01 Feb I’m A Female Truck Driver: Never Ever Drive Down A Haunted Road
I’m gonna tell you a story. Something happened to me a few nights ago. What happened to me almost made me want to quit my job. My name is Kourtney Bradshaw. I’m a truck driver and a single mom. I spend most of my time on the road. I sometimes dream that I’m driving on the highway. Being a woman trucker is rough. I have to transport cargo alone at night. Going to rest stops and roadside diners can be a little nerve-racking. I get a lot of stares from guys. Sometimes I like the attention, and other times, it gets annoying. I’ve never been able to sit down and truly eat at a diner without being flirted with. I ate at a diner one night without being bothered, and that’s because the diner was near closing time. I guess it’s the way I look. Most people don’t believe I’m a truck driver. They see my blonde hair, my so-called pretty face, and my cute little figure and they assume that I work at a nail salon, or I’m a flight attendant. They even think I’m a model. I met one guy who thought I was a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader. I guess it was my southern accent and my Dallas Cowboys baseball cap that I like to wear all the time. My teenage son told me that men flirt with me because I look like Britney Spears. He knows Britney Spears is old-fashioned, but It’s the only way he can describe his mom’s beauty. I think it’s funny and cute.
My son’s name is Aaron. He’s named after his father. My son misses his father a lot. I can remember watching the two of them always playing video games or out in the backyard playing football together. Aaron Bradshaw Senior, my husband, died from a drug overdose seven years ago. I adored my husband and I did drugs with him. Both of us would get high on Fentanyl and other types of opioids now and then. Every day I feel guilty because I think about how I enabled my husband. My sweetheart would be alive today if I had stopped doing drugs with him. We both would’ve gone to rehab together. But it was just me going to rehab after my husband’s death. My son is like a spitting image of my husband. He has his father’s good looks. He has his squared jawline and his father’s gorgeous ocean blue eyes. A lot of girls love my son because of his looks. I love him because he’s my angel. Every time I look at him, it’s like my husband never died. My son is 17 now. That means my baby is a man now and he’s got himself a girlfriend. Does that make me jealous sometimes since I’m an overbearing mom? Hell yeah. I’m sure you moms out there know what I’m talking about, especially if you have a boy who’s growing up fast. You can’t cradle him anymore because he’s gotten so tall and bulky. He’s the quarterback on his high school football team. You know he’ll be going away to college soon. When he was little, you were the only one who got his affection because you were his mother. But soon he’ll get married to a woman who’s going to steal all his affection away from you. My son’s girlfriend has already gotten started. Hey, that’s the life of being a mom. Sometimes you gotta let go.
My son still loves me because he calls me while I’m on the road sometimes. If I’m delivering a load at night and my son calls me, I don’t feel nervous. I love it when he calls during a lonely night drive. That’s when I need his company the most.
Two nights ago, I needed my son’s company more than anything. I’m a reefer truck driver. A reefer truck driver is someone who operates a truck with a refrigerated load. I spend most of my nights delivering fresh food and frozen goods to grocery store retailers. Reefer truckers mostly have to do early morning deliveries. That means you have to do a lot of late-night driving. The good part about being a reefer truck driver is you earn more money, especially when you have to do a long haul.
I love my job and my paycheck. But what happened to me two nights ago almost made me quit my job. Have you heard about haunted highways? I’m sure you have. Haunted highways or roads are streets that are the subject of folklore or urban legends. You hear reports of ghostly apparitions, phantom hitchhikers, and phantom vehicles being seen on a haunted highway. In my case, I had a run-in with ghostly apparitions and a phantom vehicle.
It was around 3:15 AM. I was heading East on a road called Sweet Hollow. Sweet Hollow Road intersects with another road called Mount Misery. Both roads are near a town called Melville in Long Island, New York. I enjoy driving on town roads sometimes instead of taking the highways because it’s quieter. But on this night, something told me not to drive down Sweet Hollow Road. I had that voice in the back of my head that gave me a foreboding and I ignored it. If you make it out of a dangerous situation, you look back and you think why in the hell did I ignore that voice? So stupid. I’ve heard stories about Sweet Hollow Road and Mount Misery Road being the two most haunted roads in America, but of course I didn’t believe it. The townspeople warned drivers not to go down Sweet Hollow or Mount Misery Road.
Miss smart-ass here thought the warnings were ridiculous. I laughed off the warnings and the horror stories. I should’ve known something was wrong when I saw no other cars on the road. It was just me and my truck that night. It was three o’clock in the morning, so I figured that’s why there were no other cars on the road. The stories I heard about Sweet Hollow Road involved accidental deaths, murders, and suicides. I heard about a young woman who was killed by her jealous boyfriend. They said that her boyfriend threw her out of a moving car and another car struck her and killed her. I won’t go into all the stories I heard, but it was some really dark stuff. The one tragic story that broke my heart the most was about a group of children who died on a school bus while traveling down Sweet Hollow. I heard a lot of tragic tales and a lot of ghostly encounter stories.
My first encounter with something supernatural happened when I was driving toward the Northern State overpass bridge on Sweet Hollow. It was dark and I saw this mist rising from the road. My truck’s headlights did the best they could, but I still had a little trouble trying to see through this strange mist that intensified when I got closer to the bridge. When I drove under the overpass, it got darker and the mist became thicker. I made it halfway into the bridge and that’s when it started. I could see the moonlight coming in through the other side of the overpass, but I saw the moonlight reflecting off of something. It took me a second to notice that someone was standing under the overpass on the other side, and they were standing right in the middle of the road. I slowed my truck down and I brought it to a stop about fifty feet away from the mysterious figure. The strange part is that the mist cleared, allowing me to get a better look at the figure. Also, my truck’s headlights helped me.
When I got a better look at the figure, I saw that it was a teenage boy. I would say that he was no older than my son. I figured maybe he got lost or got separated from his friends. Maybe he was partying a little too hard and got disoriented on his way home. In my mind, there was nothing scary about this situation. It was just a kid who needed help. I’ve always thought of myself as a brave woman. I’m also a mom, so I guess you could say those motherly instincts kicked in when I saw the teenager just standing in the road. Without thinking about it, I opened the door before climbing down out of my truck’s cabin.
Are you alright, honey? Do you need some help? Are you lost? I shouted out to the boy, but he didn’t answer me. He never moved. I wanted to approach him, but I heard that voice again telling me to stay near my truck. The boy was standing a good distance away from me. I knew I would have to walk far from my truck before I could be face to face with him. I called out to the boy again, but he still didn’t answer. He stood so perfectly still under the overpass. He looked like a statue. Like I said before, I’ve always thought of myself as a brave woman, but this kinda gave me the creeps. Seeing the boy standing under the bridge like a statue isn’t what made me get back in my truck. It’s when the lights on my truck mysteriously began flickering on and off. When I looked at the boy, his body vanished when my truck’s lights went out.
That pretty much settled it for me, and I hurried up and got my ass back in my truck. I didn’t want to believe what I saw and I also didn’t want to believe that my truck’s engine had cut off on its own. I couldn’t start it back up. My truck was practically brand new, so this worried me. While I was trying to start my truck back up again, I locked all my doors. It took a few minutes, but I finally got my truck started. When I turned the headlights on my heart went into my mouth when I saw the boy reappear, but this time there were two other boys with him. I turned my headlights off and the boys would disappear. I kept thinking that maybe I was hallucinating from a lack of sleep and that all my hours of late-night driving finally caught up with me.
I kept turning my headlights on and off. Every time I would do it, the three boys would appear under the overpass, staring back at me. But when I turned my truck’s headlights off again and turned them back on for the last time, I saw something that I know will give me nightmares for the rest of my life. I waited for a minute before turning my headlights back on, and when I did, I saw the three boys, but they weren’t standing in the road this time… Their bodies were hanging from the overpass. I watched in horror as their bodies swung from ropes tied to the bridge. It scared me so badly that I shut off my truck’s headlights while screaming. When I turned off my headlights, I thought the horrible sight would disappear, but I still saw the boys hanging from the bridge in the dark. I closed my eyes while gripping the steering wheel, hoping I was imagining it. When I opened my eyes, they were still there, swaying back and forth. My truck’s engine died again. But what made me panic was when I looked to see two boys hanging from the overpass instead of three. The third boy was on the ground and it didn’t take long to see that he was slowly dragging his feet toward my truck. He was distant in the darkness, but I could still see him removing the rope from around his neck. I could see that he was creeping in my direction, but my eyes kept telling me not to believe what I was seeing.
I had to get my truck started. I couldn’t believe that I was seeing the ghost of three boys who committed suicide, and now one of them was alive, edging his way toward my truck. No matter how many times I turned the key, I couldn’t get my damn truck to start. The boy got close enough to where I could make out his clothes. I saw his denim shorts and a grungy white tank top. What made me lose my breath was seeing what his body would do every time he’d take a step toward my truck. He would jerk and contort, like someone having a seizure. My truck’s headlights were on and I could see the boy’s face. He reminded me of my boy if he was dead. There was no life in his face. He had nothing but a dull and dark expression. His mouth hung open slightly and what scared me the most were his eyes. He had no pupils. All I could see was the whites of his eyes. His movements reminded me of a puppet on a string. It looked like I was watching an evil spirit learn how to walk using a dead teenage boy’s body.
I kept turning the ignition switch, praying that God would let my truck start. I panicked when I heard the truck’s doors unlock themselves. I’d lock the doors but they would keep unlocking themselves as if they had a mind of their own. At first, I thought the mechanism that controlled my truck’s automatic doors had malfunctioned. I couldn’t keep the doors locked, no matter how many times I’d press the button. Now I was torn between getting my truck started and struggling to keep my doors locked. Lord knows I didn’t want a ghost or whatever this thing was climbing into my truck’s cabin.
At one point I considered jumping out of my truck and taking out running on foot. But I knew it was too late to run when I saw the boy getting closer to my driver’s side door. I knew screaming wouldn’t save me, but I did it anyway. I cried out to God when my truck’s door opened. I grabbed the door handle and I tried to pull the door shut. I couldn’t believe I was playing tug of war with an evil spirit. I kept yelling the word STOP repeatedly. I even said PLEASE STOP GHOST. I guess when you’re in shock anything will come out of your mouth. The ghost kept pulling on my door and I could see his dull, white eyes staring up at me through the driver’s side window. It seemed like the more I would yell stop, the harder he’d pull on the door. I was pulling back on the door with both hands, but I couldn’t keep the door shut. This monster tried to overpower me, and at one point he mockingly smirked up at me while yanking my door back open. He only needed one hand to pull my door open while I had to use both of my hands to keep it shut. I thought the Devil was at my driver’s side door. All I kept seeing was his dead white eyes and his sadistic smile. I couldn’t let him in. I had to keep my door shut.
With all my strength, I tried to keep my door closed and I refused to let go. I had my hands glued to the door handle because I knew if I didn’t keep my hands on the door, something bad would happen to me. I fought with the ghostly apparition and I tried to ignore his dull gaze. Sweat poured down my face. My bra was sticking to my breasts. I thought my heartbeats were gonna fracture my chest bone. I kept telling myself that I would wake up. My fear meter went through the roof when I looked to see that the other two dead boys that were hanging from the overpass were now on the ground strolling toward my truck. Now I had all three dead boys to deal with. The other dead boys were walking faster than the first boy and they still had the ropes around their necks. One boy had a broken neck. I could tell by the way he held his head. His forehead touched his shoulder. The other teenage boy walked with his shoulders slumped over and his legs convulsed and twisted every time he took a step, which made him look like a breakdancer. Dealing with one ghost was bad enough. I could barely handle one and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to handle all three of them. Death was on the horizon for me. I kept thinking that maybe God was punishing me for doing drugs with my husband and enabling him to be a drug addict. God was gonna let me die at the hands of three ghostly apparitions.
The other two ghostly boys wasted no time shortening the distance between themselves and my truck. They were closer and I could see my death arising with every step they took. I kept begging myself to wake up, but I couldn’t escape from the dead boys. They wanted me. I kept hearing the horror stories of people getting killed by something supernatural. These were stories I didn’t believe we’re true until now. I believed in the paranormal that night. But I knew my belief in the paranormal wouldn’t save me. I needed a miracle. Some kind of divine intervention. I prayed to God, asking him to help me. I never saw ghosts before and it made me question my reality.
My arms were getting tired from trying to hold on to the door. I was about to accept my fate until something happened. My phone started ringing. I looked around at my phone, which was sitting on top of my purse. I knew it was my son calling me. When I turned back around, the boy at my door vanished. The other two boys disappeared too. Even my truck started back up on its own. When I locked my doors, they didn’t unlock themselves. I didn’t know what to do next. I didn’t know whether to drive or answer my phone. I planned to do both. I wanted to get the hell away from that bridge. Do you know how it feels when the muscles in your body lock up after you’ve had a traumatic experience? Well, that’s what happened to me for a minute. For about a minute, I just sat there holding my ringing phone like a moron. That voice in my head yelled at me and it told me to get moving because something else was coming. To make it easy on myself, I answered my phone and I put my son on the speaker so I wouldn’t have to hold my phone. I shifted my truck into gear and got the hell outta that bridge.
It felt so good to hear my son’s voice, and I could hear his rap music playing in the background. It also felt good to feel my truck moving again. When I finally drove out of the overpass, I looked into the side mirror and I saw the boys again, hanging from the bridge. I quickly turned my eyes away. I kept both of my hands on the steering wheel and my eyes locked on the road. My son could hear the fear in my voice. He asked me what was wrong and I lied to him and told him I was just tired. I couldn’t tell what happened to me. I didn’t want him to think his mom was a lunatic. There was a strong temptation inside of me, though. I wanted to tell him, but I thought it would be better to wait and tell him while we were together. Maybe he’d believe me if I told him over the dinner table instead of telling him over the phone.
I couldn’t figure out how to tell him what I saw. How would I explain it to him? Hi baby, how was school? Oh yeah, and by the way, your mother got attacked by ghosts while she was driving her truck last night. Yeah, that sounded credible. He’d believe that, wouldn’t he? Yeah, sure he would. He’d never suspect that his mother might be mentally ill.
My God, I couldn’t drive my truck fast enough. I wanted to get off Sweet Hollow Road. There were no streetlights. No traffic lights. No cars. There was nothing but fog and a long, dark, and narrow road that seemed to go on forever. Tree branches hung over the road like giant claws with leaves on them. I kept talking to my son. His voice was my therapy. I loved listening to him tell me his dreams of becoming an NFL star, and that he planned to buy his mom a new house and a nice car. Listening to my son’s dreams calmed my nerves. Talking to my son made me forget that I was driving down a haunted road. After a while, I forgot about the three ghost boys near the overpass. My mind made me believe that I hallucinated the whole thing, or that I fell asleep at the wheel and had a nightmare.
I didn’t care if I had a nightmare or not, it felt so damn good to get away from that bridge. But I had to get off Sweet Hollow Road. I thought my troubles were over. The night was almost normal. I became relaxed again while driving and listening to my son. Feeling the bumps in the road relaxed me. I almost got hypnotized by the moonlight’s gleaming reflection on the road. When I looked over at the left side of the road, I thought I saw something else. I thought I saw a man walking. It was too dark for me to tell. My eyes tried to make out what looked like a headless man wearing a plaid shirt and carrying an ax. I thought that’s what I saw, but my mind quickly dismissed it. My mind told me it was just illusions in the darkness. I continued talking to my son while shifting gears and forcing my truck to pick up speed.
My heartbeats almost went back to normal, but then something else happened. Sweet Hollow Road didn’t want to let me go. There’s nothing like driving on a dark road and getting slapped in the face suddenly by flashing police lights. I saw the lights in my side mirror and they were blinding. It seemed like they appeared behind me. I had a stroke of relief from seeing another car on the road, even though it was a police car. I had a crazy thought to keep going, but I couldn’t do that. I knew it would be foolish to run from a police officer in a semi. My son asked me what was happening and I had to tell him that a cop was pulling me over.
After I told him I could hear him releasing a worried sigh. I didn’t want him to worry about me, so I told him everything would be okay. I told him that the police officer might give me a warning for speeding, or he might give me a ticket, which I could live through. Did I want to pull my truck over? Hell no! I wanted to keep driving. I wanted to escape Sweet Hollow Road. I hated that I had to pull over. What the hell was a police officer doing out at three o’clock in the morning? Why would a police officer be driving down a haunted road? But then I asked myself the same question. Why the hell would I be driving down a road legendary for being the most haunted area in Long Island?
I had a powerful urge to keep driving, but I stopped. It was the worst mistake I ever made in my life. I was still talking to Aaron. While I was talking to my son, I looked back in my side mirror to see the police officer slowly stepping out of his car. He was a tall man. He had a medium build. I saw he had a blondish military crew cut and a goatee. It’s unnerving when a police officer creeps up to your car with his hand on his gun holster. That’s what this policeman was doing. Every step he made seemed measured, almost robotic. He was kind of handsome in the face, but there was something that wasn’t right about him. I kept feeling the relief of seeing another human being on the road. I mean, it was a police officer. When you’re a woman driving alone at night and you meet a policeman, you feel a slight sense of security, right?
It seemed like it took forever for the police officer to approach my truck. I told my son I’d talk to him later. I wanted to keep talking to my baby, but this asshole police officer ruined everything. I jumped a little when I saw the police officer’s big hand tapping on my window. When I rolled down my window, I got a better look at the policeman. He had a well-defined Roman nose and a cleft in his chin. He had a chiseled jawline. He had a rugged appearance. The only thing missing was a cowboy hat. His voice had a calming, deep airiness to it. It seemed like when he spoke to me, his voice sounded far away. It sounded like he was speaking to me from another place. His voice sounded dreamlike. He asked for my license and he asked me where I was going. He told me the reason he pulled me over, claiming I was driving a little too fast.
I wasn’t scared at first. I figured he would give me a warning. I definitely didn’t want a ticket. When he took my license, I was calm about it. We had a nice, brief conversation. He spoke to me in a flirtatious manner. Some things he said were a little sexist, like what’s a beautiful young lady like you doing driving a big old truck at night? That made little sense, but I shrugged it off and giggled. Talking to this policeman wasn’t unnerving. I kind of enjoyed talking to him. I thought it was odd that he mentioned nothing about Sweet Hollow Road being haunted. I thought about telling him what happened to me and what I saw back at the overpass. But then I thought better of it. I knew he would probably ask me to step out of my truck so he could give me a sobriety test.
Talking to the police officer went smoothly. He had a pleasant demeanor and he seemed charming. I had no problem talking to him. My problem started after I watched him turn around. After he took my license, he walked back to his squad car, but when he turned around, I saw something that I would never forget. From the front, he looked normal. He looked human. It’s what he looked like from the back that made my heart sink down to my stomach. There was blood all over the back of his uniform and when I looked at his head, the back of his skull was missing.
It looked like a machete chopped off half of his skull. The normal response would have been to drive away immediately. But Miss dumb-ass did nothing. I just sat there, frozen. I couldn’t drive away! He had my license! I’m sorry… This ghost had my license. I know what you’re thinking, honey. You’re probably reading my story or listening to it and thinking I should have gotten my ass out of there. You’re probably thinking, who gives a damn about a driver’s license?
I wanted to drive away, but I couldn’t move. Seeing the back of the police officer’s head paralyzed me. All I did was sit there with my hands glued to the steering wheel. I rolled my window back up. I made sure I locked my doors and I just sat there like a deer caught in headlights. My mind kept telling me that what I saw was just an optical illusion. I wanted to believe that what I saw was a hallucination. I couldn’t move and I didn’t understand why. When you see a policeman with the back of his skull missing, your natural reaction is to haul ass. I started thinking about my last bad ghostly encounter at the overpass. I thought about what almost happened to me and that the same thing was happening all over again.
My reality sunk in and I was about to drive away, but a knock on my window prevented me. I waited for a minute before I rolled down my window. I saw my trucker’s license being handed back to me. This might sound stupid to you, but I had to get my trucker’s license back. I know I sound stupid. I couldn’t stop my hand from shaking when I took back my license. I got a better look at the policeman’s half decapitated head. Every few seconds I would blink my eyes, hoping maybe my vision was off, but it wasn’t.
I didn’t sense that pleasant demeanor anymore. He didn’t have the same smile he had when he approached my truck. He had a different smile. An inhuman smile. It looked like something abnormally stretched his lips across his face. I knew I was in trouble when he asked me to step out of my truck. I felt nauseated when I could see brain tissue and blood dripping down the back of his neck. His head was so messed up. It looked like a shotgun blast. Every time he’d turn to the side, I could see how his skull stopped at where his ears were. The rest of his military crew haircut vanished into a bloody black hole. I noticed when you see something abnormal or disfigured, your mind tries to fix it. My mind kept trying to fix his broken skull. I zoned out for a minute and I came out of my daze when he asked me to step out of my truck again. This time he raised his voice slightly. His voice didn’t sound calm anymore. It didn’t sound like a man’s voice. I mean, he still sounded like himself a little, but his voice turned ragged. There was a rough edge that I didn’t hear in his voice before. It was borderline demonic.
He asked me to step out of my truck a third time. By this time, my heart was pounding in my mouth because the dead policeman had his hand resting on his gun. He made a threatening gesture which implied that he would pull out his gun if I didn’t comply. Me being the idiot I am, I actually opened my door, stepping out of my truck. I didn’t want him to shoot me or shoot through my truck. But can a ghost shoot you? I didn’t want to find out, so I did what he told me. When I got out of my truck, I foolishly thought his pleasant demeanor would return. I thought wrong. Before I knew it, he had pulled out his gun and he was tapping it on the side of his leg. He started chuckling. It was like he was mocking me for obeying him. He had an odd body odor. He got close enough to me and I could smell his scent. He smelled like methane. It was so strong that I gagged. So there I was, standing outside my truck with a dead policeman staring down at me with a gun in his hand. I couldn’t say anything. I just kept thinking, why the hell did I get out of the truck? I realized that I made a big mistake, but by the time I realized what I’d done, it was too late. I was in this dead policeman’s hands now, and I gave him the freedom to do whatever he wanted to me by getting out of my truck like a moron. As I was standing there trembling in the presence of this ghost policeman or whatever he was, I kept thinking about my husband. I kept thinking about how I wanted to see his face. The policeman started easing up on me and he nuzzled my backside into my truck’s trailer. I didn’t know what he was about to do until he told me through a whisper. He wanted me to kiss him. He told me to give him a passionate kiss. He said that if I gave him a bad kiss, he would arrest me and take me to a place where only the dead were allowed. When he said that, I knew what he meant. I was sweating bullets. I wanted my son to call me again. I wanted to hear my phone ringing. My ringing phone wasn’t going to save me the way it did back at the overpass. I tried to think of how to escape. While I was in mid-thought, the dead policeman nailed me in my face with his lips. There’s nothing worse than kissing the dead. You can almost smell the graveyard scent. I could smell it on the policeman. It was a putrid, sulfuric scent. The smell of an earthy death. The smell that comes from every type of dead organism. I had a dead organism trying to force his tongue down my throat. His tongue was wet and cold. His lips were like ice.
I wasn’t ready for the kiss. This meant that I gave the dead policeman a bad kiss. I watched him slowly take his lips away from mine and he was shaking his head while giving me a disappointed stare. The next thing I remember was feeling his long icy fingers grabbing my throat, and then I felt his revolver pressing against my chin. He whispered in my face, kiss me again. When he whispered right in my face, he sounded far from human. It sounded like Satan himself whispered in my face. I looked up into his eyes. They were steel gray at first, but then they began to transform into that familiar, dull, snowy-white color. I wasn’t trying anything again. No way I was kissing him again, especially after I watched his eyes turn white. I let out a war cry and I shoved him back. I was surprised at my strength, but then I remembered I was pushing away an evil ghost or a demon. I got in my truck so fast that I ripped the back of my denim skirt. A monstrous roar shook my ears, and then I heard a few loud pops after I jumped in my truck and slammed the door. My driver’s side window shattered, and that’s when I knew it was gunfire. Glass flew in my face and hair. It covered my pink blouse. I lost my baseball cap and my high heel sandals when I took out running, but I didn’t give a damn. I was glad that I saw glass on my sleeveless blouse and not blood. I screamed and ducked down when I heard more bullets entering my cabin. I could hear him shouting at me through a ghoulish voice. He kept calling me darling and that he didn’t want to kill me, but he had no choice.
That was it. I fastened my seat belt, shifted my truck into gear and I floored it. It was the smartest thing I ever did. It was something I should have done in the first place. I had my truck barreling down the road. I looked in my side mirror and I saw police lights pursuing me. I tried to keep my eyes on the road, but I kept glancing down at my speedometer. Every fearful thought went through my mind. I wanted my truck to go faster, but it could only do so much. When I looked into my right side mirror, I could see the police car speeding up near my blind spot. I heard a few more popping sounds and I could hear bullets ripping through my trailer. I screamed when I felt my truck jerk to the side. I knew he was ramming his police car into my trailer. I watched as he roared up beside me. He rammed his police car into my passenger door and I swerved a little. Getting chased and shot at by a phantom police officer was something I wasn’t prepared for. The sounds of bullets ripping through my truck’s cabin forced me to duck every few seconds. I was doing close to 80 miles per hour. My eyes kept shifting to my right side mirror. I would see him constantly roaring up beside me. Every time he would attempt to drive up beside me, I’d swerve my truck over into his path, clipping the front of his police car. I was trapped in a cat and mouse game with a hostile ghost. When he would swerve his police car to the right side of my truck, I’d swerve my truck in front of him, cutting him off. When he’d swerve to my left side I’d be right there in front of him.
I didn’t want him to roar up beside me again. I knew that if he kept shooting up into my cabin, a bullet would hit me eventually. I heard that voice telling me I was gonna die. The voice in my head didn’t sound like my voice this time. It sounded like the voice of a demon. It sounded like the dead policeman’s voice, telling me that I was gonna lose control of my truck and die. I did everything I could to lock the voice out of my head. Whenever I would come up on a curve in the road, my heart would slam into my chest. I kept seeing my truck tipping over. Panic would override me every time I would slow down to go around a curve.
I could hear my truck’s tires squealing. The wind came rushing through my broken driver’s side window, blowing my hair in my face. I could hear the trailer grinding and swaying behind me. Any wrong move and I would have been dead. No matter how hard I’d push my truck, I would look behind me and see those police lights right on my tail. I could hear his police car’s engine revving and I could hear his tires screaming every time he’d swerve back and forth behind my truck. I heard more gunshots and I knew somehow that he was trying to shoot at my tires. All I could do was swerve my truck in front of him. I felt determined not to let a ghost policeman shoot out my tires. Weird things started happening inside my truck’s cabin, but I didn’t let it distract me. My interior lights flashed on and off. My dashboard lights were flickering. My radio would turn on and off. My worst fear was my truck’s engine shutting off while I was moving. I was moving close to 90 miles per hour when the electronics in my truck started acting up. I thought I was going to die. I thought the dead policeman was going to appear in my cabin. A nagging burning sensation went through my arms. I was straining the muscles in my arms from trying to steer my truck. The thought of death continued to arise in my mind and it tormented me. Sweet Hollow Road still had me as its prisoner and I almost broke down in tears when I saw nothing but an endless stretch of dark pavement. I kept looking in my side mirrors, wanting to get away from those police lights. I didn’t want him to catch me. This ghost was persistent and I could feel him reaching out to grab me. I heard a bullet strike my right side mirror and I jumped. Every worst case scenario played itself out in my head. What if he shoots my tires out? Will I still be able to steer my truck? What if he shoots at my gas tank and causes my truck to explode with me trapped inside? What if I get burned alive? Will I die instantly or will I suffer? One horrible question after another flooded my mind. It seemed like it was never gonna end. But then a miracle happened. I finally saw the exit. I had to make it or I would die. The dead policeman would have me. He would have another victim. I would be the woman truck driver who mysteriously disappeared on Sweet Hollow Road. The police never found her body. They only found the mangled remains of her truck. I’d be another horror story.
The ghost policeman chased me for ten minutes. It was the longest ten minutes of my life. When I finally got near the exit, the policeman and his car disappeared. There was nothing but endless darkness behind my truck again. It was over. When I looked at my driver’s side window, the glass was intact. There was no shattered glass on me. There were no bullet holes in my truck. No damage whatsoever. It was like it never happened. I know I said this already, but driving away from that policeman was something I should have done. I’m such a dumb-ass. I’m one of those blonde-haired girls, and I know you’re probably fitting me into a dumb blonde joke right about now. That’s okay. I won’t blame you. I am stupid, but at least I’m alive today to tell you my story. I’m alive today because I got off of Sweet Hollow Road. I haven’t told my son yet, but I plan to tell him. I just hope that after telling him what happened to me, he won’t try to have his mom committed to a mental hospital. I’m at lunch with my son right now. He went to the restroom and I’m sitting at the table using my phone to text my story to you. I hope you don’t think I’m crazy. I know I think of myself as a blonde, dumb-ass, single mom. But I never want to think of myself as being crazy. I know my story sounds ridiculous, but what happened to me on Sweet Hollow Road was real. I didn’t imagine it. I want you to believe me. Everything that happened to me that night was not a dream. This isn’t another fantasy ghost story I’m telling you about. I had a real ghostly encounter. I know some of you are gonna hear my story and not believe me. That’s alright, honey. You can believe me or not, but it won’t stop my story from being true. I want to tell my son, but I’m nervous. I don’t want my angel to think his mother is a psycho. What do you think I should do? Should I tell him what happened to me? Or should I keep my crazy ass paranormal experience to myself? What would you do if you were me?