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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/EnragedDuckie on 2024-09-06 23:47:36+00:00.

We all heard the rumors that quiet stretch of road between towns. How if you drive on it at night supposedly, the man will appear in your rear view mirror. It ain’t my first rodeo with ghosts and ghouls. Like that picture mom took of me when I was 8. The face in the window. Or when I was sixteen and my friends were playing with a ouija board, some weird stuff started to happen, like the planchett, turning the point directly at me.

My brother asked me if I would come with him to drive down that desolate stretch of road. I know he didn’t want to go alone He knows I ain’t afraid of no ghost.

So I grabbed my lucky silver pendant, we got in the car and set off on our drive, singing along to the real slim shady on the way. Just like any other ghost, on the highway story, you’ve got to turn off your headlights and drive in the dark, nobody else around. So we did drove real slow or wrong, that desolate stretch of road aaannnddd. Nothing. We worked ourselves up on the way over nothing. We went home disappointed. Its been about 10 years some odd months after that I got a job that took me out of town. I have drive that desolate stretch of road every single night.

It was a night like any other. I put on my uniform, got in my car started driving. Listening to a podcast about ghost stories. When sure enough, they started telling one about the headless man with the axe on the desolate road in my town. They called him Charles. I was listening intently to the story, not really paying attention, listening to the lore about how he was a man in the eighteen hundreds that had his head chopped off by his wife when she caught him cheating. Listening to how if you drive down the desolate stretch of road and say his name in the dark, he will appear in your back seat.

No sooner was I about to turn it off. I caught a glimpse of something in my rearview mirror a person. I kept driving at first afraid to look in the mirror when curiosity got the better of me and there he was. Staring me down holding his head between the seats. The bloody axe, laying next to him on the back seat of my Chevy.

The smell of musk and iron suddenly filled the air. “Charles?” I said. When out came the the voice of a man who sounded like he hadn’t drank water in days sounded like he just swallowed a fist full of gravel. “Victor” my name. He said my name. His hand let go of the side of his face and he held his head by the hair. He grabbed the ax. I don’t know what happened after that. I woke up on the side of the road with a paramedic. They said that I had swerved and hit a tree and I was lucky to be alive. At the hospital, they said that it was mostly minor injuries, scrapes and bruises. What they couldn’t explain was the distinct cut in my right shoulder that it looked like it had come from a blade a wood cutting axe to be specific.

They stitched me up. I had nightmares for weeks. I stopped driving that desolate road, but no matter where I am sometimes I think if I look real quick. I’ll catch a glimpse of him in the back seat of the car, holding my severed head.

My nephew asked me if I wanted to go drive down that desolate stretch of road “uncle vic.You ain’t afraid of no ghost right?” Yes, I am kid. I’'m afraid of that