will suddenly skip a beat. In the road will be the figure of a young woman in a white night gown and long black hair facing away from you. It’s common knowledge to the legend that she will always face away from you. You may call to her, but she will not respond. You may try to startle her to get her attention or even throw a rock at her but I guarantee that she will stay as still as a gargoyle. You will make the choice to confront her. It is always how it works. You may be saying to yourself, “Why? What if I decide to lock myself in my car.” You won’t. Believe me. Samaritan Road brings out this sort of natural human feeling in you that you always have to help your fellow man. Such a place of legend actually uses your positive human instincts against you. You will decide to go and confront the woman. But as you do, you will see the headlights of a large vehicle heading your way and moving at breakneck speed towards the woman. You may warn hear to get out of the road, but as before, she will ignore your words and actions. Don’t try to stop the vehicle either. If anyone even is driving it, I doubt they would listen to little old you. At this point, you have two options. One will save your life and one will bring it to a horrific end. Option 1: As the truck heads your way, run into the road a few feet in front of the girl and yell to the truck “Heed my innocence, sibling of existence.” If you did this right, the headlights will disappear and the vehicle will vanish. If not, I cannot say that the gods of large automobiles will be kind to you.
That is Option 1. The smart option. Option 2: This is the stupid mistake many that do not know how Samaritan Road works tend to make. As the truck comes, you will run towards the young woman and attempt to push her out of the way. As you reach her, she will reveal herself by turning around. Her skin is white and wrinkled, resembling worn, aging leather. She has large, inhuman black eyes and rotting yellow teeth that look like chipped corn cobs. She has no nose, but only two slits that looked as though they were cut into the middle of her face. She will scream an ungodly scream that will seem to impale your eardrums and you sill be paralyzed in fear. As you do, she will hover to the side of the road to safety and allow the gigantic vehicle to run you over. You will die on impact as many before you have. If you happen to make it out of the predicament in Option 1, the woman will be gone and you are free to leave. Your good deed on Samaritan Road has been accomplished. Get in your car and drive. For the love of God, just drive. Leave the cursed place and never look back. A million good deeds are not worth the pure hell surrounding the one you have just accomplished. As you leave Samaritan Road, just make sure to keep yourself calm and don’t lose focus of your driving. It is customary as you leave the area to hear a young woman’s voice whisper to you in the darkness, “Thank you.” Credit To – Spinsomniac Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.