10/23/2023
Trucker Ghost Stories Vol. II
Between small cities and isolated towns are miles and miles of open road. Traversing remote forests, lonely mountains, and backcountry fields, the road carves through these liminal spaces for only a few passengers. Of those who pioneer these forgotten paths, nearly all are truckers.
When the time is right and the road intrudes on those areas intended to be left alone, the remarkable, the unexplainable, and the awful can occur.
For the truckers that have forged these roads, they tell incredible stories.
Here’s one of our favorites.
This story is retold from its initial source. Minor details are added for embellishment.
The Curse of I-40
I was accustomed to taking late-night runs through desolate places, but the forest of I-40 was unique. As I traversed the windy and narrow road, I struggled with a feeling of uneasiness that seemed to grow in intensity. Having blazed darker roads in denser forests, I typically savored the silence of the night and found it calming. Tonight, I felt dread.
In the back of my mind, I tried to resist the rumors from my trucking buddies concerning this stretch of I-40. I have never been a superstitious person, “not even a little ‘stitious”, I would joke, but now the tall tales of the curse of I-40 seemed as real to me as the wheel between my hands.
As I drove on, I tried to rationalize my feelings of fear. It was night, the forest was dark, and the trees made the road feel claustrophobic. But there was something else. There was something outside the typical scary-movie tropes that was bothering me.
Then I realized: the forest was silent.
Of course, forests aren’t loud, but there seemed to be a bizarre absence of any kind of sound: no wind, no leaves crinkling, no animals, just… quiet. And the quiet was getting louder.
Overwhelmed by my own emotions, I was relieved when a wooden outline of a truck stop sign came into view. I made an easy decision to stop for a moment, stretch my legs, and try and shake my paranoia.
I pulled over and cut the ignition. Without the familiar hum of the engine, the silence of the forest was deafening. I hurriedly reached for the driver-side door when something in my rearview mirror caught my attention.
Another truck, rusted and antique-looking, was parked behind me. I could make out a figure on the driver's side, but the smudges on the mirror obscured the image.
I replayed the last minute in my mind. Was there a truck there before? I couldn’t remember seeing one at first. Rationalizations came in a flurry. Terms like confirmation bias and paranoia all seemed likely culprits for my nerves… but how could I miss a whole truck?
Calling on my most sophisticated logic, I reasoned that a truck at a truck stop wasn’t out of the ordinary. But, just to calm my anxieties and put my paranoia to rest, I decided that I’d use a stretch break to investigate the vehicle behind me.
After pretending to stretch in front of my rig for a few minutes to avoid appearing suspicious, I began making my way toward the back of my truck. The silence was eerie as the crunching of dirt under my boots echoed through the trees. As I rounded the corner and turned my body in the direction of the adjacent truck, my heart stopped.
The truck, still parked and idle, now appeared much closer than it had only a few moments ago. The license plate and windows were all smeared with something wet and frothing. The driver, still featureless even in closer proximity, seemed to be fixated directly on me. After several moments of processing exactly what I was looking at, the door of the truck burst open.
Adrenaline propelled me backward in a frenzy. I scrambled in the dirt before turning my head and sprinting back toward my truck. Behind me, I heard the inhuman pace of heavy footsteps gaining on me.
I ripped my door open, slammed it shut and shoved my key in the ignition. With all my weight pressed on the pedal, my wheels spun in vain as they sought to catch traction with the gravel. A bang sounded through my cabin as someone collided with the passenger door.
Finally, my truck began to accelerate. As I picked up speed, I avoided looking at my rearview for fear of what I’d see. Thick fog, appearing almost instantaneously, surrounded my truck.
After several minutes of navigating the road with bated breath, I began to sneak glances into my rearview mirror. Every now and then, just for a brief instant, I could make out the outline of that old, rotting truck. Waves of adrenaline continued in succession, distorting time and fogging my thoughts.
All at once, just as if I was waking from a dream, the fog vanished. I found myself on the outskirts of a well-lit truck stop. Patrons entered and exited the building, devoid of alarm and carrying on through their regular routines.
I sat in a stupor. For nearly an hour, I didn’t dare move. Reality felt fragile. Had I just imagined what happened? It all felt so real.
After an hour of wrestling with my own thoughts, I decided I’d try and eat to bring some normalcy to my life. I entered the truck stop, scanned a few snacks, and returned to my rig with weak legs.
When I reached my truck, I dropped my snacks and froze.
There, on the passenger side door, was an enormous dent, with something wet still dripping down the door.
Happy Halloween, Truckers!
