Country Roads
Holy shit. I don’t trust roads anymore. Fuck driving. I’m getting a hotel. My heart is racing, but here’s why: A couple days ago, I was driving down a long residential shortcut in Georgia back to my house. I was driving back from seeing my family members in Tennessee. When I was coming back, I didn’t want to go on the highway because I figured traffic is usually bad on Thanksgiving holiday, so I put in “shortest route” in my GPS. My GPS always seems to be able to take me right through every single fucking ghetto that pops up along the way. The way I saw it is that if I didn’t stop, and it got me home faster, I didn’t care. Something about the whole drive was just odd. The air was just in a different position than normal. I can’t really explain the feeling, but I just had this nagging ache in the back of my brain that was just telling me that something weird and disturbing was going to happen. I didn’t really think about it, and just brushed it off. It wasn’t until about 2 hours in that I noticed something strange. I was on a two-lane road surrounded by trees, and not a single light except for my dingy, oxidized car headlights. It was around seven o’ clock, and starting to get dark, and I was the only car on the road. Fuck. I figured I was only maybe an hour and a half away from my house and kept driving. “In point five miles, turn left on Country Avenue.” My GPS jolted me awake. I had only been subconsciously driving. It’s kind of hard to pay attention when you’re the only car on the road. I turned left, and what I saw startled me. There was an idling Toyota Camry parked sideways in the road with the lights on and all doors open. Two people lay still; a tall child in the shoulder, and a middle-aged woman in the road. I just sat in my car. I had no idea what was going on, but there was no blood. The car wasn’t damaged at all. It looked as if they had almost parked their car, got out, and laid in the road on their own. Being an awkward teenager, I felt that it probably wasn’t in my best interest to help, and that if I just call the cops I could let them handle it. I put my car in drive, drove around, parked again, and took out my phone and dialed 911. On the first ring I looked up into the rear-view mirror to see the child and woman get up and get  back in the car. Another person also came out from the trees next to the shoulder and walked toward the car. The 911 operator didn’t even have time to answer as I hung up my phone, threw my car in drive, and floored it. I looked at my speedometer. As it was rounding the forty-five and fifty tick marks, I checked behind me. Headlights. Those motherfuckers were gaining on me. Fast. I checked my gas gauge. Half full. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit. I kept the gas pedal floored. I was hitting one hundred and ten and they were still right on my ass. I took plenty of random roads, completely ignoring my GPS. One hundred and twenty. I was still trying to find a form of civilization. A school. An office building. A house. Something. One hundred and thirty. They were still right on my ass, and mirroring every move I made to the tee. My car has a built-in limiter that kicks in around one hundred and thirty three, so I stayed at one hundred and thirty, even though the Camry was practically in my backseats. The road was literally just a straight road with absolutely no curves at all. I figured I would never lose them at this rate, and I was losing fuel fast. Thinking of anything, I did the only thing that came to my mind. I veered over into the opposite late and instantaneously slammed on my brakes, flipped up my emergency brake, and drifted to the right, basically flipping a u-turn. I released the e-brake, slammed on the gas, and didn’t stop until I was certain I was at least ten miles away from them. I turned on a couple different roads so they wouldn’t be able to find me again, parked me car, and typed “I-75” into my GPS. Thirty miles away on a quarter of a tank. Great. Just fucking great. Instead I tried to find the nearest gas station. There was one about 5 miles away. The feeling of relief was just absolutely the greatest feeling I ever had. The feeling was so good, I almost came. I drove about twenty five the whole way to the gas station. After my car was filled up, I went in to go pay, but I didn’t trust leaving my car. Not in this shit-hole of a forest. After a couple minutes of seriously debating, I sucked up and went in. Cashier: Evenin’.
Me: How’s it goin’?
C: Just alright. You lookin’ to get gas, mister?
M: Oh, yessir. Uh, pump number 3.
C: Alright, that’s gonna be about $43.25. You look white as a ghost, mister. Yallright?
M: Um, not really actually.
C: What’s goin’ on?
M: Some crazed mothafuckers just chased me for thirty miles!
He paused.
C: They wouldn’t happen to drive a Camry, would they?
M: How did you know that…? He pointed outside. My heart dropped. There they were. There they fucking were. They were at the pump adjacent to me, sitting in their car. Staring at me. Except they weren’t human. They were silhouettes, with yellow, piercing eyes. Their eyes looked like LEDs in contrast to their silhouetted bodies. They weren’t saying anything, they were just watching me. I walked out, and slowly walked to my car. I was terrified, but their eyes didn’t follow me. They just stared blankly at the gas station. I got in my car and got the fuck out of there. They didn’t follow me. I took the highway the rest of the night. At around ten o’ clock I pulled into my driveway. I had a hard time sleeping that night, and for good reason. When I woke up in the morning, I went outside and got the paper. The headline almost made me shit myself. “MYSTERIOUS GAS STATION FIRE LEAVES 4 DEAD” It was the same gas station I was at. I counted my blessings, and stayed home the whole day. Later, I logged in to Facebook to see a status update from the same aunt I had just visited the other day that said “That’s weird, I wasn’t expecting company. Does anyone know who drives a Camry?” 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.