Eddie Morgan pressed the accelerator, the Peterbilt surging forward as the neon glow of Smokey's Truck Stop disappeared behind him. The highway stretched straight and empty ahead, illuminated only by the rig's headlights. Frost sparkled on the edges of the asphalt, a reminder that the night was cold and unrelenting. His breath came in slow, measured pulls. One mile at a time, one hour at a time, until Black Creek.
The load behind him was quiet, but that did not ease his tension. Every creak of the trailer, every shift of the tires against the pavement, made him glance into the mirrors. His eyes searched for movement, for light, for anything that did not belong. The earlier warnings from the CB were still fresh in his mind. The distorted voice repeating his name, the whisper of caution. Something was out there, and Eddie knew it had found him.
He sipped the lukewarm coffee in the thermos. Its bitterness matched his mood. Sleep was a distant thought, impossible to entertain on these roads at night. Long-haul driving had taught him the rules. Fatigue was dangerous. Distraction was deadly. And yet, every instinct in his body screamed that tonight would demand more than his experience.
The road stretched endlessly, black and silent. Eddie adjusted his mirrors, double checking the lines of the asphalt behind him. A pair of headlights appeared in the distance. He blinked, certain that he had not seen another vehicle in miles. The lights remained stationary, neither advancing nor retreating. His pulse quickened.
He reached for the CB. "Who's back there? Identify yourself."
Static answered him. Then a voice, low and distorted, filtered through the speakers. "Do not stop, Morgan."
The words made the hairs on his neck rise. He gripped the wheel harder, forcing the rig to stay steady. He tried to reason with himself. Maybe it was another driver playing a prank. Maybe it was fatigue making him imagine voices. But the weight in his chest told him it was not imagination.
The headlights followed his every move, shifting when he shifted, staying the same distance behind him as he increased speed. Eddie adjusted the Peterbilt through a curve, careful to maintain control. The vehicle behind mirrored his every action. He tried turning on the high beams. The lights reflected, blinding him briefly, but they did not falter. They stayed.
A low growl vibrated through the cab, not from the engine but from the highway itself. The sound was mechanical yet alive. Eddie swallowed hard, his hands slick with sweat. He could not identify the source, but he felt its presence pressing against him.
Hours passed. The country stretched wide and empty, fields and forests on either side of the road. Occasionally, he would glimpse tire marks that were not his own. Deep gouges that zigzagged unnaturally across the asphalt. They would vanish the next moment, as though swallowed by the night.
His eyelids grew heavy. He fought to remain alert, reminding himself of the rules: keep the rig steady, keep the eyes on the road, do not let panic take hold. But the night had a way of bending time, of twisting perception. Shadows flickered at the edge of his vision. Shapes formed and disappeared. The sound of his own heartbeat became deafening inside the cab.
He remembered Rosa's warning. Keep mirrors clean. Keep moving. Do not linger. Every word felt heavier with each mile. The shadow at Smokey's Truck Stop, the whispers on the CB, the lights behind him. Something was tracking him. Something was waiting.
He scanned the horizon for any sign of civilization. None appeared. No rest stops, no other trucks. Just blacktop and the dim glow of moonlight reflected on frost. The Peterbilt groaned under its weight, its tires gripping the road with tireless persistence. Eddie fought to remain in control, aware that a single mistake could end his haul and possibly his life.
The voice returned, distorted, urgent, and echoing through static. "Morgan…"
He clenched his teeth and pressed forward. The night seemed to respond, pressing closer, heavier. The cold seeped through the cab, and the fatigue pressed against his temples. Every sense was heightened. Every sound amplified. Even the soft hiss of the wind through the vents seemed like a warning.
Eddie glimpsed movement in the mirrors. The headlights had returned, closer this time, impossibly synchronized with his rig. The growl followed, louder, filling the cab with an oppressive presence. He pressed the pedal further, gripping the wheel, forcing himself to stay steady.
Ahead, the road narrowed. Frost glimmered like glass on the asphalt. Eddie's mind raced. The load in the trailer shifted faintly, reminding him that weight and momentum were not his allies tonight. He focused on control, keeping the Peterbilt steady, even as the presence behind him seemed to grow.
The night was silent except for the engine and the growl. Every mile felt like an eternity. Eddie thought about turning back, about pulling over at a rest stop or even the first exit. But he remembered the instructions, the warnings, and the strange urgency of the night. He knew that stopping was not an option. Whatever waited behind him would find him if he slowed.
He adjusted his mirrors one more time. The headlights were gone. Silence fell, the kind of silence that weighed heavier than the roar of an engine. Eddie exhaled slowly, his hands trembling slightly. He told himself it was a pause, a moment of calm before the storm.
The highway stretched ahead, black and infinite. Eddie knew the night had not released him, only prepared him. Somewhere beyond the next mile, the real test awaited. He had survived the first miles. Now he had to survive the road itself.
The night stretched endlessly, black asphalt cutting through the quiet fields like a ribbon of shadow. Eddie's eyes ached, and his shoulders throbbed from hours of gripping the wheel. The warmth from the Peterbilt's heater was fading fast, and the cold crept back through his jacket and gloves. He took a sip of lukewarm coffee, grimacing at its bitterness, and forced himself to focus on the road ahead.
Every mile felt heavier. The CB had been silent for a few minutes, but Eddie knew it was only temporary. The night had a rhythm, a way of drawing drivers into its quiet, and then reminding them that they were never truly alone.
He blinked rapidly. A patch of frost glittered on the edge of the road, reflecting the headlights in brief flashes. Eddie thought he saw a figure standing in the middle of the lane. He swerved instinctively, heart hammering, only to find the road empty. His pulse thundered in his ears. Fatigue was claiming him, twisting reality.
The CB crackled suddenly, sharp and insistent. "Morgan…"
Eddie's head snapped toward it. The voice was clearer this time, almost human but distorted, metallic. "Do not stop," it warned.
He gripped the wheel tighter, muscles coiling. The trailer behind him groaned faintly as it shifted with the rig. Every creak sounded amplified in the silence. His mirrors reflected only the empty black road behind him. And yet, he felt eyes on him, something that moved with him, something patient and deliberate.
A sudden movement flickered in his peripheral vision. He jerked his eyes toward the left mirror. Headlights appeared out of nowhere, blazing with intensity. They hovered a short distance behind, neither advancing nor retreating, perfectly aligned with his rig. Eddie's pulse raced as he fought to control the Peterbilt.
He remembered Rosa's warning: keep moving. Keep mirrors clean. Do not linger. He had obeyed her advice until now, but every instinct screamed that this was more than a warning. Something tangible was on the road, something that had chosen him.
Fatigue pressed against him harder, the long hours and caffeine-laced coffee leaving him trembling and disoriented. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. Every shadow at the edge of his vision seemed to stretch, twist, and grow. Trees leaned closer to the road, and the blackness behind the rig sometimes appeared as a moving figure, keeping pace with impossible precision.
The voice returned through static. "Morgan…" it hissed, carrying a weight that made Eddie flinch. "…we are waiting…"
He swallowed hard and forced himself to focus on control. His eyes darted to the mirrors, scanning for any irregularities. Every mile felt like a trial, every breath a test of endurance. The night was no longer just dark; it was alive. Every sound, every shadow, every whisper seemed intentional, as though the road itself were conspiring against him.
A faint outline appeared ahead, in the middle of the lane. Eddie instinctively swerved again, braking slightly. The shape dissipated instantly, leaving only frost and shadow behind. He clenched his teeth. Hallucinations or not, the night played on him, and he had to stay alert.
Hours seemed to collapse into minutes. The horizon offered no relief, no glimpse of dawn, no distant lights to guide him. Only the black road stretched forward, infinite and unyielding. Eddie's mind began to wander. Memories of his son, Marlene, the hauls he had completed over the years, and the countless nights on roads like this, they all merged into a blur of thought and fear.
The CB crackled again. This time, the static formed words that seemed to originate from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Do not stop, Morgan…"
Eddie felt a cold sweat form along his spine. He forced himself to breathe, slow and deliberate, keeping the Peterbilt steady. The headlights behind him remained, glowing, unrelenting. The growl vibrated through the rig once more, low and mechanical, yet impossibly alive.
The road curved ahead, a gentle turn through fields that seemed endless. Eddie adjusted the rig carefully, gripping the wheel until his knuckles whitened. The vehicle behind followed perfectly, matching his every movement. He forced his eyes forward, focusing on the asphalt, refusing to give the shadows power over his mind.
Then, without warning, the headlights disappeared. The silence returned, almost deafening in its intensity. Eddie exhaled slowly, muscles trembling. He could feel the weight of the trailer, the miles behind him, and the presence that lurked somewhere just out of sight.
Every instinct told him the night was far from over. The first few hours had tested his resolve, but the real trial lay ahead. The highway waited, infinite and black, and Eddie Morgan knew that he could not slow down. He could not stop. Not yet.
Eddie kept his eyes on the road, the faint glow of the moon illuminating frost-covered fields. His hands ached from gripping the wheel, and fatigue clawed at his mind. The Peterbilt hummed steadily beneath him, a beast of steel and weight that demanded respect. Behind him, he sensed movement, a presence riding in the darkness.
The headlights returned, closer now than ever. Eddie blinked and rubbed his eyes, but they did not fade. They mirrored his every move, perfectly aligned with the rig, and he realized with growing terror that the vehicle behind him was no ordinary truck. Its shape was distorted, unnatural, almost inhuman.
The CB crackled with static. Then the voice came, urgent and relentless: "Do not stop, Morgan. You cannot stop."
Eddie swallowed hard. Sweat ran down his temples. He forced the Peterbilt to maintain a steady speed, focusing on the road, on control, on survival. Every instinct screamed that stopping was not an option.
A sudden movement caught his eye. A figure appeared briefly on the left side of the road, standing motionless. He swerved instinctively, the rig groaning in protest. When he looked again, the figure was gone, leaving only frost glinting under the headlights. Eddie's pulse thundered in his ears. He knew it was not imagination.
He pressed the accelerator, the engine growling under the strain. The highway stretched on, endless and unyielding. Shadows seemed to close in around him, the trees leaning closer with every mile. The air inside the cab grew cold, even with the heater running full blast. His breath fogged the windows, making him wipe at them constantly to keep a clear view.
The headlights behind him shifted suddenly. Eddie blinked and realized they had moved forward, closer to the rig than they should have been. His stomach twisted. Whatever was behind him could control its speed in ways that no human driver could. The growl returned, vibrating through the cab and the asphalt itself, low and mechanical, yet alive with intent.
Eddie glanced at the mirrors. The vehicle behind was gone. The silence was deafening. He exhaled slowly, muscles trembling. He could not let his guard down. The night had tricks to play, and he knew it would not relent.
Then, out of nowhere, a pair of lights appeared on the road ahead. Another vehicle? Or another illusion? Eddie adjusted the rig, hugging the curve, trying to stay on course. The lights did not react as a normal driver would. They shifted unnaturally, gliding across the lanes as if they had no physical form.
The CB hissed again. "…Morgan… we are waiting…"
The words chilled him. Eddie's hands gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles white. His mind raced. The hours, the fatigue, the isolation of the night, it was all pressing down on him. The presence behind him, the lights, the voice, it was a predator, patient and relentless.
Suddenly, something darted across the road ahead. Eddie swerved, narrowly avoiding collision. The Peterbilt skidded slightly on frost, tires squealing against the asphalt. The growl intensified, as if mocking him, a low vibration that shook through the cab.
He forced the rig back onto the road, heart hammering. Every instinct screamed to keep moving. Every muscle tensed as the headlights behind him reappeared, closer than ever. They mirrored his movements perfectly. He realized with a sinking feeling that this was not a normal vehicle. This was something else entirely, something that had been tracking him since Smokey's Truck Stop.
The night seemed alive. Every sound was amplified. The wind through the vents, the creak of the trailer, the soft hum of tires, they were no longer background. They were signals, warnings, each one a pulse of intent from the presence behind him.
Eddie forced himself to focus. Keep the rig steady. Keep moving. Do not panic. But even as he repeated the mantra, a shadow crossed the windshield, large and distorted. He jerked the wheel, narrowly avoiding a collision. The shadow vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving only darkness and frost in its wake.
His pulse raced. His mind felt stretched thin. He could not let this night overwhelm him. The CB crackled one final time: "…Morgan… do not stop… you are ours…"
The words echoed through the cab, through the night, through every fiber of his being. Eddie realized that the night itself was hunting him. Every mile, every curve, every shadow was a part of it. He pressed the pedal down, forcing the Peterbilt forward, ignoring exhaustion, ignoring fear, ignoring the weight of the trailer behind him.
The horizon began to lighten faintly, the first hint of dawn approaching. The night's grip was loosening, but Eddie knew that the presence had not gone. It had simply waited, patient and calculating. He had survived the hours of darkness, but the road ahead still held unknown threats.
The first mile from Smokey's Truck Stop had been only the beginning. The real journey, the real danger, was far from over. Eddie's hands remained tight on the wheel, eyes scanning every shadow, every movement, every faint glimmer in the mirrors.
He realized that the highway was no longer just a path to Black Creek. It was a trial. A test of endurance, courage, and wit. And Eddie Morgan, despite fatigue and fear, knew he could not fail.
The night had not released him. It would follow him, patient and relentless, for every mile to come.
Eddie's eyes burned from hours of staring into the darkness. The blacktop stretched endlessly ahead, each mile blending into the next. The headlights reflected faintly on frost patches, glimmering like scattered shards of glass. He shifted in his seat, rubbing his neck, trying to loosen the stiffness that had settled over him. The Peterbilt hummed steadily beneath him, but every vibration seemed louder than usual, amplified by the silence of the night.
The wind picked up outside, rattling the trailer. Eddie tightened his grip on the wheel, each breath sharp and shallow. Shadows danced on the edges of the road. Some appeared as trees, others as shapes he could not define, fleeting glimpses of something human, then gone before he could fully register it.
The CB crackled again, sharp and static-laced. "Morgan…"
He flinched, adjusting the volume. The voice was metallic, distorted, and carried a weight that seemed to press into his chest. "…Do not stop…"
Eddie's stomach knotted. The voice had become more insistent over the hours. It was no longer merely a warning. It was a directive. A threat. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus. Keep moving. Stay alert. Survive.
The fatigue clawed at him relentlessly. His mind began to twist reality. Trees became figures, distant lights seemed to flicker in unnatural patterns, and the occasional sound of tires over gravel echoed as if something else was moving on the road. He blinked rapidly, trying to force clarity, but the night pressed in, thick and suffocating.
Then he thought he saw it again. A figure standing along the left side of the highway. He jerked the wheel instinctively, heart hammering, only to find the lane empty. His pulse thundered in his ears. Hallucination or not, the feeling of being watched did not fade. He could sense it everywhere, in the mirrors, in the shadows, in the hum of the rig itself.
The lights appeared behind him again, closer this time. Eddie's fingers tightened around the wheel. He could see nothing physical of the vehicle, only the glow, the intensity, and the growl that vibrated through the asphalt and into the cab. He pressed the pedal further, forcing the rig forward, muscles tense, teeth clenched.
The highway curved ahead, a gentle turn through fields that seemed endless. Eddie's eyes darted to the mirrors, searching for any change. The lights stayed, synchronized, as if reading his movements. He thought of Smokey's Truck Stop, of Rosa's warning to keep moving and keep mirrors clean. Her words echoed in his mind, a lifeline in the chaos of the night.
Fatigue was winning. His eyelids grew heavier, the road swaying under his gaze. He shook his head violently, forcing himself awake. Memories surfaced unbidden, long hauls from years ago, mistakes narrowly avoided, stories of drivers lost to the night. Each memory sharpened the tension, reminding him that error was fatal.
A shape flickered in the windshield. Eddie swerved, narrowly avoiding it. The Peterbilt groaned in protest. He adjusted the rig back onto the road, hands trembling. The lights behind him pulsed, closer than ever, unrelenting. The growl filled the cab, vibrating through his chest. He could feel it as much as hear it, a living presence tracking his every move.
He tried to rationalize. Perhaps it was fatigue. Perhaps he was seeing things. Yet the pattern was undeniable. The lights, the growl, the whispered voice on the CB, they were deliberate. Calculated. Persistent. Something wanted him awake, moving, reacting. Something was testing him.
The road ahead narrowed. Frost glimmered under the headlights. Eddie's mind raced. He remembered every lesson learned on the highway. Every instinct told him to stay calm, stay steady, and survive. Yet he could not shake the sense that the night itself was aware of him. Every curve, every shadow, every distant sound seemed intentional.
He thought of his son. Of Marlene. He thought of home, and how far away it felt. He drew strength from the memory, using it to steady himself. The night could be relentless, but he had miles yet to go. He had survived long hauls under fatigue, storms, and isolation. This night was no different, he told himself, though the tension told a different story.
A sudden movement ahead made him jerk the wheel. Something had crossed the road. Another shadow? A trick of the headlights? He did not know, and there was no time to hesitate. The Peterbilt corrected, tires squealing on the asphalt. The growl behind him intensified. The lights pulsed, moving closer, unyielding.
The CB crackled one last time, distorted and menacing. "…Morgan… you cannot stop… you are ours…"
Eddie's hands ached, his shoulders burned, and sweat coated his skin. But he pressed forward, refusing to yield to fear or exhaustion. The highway stretched infinitely before him, and he knew he could not stop. He could not slow down. Not now.
The first signs of dawn began to edge over the horizon. The black sky lightened faintly, washing the fields in muted gray. Eddie exhaled slowly, but he knew that the presence had not retreated. It had waited patiently, a predator in the shadows. The night had tested him, and he had survived, but the danger remained.
The highway was no longer merely a road. It was a trial, a gauntlet. Eddie Morgan gripped the wheel tightly, muscles coiled, eyes scanning every shadow, every glimmer, every flicker in the mirrors. The night had not released him. It would follow him, patient and relentless, for every mile yet to come.
The Peterbilt hummed steadily, carrying him forward into the approaching dawn. Eddie knew that the first mile from Smokey's Truck Stop was only the beginning. The real journey, the real danger, lay ahead.