The sun was low on the horizon, turning the sky orange and pink. A Midnight Blue Lexus RC 350 drove along a quiet stretch of Route 36, somewhere between Ohio and Indiana.
No other cars had passed in hours. Only cornfields, old barns, and the occasional rusty mailbox lined the road. It was a highway people rarely traveled, and most of the time, you were the only one for miles.
Inside the Lexus, the windows were half-down. The air smelled of wheat. Dean Ross tapped the steering wheel, his voice rising over the hum of the engine.
"Almost heaven... West Virginia..." he sang, not particularly on-key but he was quiet enjoying it and that was what mattered.
"Blue Ridge Mountains... Shenandoah River..." The lyrics flowed easily from his lips, memories of family road trips and lazy Sunday afternoons rushing back as John Denver's classic poured through the speakers of his car.
He was on his way to Missouri, crossing nearly half the country not for business or necessity, but for something far more meaningful — friendship. The plan had been hatched a few weeks ago. One of their closest friends, Aaron, had invited them all to spend his birthday together. But instead of saying yes, everyone had played coy. "Busy with work, man... sorry!", "Stuck in Europe this month, bro, maybe next time.", "Family plans I can't skip, dude..." The excuses had flowed smoothly, convincingly. Aaron hadn't suspected a thing.
But it was all part of the surprise. Dean, the only one from their friend group still living in New York, had coordinated with the others. Lucas, currently working a long-term gig in Madrid, was catching a flight to the States. Diego and Rafa, both living in Buenos Aires, had timed their visit just right. They'd all converge in Missouri, show up at Aaron's doorstep, and give him a birthday he'd never forget. Dean had always loved ideas like this — meaningful, dramatic, the kind of moment you remembered forever.
The thought made him smile again as he continued singing in his melodious voice...well atleast he thought it was.
Sure, riding solo had the potential to be dull, especially on roads like these with nothing much around except fields, trees, and the occasional old diner with a flickering neon sign. But thanks to his favorite country road trip playlist playing through the car's fancy speakers, the long drive felt easy and the miles passed by quickly.
His voice joined the music again just as the next chorus came up.
"Country roads... take me home... to the place... I belooooAAAHHH SHIT!"
His singing turned into a loud scream as his eyes went wide and he slammed his foot on the brakes. The Lexus screeched, tires sliding a little before the car came to a stop. His heart was pounding as he stared ahead at a glowing blue portal thingy that had appeared out of nowhere, blocking the whole road ahead.
It looked like something straight out of a sci-fi movie or one of those webnovels about jumping between worlds — a spinning circle of bright light with sparks around the edges, just a few inches above the road.
"Fuuuccck... what the hell?!" Dean cursed, his eyes wide with shock. His mind raced to figure out what it could be — maybe a prank? A hologram? Some kind of weird art project? But none of it added up. Not out here. Not on Route 36. Not in the middle of nowhere.
Every part of him was yelling not to get out of the car. He had seen enough movies to know how this usually ended — someone curious steps out, takes a look, and ends up being the first one to die. There was no way he was going to be that guy.
He quickly shifted into reverse, ready to turn the car around and get away. The Lexus backed up, its tires crunching on the gravel. Dean kept his eyes on the glowing ring, his mirrors, and the road behind him.
But the portal had other ideas.
Suddenly, a flash of blue light shot from the portal, closing the gap to the Lexus in an instant. Dean barely had a second to react — to scream or swear — before everything around him twisted and folded.
Then he was gone.
The car and Dean inside it vanished into the blue portal, leaving only an empty road and the fading sound of a half-sung song.
.
..
...
Dean's vision slowly cleared, and the first thing he noticed was… darkness. Not the normal kind of night, but a heavy, suffocating black that swallowed everything beyond his windshield.
He couldn't see a thing.
Frowning, he reached over and switched on the headlights. The twin beams cut through the dark, and what they showed him was definitely not the road he'd been on thirty seconds ago. The golden wheat fields? Gone. The endless cornfields and barns? Gone.
Now, the road ahead looked old and cracked, with gravel patches and weeds poking through. On both sides, huge trees stood so close together it felt like they were leaning in, ready to fall over the road any minute.
And right ahead? A massive tree had fallen across the road, blocking it completely. Its twisted branches almost looked like they were flipping him off.
"What the…?" he muttered, scanning around like maybe if he looked hard enough, it would all make sense.
Before he could figure anything out, pain exploded in his head — like someone had slammed a baseball bat into his skull. His vision blurred, and it felt like invisible hands were shoving thoughts into his mind. Images and pieces of information flashed past — first jumbled, then suddenly fitting together in a way that made his stomach twist.
He didn't know how, but his brain was being force-fed information he hadn't asked for. It was like an unskippable video game tutorial — only this one came with blinding pain.
After about a minute, the headache went away, but the nausea got worse. His stomach twisted so hard he thought he'd throw up any second. For a moment, he just sat there, gripping the wheel, trying to hold it back. He even muttered to himself — a panicked, useless, "No… no, not now…" — like he could make his body listen.
Then he tried the only thing he could think of: humming. It was stupid and desperate, but he'd read online that it could help stop nausea. While humming, he reached over and cut off the music, turning the volume all the way down. The car was silent except for his strained, almost frantic hum.
Bit by bit, the sickness faded, leaving him sweaty, shaky, and breathing too fast.
That's when the real panic hit him.
He cursed in a low voice,"Oh fuck… fuck… fuck… fucking hell…"
And honestly? He had every right to lose it. Because that brain dump from a minute ago? It had just told him exactly where the hell he was.
The portal hadn't taken him to some random ass backroad in America. Nope. It had dumped him straight into the world of a TV show he knew all too well: From.
Yeah. That show. The one where poor bastards end up trapped in a creepy little town they can't leave, no matter what they try. Drive too far? You end up right back where you started. Walk out into the woods? You'll just circle back, or worse, never come back at all. And that's the good part.
The bad part comes when the sun sets. Then, the monsters show up. They look human. They smile like they're friendly. They might even talk to you sweetly, manipulate you, asking you to open the door. But they're not human — they're predators wearing people's skin, and they tear you apart if you let them in. And the way they move? Too smooth, too wrong. Like they're puppets whose strings are being pulled by something malicious.
The only reason anyone in that world survives is because of strange talismans that can keep the creatures out. Hang one inside your house or building, and you're safe… as long as you never step outside after dark. No talisman? You're fucked. Simple as that.
Dean's breathing became uneven. He had arrived in this world deep into the night. Which meant the monsters were already out there. In those trees. Maybe watching. Maybe closer than he wanted to imagine.
And he didn't have a talisman.
He let out a breath and straightened in his seat, alert. One quick look at the dashboard — all doors locked. Good. He wasn't sure a locked door would matter against something that powerful, but it was better than doing nothing.
Then he heard a faint rustling ahead. His eyes scanned the edges of the headlights, following the shadows on the road. He froze.
Behind the fallen tree, partly hidden by the trunk, stood a man and a woman. Both were smiling. Not friendly smiles — too wide, too still.
The man tilted his head, his eyes fixed on Dean.
He spoke, his voice smooth and almost gentle, like they were old friends.
"Dean… would you mind giving us a lift?"
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