Late Night Drive

KAMERON

The hunger gnawed at me worse than the headache. I stared down at my phone, watching the words “Preparing your order…” on the UberEats app as the second green bar flashed at me, taunting me. It was nearly 2:30 a.m., the streets outside my apartment complex empty and washed in a dull white glow from the streetlights, and, according to the app, I wasn’t getting my food until 3:00 a.m.; that was the estimate.

“Yeah, sure, 30 minutes. I’ll be dead by then.” I mumbled, annoyed.

I could already feel the warm, humid air bleeding through the cracked window, and the eerie silence that only existed at this hour. After fifteen minutes of nothing and silent contemplation, I sighed, thumbed the app over to “pickup,” and grabbed my keys.

The night was dead. “It’ll be a short drive. In and out. Quick.” I reminded myself, trying to

ignore the hunger cramps forming in my stomach.

I slid behind the wheel, the old-new car groaning like it resented being dragged into the night.

The engine kicked over with a cough and a shudder. I flicked the radio on out of habit and as a distraction — some old-school rap station blaring out a beat I’d half-forgotten.

I bobbed my head a little, tapping the steering wheel, mumbling along:

“Ain’t no sunshine when she’ s gone…”

Without warning, the music on the radio warbled for half a second, like the station was

underwater, before snapping back.

“Weird…” I muttered, glancing down at the radio quickly. “That’s what happens when you

decide to purchase the cheapest and oldest car on the lot.”

The roads were emptier than I remembered — even for 2:30 a.m. A few shuttered gas stations,

the lonely flicker of twenty-four-hour diners in the distance.

Everything else felt abandoned, like a dream where the world had quietly packed up and left

without me.

I cranked the volume up a notch, pretending not to notice the way the dark seemed to press

against the edges of my headlights. Just a food run, I told myself.

Not the start of a horror movie.

“Yeah, yeah, shake that thing — wait, what the hell am I singing right now?”

The restaurant was only fifteen minutes away, a strip mall tucked between a pawn shop and a

payday loan place. The kind of place that always smelled faintly of fryer oil and desperation.

I pulled into the parking lot, gravel crunching under my tires. Only one other car sat there — a

dark SUV, parked way off to the side, engine still running. No lights on.

“Weird, but whatever. Parking lots at 2:45 a.m. aren’t exactly Disney World.”

But I still checked the locks on my car door before stepping out.

The bell over the door jangled, louder than it should have been, making me flinch.

Inside, the restaurant was half-dark, most of the chairs stacked on tables like skeletons. A woman in a greasy apron stood behind the counter, stiff and blinking too fast, like she’d just been crying or hadn’t slept in days.

“Great, now I’m the guy in a horror movie who ignores all the obvious red flags.”

The clerk’s name tag was smudged — the letters twisted and blurry like the ink had melted.

I squinted but couldn’t read it.

“Pickup for—?” she asked, voice strained.

I gave my name.

She hesitated, glancing toward the door — behind me, toward the parking lot. I glanced back too, spotting the creepy SUV again, but, for some reason it looked…closer? I turned back to the worker and noticed her fingers were trembling slightly as she grabbed the paper bag from the rack. She set it down harder than necessary, making the contents rattle inside.

“Is–something wrong?”

“You… headed home?” she asked suddenly, her voice too tight, almost forced-casual, ignoring

my question.

“Uh. Yeah,” I said.

She nodded too quickly, like she was reassuring herself. “Okay. Drive safe.”

I stared at her for a second longer than necessary. Her smile was brittle, like a mask.

I shook off the wave of uneasiness that was currently washing over me like a bucket of cold

water and gave myself a short pep-talk, heading towards the exit.

“Get the burger, get out. That’s the whole plan. Easy.”

I stepped outside into the heavy night air — and the black SUV was still sitting there. Headlights dark. Engine humming.

Still waiting.

I practically dove into my car, slamming the door shut and locked all the doors behind me,

purposefully ignoring the hovering presence in my peripheral.

I tossed the bag onto the passenger seat, pulling out of the lot.

In the rearview mirror, the black SUV pulled out too.

“Coincidence,” I muttered, glancing away. “Whole lotta people getting burgers at 2:45 a.m.

Totally normal.”

I turned right onto Main. So did they.

I chewed my lip. Switched lanes — drifting lazily, like I was just bored — and the SUV mirrored me a beat later.

No headlights. No blinker. Just gliding in the dark, a silent ghost behind me.

“Okay. Not super normal,” I whispered. “But it’s fine. You’re fine. Don’t be that guy.”

My hands tightened on the wheel anyway.

My pulse kicked up, steady and hard in my ears.

I took a sharp left onto some side street, not even sure it connected to anything.

The SUV slid after me, smooth as a shark in dark water.

“Nope,” I said out loud. “Nope, nope, nope.”Sweat broke cold on the back of my neck.

I yanked the wheel into another random turn — back onto a main road, tires bumping over a curb I didn’t even see.

“You’re fine,” I lied to myself. “Just a creepy guy taking the same route. Totally fine. Totally—”

The SUV’s headlights flared for a second — blinding me.

My heart almost blew a hole in my ribs.

I took another right turn without signaling — a small residential street lined with dark houses and sleeping cars. My tires bumped over the uneven curb. I didn’t even have time to breathe before the black SUV made the same turn, no hesitation, no signal either.

My mouth went dry.

Okay. Maybe it was still nothing. Same route. Same bad luck.

I tapped the brakes lightly. The SUV slowed too. No more than a car’s length between us now, riding close enough that I could see the glint of their headlights bouncing off my side mirrors.

My heart stuttered in my chest.

I turned left this time — a stupid, sharp move onto a dead-end side street I vaguely remembered.

Houses tighter together. No way through. I killed my headlights halfway down the block, heart hammering, and watched.

The SUV paused at the entrance, idling there like it was thinking.

Then it crept forward.

Slow. Deliberate.

I shoved the car into reverse, tires screeching, blood roaring in my ears.

The SUV backed up too — mirroring me perfectly.

I fumbled for my phone, hands slick with sweat, nearly dropping it between the seats.

2% battery.

Of course.

My thumb stabbed at the screen, pulling up the keypad. Who do I even call? 911. Obviously.“Come on, come on, come on,” I muttered under my breath, jabbing the screen. 911. Press CALL.

Ring. Ring.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up…” I whispered like it would help.

Behind me, the SUV inched closer, headlights flooding the interior of my car like a spotlight.

“911, what is your emergency?” a voice finally answered.

“My name’s Kameron,” I blurted out — too fast, like I’d forgotten how words worked. “I’m

being followed — car — black SUV — I’m at — Bradshaw Avenue? I think?”

My voice cracked halfway through, high and sharp like a scared kid’s. I didn’t care.

“Stay on the line with me,” the dispatcher said calmly. “Are your doors locked?”

I slammed the lock button without thinking. The click echoed in the small cabin.

“Yes. They’re locked. But he’s still following me—”

The line crackled. My screen dimmed.

1% battery.

“Please don’t die, please don’t die,” I hissed at the phone like it could hear me.

The SUV sped up, its engine roaring now, and bumped the back of my car—just a tap, but

enough to make me jolt forward against the seatbelt.

“I need help!” I screamed into the phone.

The screen went black.

Dead.

The phone slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the passenger seat, dark and useless.

“Fuck!” I shouted, stomping the gas pedal. The tires screamed against the pavement as I tore

through another intersection without even checking for cross traffic.

Behind me, the SUV kept pace, its headlights glaring into my mirrors like a pair of burning eyes.

I needed people. Witnesses. Somewhere bright and open.Somewhere safe.

I swerved onto a wider road — Main Street maybe — half the shops closed, a few sad neon signs buzzing in the night.

A gas station. Up ahead. Lit up like a mothership.

The gas station lot was a slab of flickering light in a sea of black. I skidded to a stop near one of

the pumps, heart jackhammering against my ribs, and slammed the car into park.

The SUV slid into the lot behind me — slow, almost lazy, prowling. Its headlights stayed off.

I didn’t wait.

I flung the door open and sprinted to the gas station door, practically body-slamming it.

“Help!” I shouted. “Open up! Please!”

The gas station clerk — a kid who looked barely out of high school — blinked at me through the thick glass, his mouth hanging open slightly.

“You gotta be kidding me,” I muttered, banging harder, palms slapping the glass. “Come on,

man!”

He didn’t move.

He didn’t even blink.

Just stared at me like I was something he’d seen before.

Like he’d been waiting.

Behind me, the SUV idled, engine low and rumbling, headlights dark, the driver still hidden

inside.

“Open the door!” I shouted, slamming my fists harder against the glass. “Let me in!”

The clerk finally moved — but not toward the door.

Instead, he turned and disappeared behind the counter, slipping through a door marked

“Employees Only” without a word.

Gone. I stood there, panting, frozen, feeling the weight of a hundred bad decisions crush down all at once.

And then I noticed something.

Something worse.

Across the lot, by the dumpsters tucked behind the gas station, another figure stood.

Still.

Watching.

Not from the SUV.

Not from the store.

Someone else entirely.

They didn’t move. Didn’t approach.

Just…stood there.

Waiting.

My stomach twisted so hard it hurt.

“Not real. This isn’t real,” I whispered.

But I didn’t believe it.

I didn’t wait to see if the figure by the dumpsters moved.

My body made the decision for me — I turned, bolted back to my car, tripping over a curb in the

process, fumbling with the door handle so hard I almost ripped it off. I leaped inside, slammed the locks down, and jammed the keys into the ignition with shaking hands.

The SUV’s engine roared to life. Headlights flared on, blinding me in the mirror, yet again.

I didn’t think — I just floored it.

Tires screamed against the oil-slicked pavement as I shot out of the lot and back onto the main road, barely checking for oncoming traffic.

The SUV followed.Of course it followed.

Adrenaline blurred the edges of everything — the speedometer, the blinking road signs, even the food bag sliding across the seat and hitting the door.

I racked my brain, trying to remember: where’s the nearest police station?

Downtown. Maybe ten minutes away if I didn’t hit a red light.

I white-knuckled the steering wheel — hands practically numb from the pressure — and tore

down the empty street, my whole body wired tight, senses screaming.

“Get there. Get there. Get there.” I muttered to myself, eyes constantly switching between my

mirrors and the road in front of me.

No music.

No podcasts.

No noise but the wind and the blood rushing in my ears.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of driving, I see a flash of blue and white — a street sign. I spotted the turn for Maple Avenue, the fastest route toward the station.

The station’s blue neon sign flickered through the windshield like a dying star.

I slammed into the lot too fast, tires bumping over the curb, gravel spitting up behind me.

Lights. Civilization. Safety.

I practically ripped the door handle off in my scramble to get out, keys still swinging in the

ignition. Behind me, the SUV lurked at the edge of the lot, idling, its headlights swallowing the asphalt.

I sprinted across the parking lot, sneakers slapping the concrete, and crashed into the glass front doors.

Locked.

I rattled the handle. Pounded.

“Hey!” I shouted. “Open up! I need help!”

The lobby inside was dim, lit only by the low emergency fluorescents.Desks sat empty.

No reception officer.

No noise.

“You are absolutely shitting me right now.”

The flicker of a busted vending machine light was the only thing moving.

My heart dropped through the floor.

A police station. Empty.

At almost three in the morning, sure — but still.

There should’ve been someone.

There was always supposed to be someone.

I pounded harder, the glass rattling under my fists. “Hello? Anybody in there?”

Somewhere deep inside the station, I thought I saw movement — a shadow flickering just out of

sight down the far hallway.

Hope flared in my chest.

Then the front lobby lights — all of them — blinked off at once.

“No. No no no.”

The glass door reflected my face, pale and terrified, back at me.

And behind me, in the dark reflection, the black SUV’s driver’s side door swung open.

The glass door rattled once more under my fists, the reflection twisting with the black void

behind me.

The SUV door swung wider, a shape stepping out — slow, deliberate — and something deep

inside me broke loose, raw and wordless.

I screamed.

The world tilted —

— and then I was gasping, choking on my own breath, sitting bolt upright in the dark.My apartment.

My tiny, cluttered living room.

Sweat drenched the back of my T-shirt. My phone sat loose in my hand, UberEats notification blinking stupidly at me.

Order Delivered.

I let out a shaky laugh — half relief, half disbelief.

“Good job, Kameron,” I muttered. “Scared yourself stupid over a cheeseburger.”

The TV was still on, the glow washing the walls in faint static blue.

I turned my head, heart still hammering in my chest, and spotted the brown paper bag sitting

neatly outside my front door, visible through the little window.

No black SUV.

No empty streets.

No flickering police stations.

Just late-night silence and the heavy thud of my own blood in my ears.

“Just a dream.” I said, trying to shake off the nerves.

A bad dream, fueled by a long day, exhaustion, and too much junk on the internet.

I stood up, legs trembling a little, and shuffled to the door to grab the food.

I grabbed the brown paper bag from the front step, the warmth already bleeding out of it, and

shut the door behind me with a soft click.

I double-locked it, triple-checked it, feeling a little stupid, but also…not.

Better safe than sorry.

“Just a dream.” I told myself again.

I turned back toward the couch, telling myself to shake it off — just exhaustion, just too many

late nights — when a low hum caught my ear.

I glanced through the peephole, frowning.A car — a black sedan — crept past my building, headlights off, engine whisper-quiet.

Not speeding.

Not parked.

Just…watching.

It rolled down the street like a shadow and disappeared around the corner without ever speeding up.

I stood frozen for a long moment, bag of food still clutched tight in my hand.

I didn’t turn off the lights that night.

And I didn’t sleep.