Latest / Shallow Nights: Scary Bedtime Stories / Chilling Gas Station Encounters: Tales of Nighttime Terror

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Chilling Gas Station Encounters: Tales of Nighttime Terror · Shallow Nights: Scary Bedtime Stories

0:07
It was late, much later than I'd planned to be out, but after the
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week I'd had, all I wanted was a little escape.
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I'd taken the back roads, the kind that stretch on for miles
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with nothing but dark fields. I was looking for the silence,
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the empty roads, the freedom of being alone with my thoughts.
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I'd been driving for nearly two hours, and the gas gauge on my
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dashboard was creeping dangerously close to empty.
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I wasn't worried, though. I'd pass through this area
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before, and I knew there was a small gas station up ahead, the
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kind of place that's barely more than a shack with a couple of
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pumps and a flickering neon sign.
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It was old, rundown, and probably the last place you'd
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want to stop at night, but it was reliable.
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When I finally spotted the faint glow of the station sign in the
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distance, a wave of relief washed over me.
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The engine sputtered a little as I pulled into the lot, the tires
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crunching over the gravel. The place was empty, as
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expected. There was only one car parked on
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the side of the building, an old, beat up sedan that looked
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like it had been there for years.
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I parked by one of the pumps and turned off the engine, the
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sudden silence making my ears ring.
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The fluorescent lights above the station buzzed softly,
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flickering in and out like they were struggling to stay alive.
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I grabbed my wallet and stepped out of the car, the cool night
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air sending a slight shiver down my spine.
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The station was just as I remembered it, isolated, eerie,
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and barely functional. The convenience store looked
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closed, its windows dark, but the pumps were still on, and
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that's all I cared about. As I started pumping gas, I
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glanced around, feeling more aware of my surroundings than I
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normally would. There was something about being
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out here, in the middle of nowhere that made me feel
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vulnerable. Maybe it was the emptiness of
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the place, or maybe it was just the darkness around.
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Either way, I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling creeping into the
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pit of my stomach. And that's when I saw him.
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At first, I thought it was just my eyes playing tricks on me.
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The dim lighting, the shadows cast by the flickering neon
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sign. It wouldn't have been the first
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time, I'd imagine something that wasn't really there.
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But as I focused, I saw him clearly.
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A man was standing by the side of the building near the old
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sedan. He was partially hidden in the
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shadows, his body hunched over like he was trying to keep
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himself out of sight. I hadn't noticed him when I
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pulled in, and the realization that he'd been there the whole
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time made my heart skip a beat. I kept my eyes on him, trying
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not to seem obvious, but I could feel my pulse quicken.
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He was just standing there, watching me.
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I told myself he was probably just another driver who had
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stopped for gas, maybe taking a break before getting back on the
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road. But something about the way he
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was positioned, the way he didn't move or make any effort
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to approach the pumps, made me uneasy.
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I turned my back on him, focusing on the numbers taking
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up on the gas pump. Just get the gas, I told myself.
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Get the gas and get out of here. But then I heard it.
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Footsteps. They were slow, crunching over
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the gravel, like they were being made on purpose, like whoever
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was making them wanted me to hear.
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I looked back, and there he was, walking toward me.
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His steps were unhurried, casual, like he wasn't in any
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kind of rush. He was tall, with dirty,
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disheveled hair and clothes that looked like they hadn't been
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washed in weeks. His face was partially obscured
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by the shadows, but even from a distance I could see the wild
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look in his eyes. Every instinct in my body
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screamed at me to get in the car and leave, but I froze.
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Something about the way he was walking toward me made it clear
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that this wasn't going to be a normal interaction.
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Hey, man. He called out, his voice raspy
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and low. Can you help me out?
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I tried to keep my voice steady. What do you need?
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He stopped a few feet away from me, his eyes locking onto mine.
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For a moment, he didn't say anything.
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He just stood there, staring at me with an intensity that made
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my skin crawl. My car broke down.
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He said finally, jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward
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the beat up sedan. It's just down the road, I need
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a ride. My heart was pounding in my
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chest. The way he said it, it didn't
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sound like a request, it sounded like a demand.
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I, I don't know man. I stammered.
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I'm kind of in a hurry. His eyes narrowed and his lips
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curled into a strange, unsettling smile.
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Come on man, just a quick ride, it's not far.
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Every instinct I had was screaming at me to say no, to
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get in the car and drive away as fast as I could.
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But something about the way he was looking at me, those wild,
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unblinking eyes, made me feel trapped, like I didn't have a
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choice. I really can't.
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I said, forcing the words out. I'm running late, maybe there's
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someone else who can help. His smile faded, and for a
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second I saw something flicker across his face, like he was
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deciding whether or not to get angry.
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Then he stepped closer. You're just going to leave me
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out here? He asked, his voice dropping to
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a low, dangerous whisper. You think I'm lying or
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something? I took a step back, my heart
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racing. No, I just, I'm in a rush,
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that's all. He took another step forward,
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closing the distance between us. You think I'm going to hurt you?
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At that moment, I knew I had to get out of there.
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My mind was racing, trying to come up with an excuse, a way to
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defuse the situation without making him angrier, but I
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couldn't think. All I could focus on was the
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pounding of my heart, the rush of adrenaline flooding my veins.
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I'm sorry. I said, trying to sound calm.
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I just don't have time. Before he could respond, I
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pulled the gas pump nozzle from my car and fumble with it, my
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hands shaking. I could feel his eyes on me,
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feel the tension building between us as I tried to move as
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quickly as possible. Hey.
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He shouted suddenly, his voice filled with anger.
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Don't walk away from me. I didn't look back.
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I couldn't. I shoved the nozzle back into
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the pump and practically dove into my car, slamming the door
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shut and locking it in one fluid motion.
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My hands were trembling so badly that it took me a second to jam
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the key into the ignition, and for a horrifying moment I
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thought the engine wouldn't start.
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But then it roared to life and I slammed my foot on the gas,
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pulling out of the parking lot as fast as I could and I speed
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down the dark empty Rd. In the rearview mirror I could
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see him standing there, his figure growing smaller as I
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drove away. He didn't chase after me, he
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didn't shout, he just stood there staring at my car,
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watching me leave. I didn't stop driving until I
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reached a well lit area, a small diner that was still open late
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into the night. My hands were still shaking as I
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parked the car and sat there for a few minutes, trying to calm
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myself down. I couldn't get his face out of
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my head, those eyes, the way he looked at me.
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Like he was sizing me up, like he was deciding whether or not
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to do something terrible. For weeks after that night, I
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couldn't drive by a gas station without feeling a pit of dread
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in my stomach. I found myself glancing over my
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shoulder whenever I filled up, scanning the area for anyone who
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looked even remotely suspicious. I knew it was irrational.
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He couldn't have followed me, he didn't even have a car.
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But the fear lingered like a dark cloud that I couldn't
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shake. Sometimes, late at night, I
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still think about him. I wonder what he was really
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planning. Was he just a desperate guy
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looking for a ride? Or was there something more
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sinister behind those eyes? I'll never know for sure, but
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one thing's certain, I'll never forget the feeling of being
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trapped in that gas station parking lot, staring into the
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eyes of a stranger who was anything but normal.
8:09
I've always liked the late night shift at the gas station.
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There's a strange kind of peace that comes when the world falls
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silent and all you have are your thoughts and the hum of the neon
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lights. Most of the time the customers
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were few and far between, the occasional trucker stopping for
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coffee or a pack of cigarettes, a tired traveler looking for
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directions, but nothing out of the ordinary.
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That's why, when the door chimed that night, just after one, AMI
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didn't think much of it. I was leaning against the
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counter, idly scrolling through my phone, when the sound broke
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the quiet. I glanced up and saw him.
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A man disheveled and dirty, his clothes worn and frayed.
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He looked like he had been on the road for a long time, and he
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carried with him an air of desperation, a kind of heaviness
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that immediately made me uneasy. I watched him for a second,
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trying to gauge whether he was just a drifter passing through
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or something else, something more dangerous.
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He didn't acknowledge me when he came in, just shuffled down the
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first aisle, his boots scuffing against the worn linoleum floor.
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His hair was long and greasy, hanging in tangled strands over
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his face, and he moved with a sluggishness that felt wrong.
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I shook off the creeping, feeling that something was off.
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People came in here looking rough all the time.
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It was part of the job. Still, there was something about
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the way he carried himself that made me keep one eye on him as
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he wandered through the store. He didn't pick anything up,
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didn't look at the shelves or browse the snacks like most
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people did. Instead, he just wandered, his
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movements slow and deliberate, as if he was waiting for
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something, watching for something.
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I tried to go back to my phone, pretending like I wasn't paying
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attention to him, but my gut wouldn't let me.
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I kept tracking his movements as he paced between the aisles.
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He stopped a few times, his back to me standing perfectly still,
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staring at whatever was in front of him for longer than felt
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normal. The hairs on the back of my neck
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stood on end. Can I help you find something?
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I finally asked, forcing my voice to sound casual, though my
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heart was starting to pound a little faster.
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He didn't respond. He didn't even move, as if he
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hadn't heard me. I was about to ask again when he
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slowly turned his head toward me, his eyes catching mine
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through the gap between the shelves.
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His face was pale, gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes that
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made him look half dead. No, he muttered, his voice
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gravely and low. I'm just looking.
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I nodded, though his answer did nothing to ease the tension
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coiling in my chest. All right, just let me know if
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you need anything. He didn't respond.
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Instead, he turned away and continued his aimless wandering.
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Minutes passed, and I found myself growing more and more
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anxious with each second that ticked by.
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There was something unsettling about the way he moved, the way
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he lingered in the aisles without touching anything.
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I glanced at the clock above the door, willing the time to move
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faster, hoping that he would just grab something and leave.
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But he didn't. When he finally made his way
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back toward the front, I felt a small wave of relief, hoping
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that this weird encounter was over.
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He stopped by the cooler, opened it, and pulled out a can of
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energy drink. Slowly, he walked toward the
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counter, his eyes never leaving mine.
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As he set the drink down, I could see his hands trembling
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slightly. I rang it up as quickly as I
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could, my fingers feeling stiff as they tapped at the register.
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The silence between us was suffocating.
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That'll be 250. I said, trying to keep my voice
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steady. He fumble with his pocket,
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pulling out a crumpled $5.00 bill.
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As I took the money, our fingers brushed and I felt how cold his
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skin was, far too cold for someone who had just come in
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from the mild night air. I handed him his change, hoping
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that was the end of it. But instead of leaving, he just
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stood there, staring at me, his eyes hollow and dark.
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You work here every night? He asked, his voice barely above
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a whisper. I felt my stomach twist.
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Most nights I lied, hoping he wouldn't ask for more details.
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He nodded slowly, as if processing the information.
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Must be lonely. Not really.
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I said quickly, my hand instinctively reaching for the
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phone under the counter just in case.
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I like the quiet. The drifter didn't respond.
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He just stared at me for a few more seconds, the silence
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stretching between us like a taut wire ready to snap.
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Then, without another word, he turned and walked out the door,
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the chime ringing as he left. I didn't realize how tense I had
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been until he was gone. The moment the door closed, I
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let out a long breath, my body sagging with relief.
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I glanced at the clock again. Only two more hours until my
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shift ended. I could make it, but I couldn't
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shake the feeling of dread that lingered after his visit.
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Something about him had felt off, like he was hiding
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something beneath the surface. I tried to go back to my
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routine, sweeping the floor, restocking the shelves, but the
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unease stayed with me, gnawing at the back of my mind.
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I kept glancing out the window, but the parking lot was empty,
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just the dim glow of the streetlights casting long
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shadows across the pavement. About an hour later, just as I
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was starting to calm down, the door chimed again, and there he
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was. The Drifter stood in the
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doorway, his eyes locked onto mine as he stepped inside.
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My heart skipped a beat, and that familiar sense of dread
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washed over me. He wasn't holding anything this
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time, didn't make any pretense of browsing the store.
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He just walked straight toward the counter, Back again.
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I asked, forcing a smile, though my hands had begun to tremble.
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He didn't respond. Instead, he stopped right in
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front of the counter, too close, his eyes boring into mine.
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I could feel the tension in the air, thick and oppressive, and I
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was trapped behind the counter. What do you want?
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I asked, my voice shakier than I intended.
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He smiled, but it wasn't a friendly smile.
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It was cold, malicious, like he knew something I didn't.
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You don't belong here. He said, his voice low and
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chilling. I swallowed hard, my throat dry.
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What are you talking about? His smile widened, and he leaned
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in closer. You think you're safe here, but
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you're not. No one's safe.
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My heart was racing now, the fear creeping up my spine like
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cold fingers. I glanced toward the security
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cameras, hoping he'd notice, hoping it would deter him, but
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he didn't seem to care. His eyes followed mine, and for
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a moment, I thought he might laugh.
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I took a step back, my fingers inching toward the phone under
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the counter. You need to leave.
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I said, trying to sound authoritative, though my voice
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cracked slightly. His smile faded, and his
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expression darkened. He stepped closer to the
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counter, his hands gripping the edge as he leaned forward.
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Or what? He asked, his voice dripping
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with malice. I felt a surge of panic rise in
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my chest. My mind raced, trying to figure
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out what to do. He was bigger than me, stronger,
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and there was no one around to help.
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The parking lot was empty, the roads deserted.
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It was just him and me. I reached for the phone, my hand
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trembling as I dialed 911. But before I could press send,
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he lunged forward, grabbing my wrist with a force that made me
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gasp. His grip was tight, his fingers
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cold and unyielding. Don't.
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He growled, his eyes wild with fury.
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I froze, my heart pounding in my chest as I stared at him.
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His face was inches from mine, his breath hot and foul.
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I could see the anger in his eyes, the way his body tensed
15:50
like he was ready to snap. For a moment, I thought he might
15:53
hurt me. I thought he might do something
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terrible. But then, just as suddenly as he
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had grabbed me, he let go. He straightened up, his
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expression unreadable as he stepped back.
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You're lucky. He muttered, his voice low and
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dangerous. But next time, you won't be.
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And with that, he turned and walked out the door,
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disappearing into the night. I stood there for a long time
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after he left, my heart still racing, my mind struggling to
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process what had just happened. I wanted to believe it was over,
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that he was gone, but the fear lingered.
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His words echoed in my mind, haunting me.
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I didn't finish the shift. I couldn't.
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I locked up early, called my boss and told him what had
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happened. He told me to go home, that he'd
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call the police and have them check the cameras.
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But even after I left the gas station and drove home, I
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couldn't shake the feeling that he was still watching, still
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waiting. I quit the job a few days later.
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I couldn't bring myself to go back, not after what happened.
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I never saw him again, but I knew he was out there somewhere
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and I wonder if one day I'll run into him again.