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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Front-Driver-3595 on 2024-11-06 19:58:32+00:00.

I host the midnight-to-five slot on WKTS, a local radio station in my hometown of wouldn’t you like to know. In the deep hours of the night, it’s mostly dead air or sleep-deprived callers. You’d think I’d get used to strangers spilling their guts at ungodly hours, but trust me—it never gets old. My job is to keep me and them awake, entertained, and sane. I’ve heard every story before: tipsy night owls sharing past regrets, ghost encounters, college kids saying fuck all.

Anyway, my work isn’t exactly nail-biting, edge-of-your-seat content, but it pays the bills. Besides, I like the strange stories and loyal listeners—they keep the job interesting enough. And sometimes, I have encounters that bring a whole new meaning to “interesting.”

One odd call-in was from a trucker named Red. All I could garner was that he was a burly man with a southern drawl as thick and slow as molasses—low and raspy like he’d just smoked a pack before phoning in. He started calling in several months back, introducing himself with a gruff, “This is Red, on Route 39.” After a few calls, I recognized his voice right away. Like clockwork, his calls would come in around three a.m., just as most listeners were winding down. At first, he was a breath of fresh air. He was polite, calm, and genuinely curious about whatever I was talking about. He’d always have a story to share and a laugh to exchange. Mostly, he’d share cheesy ghost stories or tales of being chewed out by his boss for a late delivery. Always light and fun. But after a month or two, his stories started getting…weird.

On one of his punctual calls, he bluntly asked, “You ever see something you can’t explain?” His voice, for the first time, was timid and uneasy.

I retorted, “Red, I host a midnight show. Unexplained is part of the job description,” expecting him to segue into another dumb tall tale. But he didn’t laugh.

“Right,” he said, slowly. “But I mean really strange things. Like towns you can’t find on a map.”

I joked about him taking the scenic route, but he ignored it and went on.

“Couple’a days back, I was on a stretch of Route 39 I’ve driven for twenty years. This time around, it felt…different. I passed this little town I’d never seen before. I figured maybe it was new, but something felt off. No signs. No cars. No people, either. Like driving through a movie set after hours.”

This story didn’t faze me much. I chalked it up to him missing his exit or stumbling on some ghost town. But every night after that, he’d call in retailing even stranger stories.

One night, he described seeing a row of unmarked black cars, their hazards all blinking in perfect unison. As he slowed down to a crawl, he saw that all of the cars were empty. “I got out for a second but felt a sense to get outta there. Wasn’t a soul around.”

“Well, at least—”

“Felt like they was…waiting for something.”

Another night, he shared his encounter with a woman on the side of the road. Her figure was distorted by his lights for a moment. But as he passed her, she was just visible enough that he could make out some semblance of a face. “Maybe it was too dark. Or I was too tired.”

“Why’s that?”

“Her face. I can’t get it outta my mind. Looked like it was stretched too tight across her cheeks, all rubbery. Her eyes were dark and hollow-lookin’.”

For a second, I wanted to laugh and chalk it up to exhaustion. But the mental image he’d just painted? I couldn’t get it out of my mind—and I wasn’t even there.

He continued, describing her in eerie detail. Her smile was strewn unnaturally over her face, like she was only a mockery of what a human is. He talked about feeling a spike of fear hit his gut, hoping and praying he was just having sleepless hallucinations. She didn’t wave him down or look distressed, so he drove past her.

“I looked in my rear-view and sh-she was gone.”

Internally, my thoughts could be summed up in either this guy is a giant troll, or what the hell is going on?? However, I chimed in, “Maybe she hitched a ride with a ghost,” trying to keep things light. But his silence told me he didn’t find that funny.

After a week or so, he became a bit of a staple on the show. More people started listening in just to hear Red’s three a.m. “adventures” on Route 39. I tried to brush it off as good radio, but I couldn’t shake his tone. Each time he called in, he became more and more of a shell of his once-cheery self. His demeanor was restless and sporadic. He had an undeniable deep-seated sense of conviction like he really believed what he was experiencing was real. Yet, I still trusted his senses about as far as I could throw him.

But it was a night in late September that things changed.

He called in a little after three, and this time, there was no “hello” or “this is Red.” Just a tense, quiet breathing on the line. I knew something was off right away.

“Red? You there?” I asked, leaning closer to the mic.

His voice began as a hushed murmur like he didn’t want anyone to hear him. “I-I’m still on 39. Something’s wrong. The highway’s…changed.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, my tone already faltering.

“It’s like…I keep driving, but the road just keeps turning. Every time I think I’m going to reach a town, exit, anything, the road just,” his scattered breathing stopping briefly, “bends.”

I started to get that uneasy itch that comes when something feels a little too real. “Where are you headed?”

“I was just passing through, en route to the next stop on my delivery. Now it feels like I’m goin’ in circles.”

There was a pause, and I could hear the faint rumble of his truck engine in the background. He spoke again, each word shaking or cracking.

"I swear. I haven’t seen a car in hours now. I passed the same damn billboard six or somethin’ times. ‘Last Stop on Route 39,’ it says.

A cold chill worked its way up my neck. “Red, maybe you should pull over,” I suggested. It was a good thing listeners couldn’t see the look I had on my face at that moment. And I can’t imagine the look that was on Red’s. “Wait it out, call someone.”

“I tried,” he said, his voice nearly inaudible. “There’s someone…followin’ me.”

My heart skipped a beat. Hell, it skipped five. “What do you mean?”

“An old beat-up sedan. Keeps coming up in my rearview, no matter how fast I go. Just close enough I can see its headlights.”

I could hear the tension in his words, tight and choked like a wire pulled too taut, ready to snap with the slightest strain. I started babbling some explanations before he cut me off.

“Wait. It’s right behind me now.” There was a beat of silence. “Driver’s slumped over. But I can see their eyes. Their eyes are open. They’re looking at me. Oh, my God.” His tone now turned to a desperate whine.

I was at a loss. “Red, get off that road. Find somewhere safe.”

He ignored my plea. “Their eyes. Like that lady’s. Dead nothin’.”

Then, for what felt like whole minutes, there was nothing but static. Soon, a soft exhale from Red. “The road’s splitting,” he said, his voice removed and almost trance-like. “A real dark path. And the other’s got a light at the end, like a building or something. It’s too far to see.”

“Go toward the light,” I urged, my hands gripping my desk hard. “Get outta there.”

There was another pause. It was long enough I almost thought he disconnected. “It’s gone. I took the lighted road, and the car’s gone.”

I let out a heavy sigh of relief. Fear’s cold grip on me let go in an instant. “Thank God. I’m glad you’re okay, Red. Get some rest as soon as you can.”

He chuckled, low and humorless. I could hear all of the fear and fatigue well up in his last words; “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’ll do that. Thanks…for staying with me.”

The line went dead, and I sat there, staring at the receiver. I waited, half-expecting him to call back, but he didn’t that night. Or any night after that.

It’s been a few months since my last call with Red. I’ve done some digging, hopeful for the guy. I can’t find any incident reports for Route 39, missing truck drivers, or the like. That’s why I’m asking for help on this; if anyone can lead me in the right direction to finding out about Red’s fate? I have quite a few other stories I’d like to share if any of you are interested. Thank you.

Signing off from WKTS. Until next time, night-dwellers…