I Crashed My Car in a Town Where It’s Always Midnight

In today's story, a man wakes to a hissing sound he can't place. Then his vision clears, and he sees the hood of his car wrapped around a telephone pole. He crawls out bleeding and dazed, expecting sirens any second. But the road is silent, no other cars, no people anywhere. The gas station across the street has every light on, but not a single car at the bumps. The burger place beside it is the same, lit up, wide open, but no one inside. And every time he checks his phone, it's still midnight, not a minute later. But before we get into it, if you enjoy scary stories like this, be sure to like and subscribe so you never miss any of our weekly uploads. Now, let's get into today's story. The hissing is what brings me around, loud, sharp and constant. For a few seconds, I can't tell where it's coming from, or what's making it. I can barely open my eyes. Then the pain hits, and I gasp as I lean back, my head pounding, my next sore, my chest, feeling like I just got tackled by a gorilla. The hissing continues as I force my eyes open, and try to get my bearings. My car, I'm in my car, that much I know. As my vision clears, I finally see the damage. Steam pours from beneath the crumpled hood, which is folded around a telephone pole. The airbag deployed, hence my chest and head pain. I probably have whiplash, which means my sore neck isn't going to get any better until I see a doctor. I wonder how much that'll set me back, more than a couple hundred, I'm sure. My hand touches the door handle, and I pull, then push. The door doesn't budge. I have to lean my shoulder against it, and push harder to get it to even move a crack. By the time it's wide enough for me to squeeze past, I feel a million times worse. God, I hope I don't pass out before the fire department gets here. I collapse out onto the pavement. My hands and knees keeping me from face planting. Blood drips down, and I wipe my nose with the back of my hand, leading a smear across my skin, probably across my whole cheek too. The hissing is loud, but so is the wind. It's like they're competing for my attention. Taking a couple of steadying breaths, I grab onto the side of my car, and slowly pull myself to my feet. My head spins, and I have to rest a moment so I don't pass out. Damn, where are the fire trucks? I should be hearing sirens by now, but I hear nothing, which makes no sense. Whatever rural burga I'm in, it's right off the interstate. This should be busy with cars coming and going. There are gas stations and fast food joints. I even see a tire place over there, but no one is around. No one at all. Which is impossible. I rub the back of my neck and push away from my car. There has to be someone around. But as they take a step, everything starts to spin again, so I ease my back against my car and rest for a moment, just a moment. When my eyes snap open, the world is dark, and I've slumped down onto my ass, my knees tucked up to my chin. I gasp at the pain in my entire body. My legs have fallen asleep and are screaming as they wake up. My head is pounding like I've never felt it before. My neck feels as if it's being gripped in a steel vice, and my face throbs to the rhythm of my heartbeat. I touch my nose and almost yow at the pain. My eyes start to focus, and I squint at the buildings around me. The gas stations, the fast food joints, that tire place, a little strip mall with a cell phone store, a Mexican tienda, and a vape shop. A rundown grocery outlet, and what looks like a bank, but the lights aren't on there. Everything else is lit up, but not the bank. Summoning what little strength I have, I manage to get back onto my feet. This time, I make it about six steps before I have to pause and hunch over, taking deep, slow breaths to stay conscious. Damn, I really messed myself up, didn't I? Planting over my shoulder, I see my car still wrapped around that telephone bowl. The radiator has stopped steaming. It probably ran out of water hours ago. Speaking of, what time is it? I pull out my phone and laugh at what I see, exactly midnight. Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I take a few more steps. Pause, wait, breathe, take some more, pause again, then slowly keep walking. One foot in front of the other, one step at a time. I'm on a main road that stretches forever in each direction. At one end, there's a bright light, but it's too far away to see what exactly it is, at the other end is nothing but pure darkness. Like light, doesn't dare go that way. Okay, a little creepy, but a lot of these tiny off-the-beaten-path exits are like that. Creepy. The closest building is a gas station, all lit up and waiting for me. There are no cars at the pumps and none are parked in front of the small convenience store, but the lights are blazing and the neon open sign is bright red and blue. I head that way. It takes me a minute to keep from staggering, but by the time I'm under the gas station's bright lights, I'm feeling semi-normal. Aside from the pain radiating from the top of my scalp to the tip of my toes, but being able to walk straight without listing to one side is progress, and I'll take it. My eyes stray to the gas pumps as I pass them. Something isn't right, but my adult brain can't quite put it together, so I keep walking to the store's entrance. When I pull the door open, quiet, generic music greets me. It's like pop music and classical jazz got together and formed a band. Then took a lot of volume to get into the mood. My first stop is the back cooler, where I grab a large bottle of water. Ripping off the cap, I chug half the bottle before coming up for air. Instantly, my headache eases. It doesn't go away, but it stops trying to kill me. Now, I just need to get the rest of my body in line. I peruse the aisles until I find two shelves set aside for health and medical supplies. Bandages, burn creams, hemorrhoid ointments, and painkillers. I snag a bottle of ibuprofen, break the seal, and down six of the little orange pills. Holding the bottle up, I give it a hard shake, and make sure the security cameras see it. I don't want any misunderstandings if the local police show up, which they should have done a while ago. No cops, no fire department, no ambulance. I was left at my wreck for hours, and not a single person came to check on me. What the hell is that about? "Hello? Is anybody here?" I call out as I set the empty water bottle and opened ibuprofen on the checkout counter. No reply. I call out again, but no answer. Still incredibly thirsty, I leave this stuff at the counter and head back to the cooler, grabbing two more water bottles. I drain one before I even get to the counter and set the empty next to the first. Then I crack the third one open and sip slowly as I walk the aisles, grabbing some chips, a bag of beef jerky, and a bottle of anacids because I'm not 20 anymore, and the jerky is probably going to give my old guts hell. But protein sounds really good about now, so to hell with hell. I chuckle, I call out again, still. No one shows themselves. Taring open the jerky, I munch on a piece, as I walk toward a door marked "employees only." I knock hard, and when there's no answer, I turn the knob and push the door open. All I see is a storeroom with a folding table and chairs set up in the corner. Must be the break area. I don't see a coffee maker or microwave, but I suppose the employees use the ones out in the store. Just to make sure, I walk the space once, in case someone is hiding behind the stacked boxes of chips or the cases of light beer. But when I come around each aisle, I see no one. Munching on more jerky, I leave the back room and step into the cooler. Nobody is here, either. Nobody that I can see. Back out in the store, I shiver from the cold of the cooler and head straight for the counter. I find a pad and paper, and leave a note, along with a $20 bill, explaining that I tried to pay, but no one was around. I even leave my cell phone number, in case the 20 isn't enough. It should be. But you know, convenience store prices. As I leave the store, my water and snacks and a plastic bag dangling for my arm, I walk past the gas pumps, then freeze. I realize what's strange about them. There are no prices for the different gases. All three, from regular to premium, show nothing but zeros. I laugh. Too bad my car is wrapped around that telephone pool. All right, fill it up right now. Imagine setting your makeup, then forgetting it's even theirs. Meet new grippy setting mist from Mavily, New York. Gel-to-miss technology locks in your look for up to 24 hours, with flexible all day comfy grip. No tightness, no stickiness, no residue. Just clump, dewy, hydrated skin that still feels like your skin. Try new grippy setting mist from Mavily, New York. Maybe it's Mavily. If you're into horror with a heavy dose of sci-fi, classified experiments, and things humanity was never meant to understand, check out my other podcast, the SCP Experience. Each episode pulls you into the hidden world. world of the SCP Foundation, where dangerous anomalies are studied, contained, and sometimes unleashed. These aren't just scary stories. They're classified nightmares. Click here to listen now, or search for the SCP experience wherever you get your podcasts. The wind kicks up suddenly, and I turn my head in the direction it's coming from. Directly toward that light way down the street, I squint against the wind. As the light brighter, is it closer? What the hell is it? Nervous and confused, I glance toward my car, happy to not be facing the wind or the light anymore. Now surprise, my car is still there, sitting broken, all lost, and abandoned. Where the hell are the first responders? How did no one call 911? Jesus! Am I in one of those towns where no outsiders are allowed? Which stands to take when you're just off an interstate exit? Okay, if no one is around to help, I'll call for help myself. I take out my phone and I notice the time. Midnight. Exactly. 12.00. Which is impossible. I was in that store for at least 20 minutes if not more. It should be 12.30 at least. Of course, now that I've left the store, I realize I should have peed while in there. With sudden pressure on my bladder, I stuffed my phone back into my pocket and walked toward the closest fast food restaurant. It's a burger chain that's been around a long time. The regal one, not the clown one. The smell of flame grilled beef and french fry grease hits me as I walk through the doors. Yeah, this beef jerky isn't going to cut it. I need an actual meal in my belly, where I'm going to fall right over. And I'm sort of done falling over for the day, thank you. Hello? I'll call out after standing at the counter for an eternity. Anyone here? I look past the registers and through the open window that gives me a small view of the kitchen. All the equipment is on, but nobody is back there cooking. Where are they? Having some store meeting and the walk-in could be a break room behind the kitchen that I can't see. Still, it's weird not to have one person manning the register at least. My bladder reminds me why I came in here, so I leave my bag of snacks and water in one of the empty booths and head to the men's room. Quiet, yacht rock plays above from a tinny speaker as I step to the urinal. I hum along as I take care of business. Then I hear voices talking over the yacht rock, and I finish up, zip up, wash up, and run out to the dining room. Which is empty. Hello? I call out for someone, anyone, and receive the same answer. Nothing. But I heard voices, I know I did. They sounded serious and were talking fast, like they needed to be somewhere or do something important. Jesus. Am I in some sort of prank? Is all of this being recorded on camera for some elaborate joke? I mean, in this day and age of social media and quick bite video content, it would make sense for a tiny burgl like this to try something wild and extreme to get attention. I bet the town's new PR person is a 20-something zoomer. As I sit down in the booth and pull the chips from the bag, I wish that I were eating one of those flame-grilled burgers instead of just smelling their lingering scent. Kind of a cruel prank if you ask me. But just like the thing with the gas pumps, something nauseous at me tells me I'm missing a key component to all of this. And when I reach for the ibuprofen bottle again, I realize what it is. Did these people cause my accident? Did they run me off the road and intentionally strand me just so I'd wake up all confused and wondering what was going on? I mean, if this is a joke, all just some elaborate setup, then these people are walking a fine line between pranksters and attempted murderers. I blame the 20-something zoomer. Those kids have no sense of right and wrong if you're not one of them and your fair game. Which is a stupid thought. All of these thoughts are stupid. This can't be some prank. That's ridiculous. They'd have to evacuate everyone and also block off the interstate off ramps, which would require state authorization. Yeah, there's something else going on. I finish the chips, drain my water, and refill the bottle at the drink station. I'm still thirsty and considering how badly I'm hurting, water seems like this safer bed. I call out one more time, but I know it's useless. Then I leave the fast food joint and walk out to the main road. I look left. There's the bright light, but I see no one. And that light is for sure getting closer. It's not a vehicle, though. The light's too big, and it's a single one, not too like headlights would be. I look right. The same wall of darkness is still there. It might be getting closer, too, but I can't tell. Then I hear the voices again and turn in a circle, hunting for the source. I shout for someone to show themself. No one does. I shout for help. No one comes running. The voices are there, faint, but also somehow close by. It's like they are standing right next to me, but I have cotton in my ears. Okay, this place is starting to piss me off. I don't know what their deal is, but it's not cool to do shit like this to people. So as I stare across the street at the one dark building, the bank, I have an idea. Across the street, not worried about getting hit by any car, since the street is deserted, I stop up to the bank's front door, and I just start kicking the hell out of the glass door. While I pull my phone out and dial 911, I'll report that someone is trying to break into the bank. That should bring the cops. My phone rings, and rings, and rings. Not even the automated message telling folks that all operators are busy comes on, just an endless, perpetual ringing. I walk away from the doors and grab one of the large rocks in the bank's front lot. It takes both hands to lift it, carry it, and throw it through the glass. An alarm blares, and I smile at my brilliance. Sure, ignore a stranded traveler in need. I get that. Small towns are xenophobic as hell, but I dare them to ignore a bank break-in. I freaking dare them! After what feels like forever, but is probably only 10 minutes or so, I start to realize that I'm gonna lose this dare. Not a single person shows up. No cops? No bank manager? No one. I try 911 again, and get the same lack of results. My phone still shows midnight. This is insanity. The bank's alarm continues to blare, which isn't helping my head, so I walk away as fast as my battered body will allow. The light is definitely closer, but I can't tell for sure. This is crazy. I'm exhausted, I'm confused, I'm in pain, and frankly, I'm a little scared at this point. All I want to do is lie down and sleep for a decade. So I slowly make my way back to my car. The front is a wreck, but the back seat is wide open and calling to me. Maybe I'll just lie down and rest for a bit until all this stupid crap is over. I'm not going to play their games anymore. They can find some other fool to go viral for them. I pull out the bag of jerky and munch on a strip as I stroll to my crushed car. The thing was going to be paid off next year. I should go ahead and call my insurance and get that over with. But my phone just rings and rings, of course. And the clock says that it's still midnight. I drink some water, then throw everything back in the plastic bag as I get to my car and reach for the back door's handle. Voices, alarmed and urgent echo around me. I freeze and spin, but see no one. The spinning makes me dizzy, which I should have seen coming, so I rest my back against the car and listen closely, hoping I can figure out where they are coming from. Someone says to be careful of his head. Someone else is shouting for jaws, which makes no sense. What do they need with a great white shark? I hear a third voice telling everyone to get back. Get back from where? Who has to get back? There's no one here, damn it! Only me! Just me! I'm so frustrated with all of this insanity that I slip back behind the wheel instead of getting in the back seat. I toss the bag of snacks and water onto the passenger seat, but when I glance at it, it's gone. Settling into my seat, a wave of pure exhaustion washes over me. All I want to do is sleep. All I need to do is rest my forehead against the steering wheel, hidden behind the deflated airbag. Just rest for a moment. One short moment. I'm sure it'll be all okay in the morning. My eyes slide closed. My car jostles and I snap them open. No one is there, except that the voices are louder, and someone grabs my shoulder to give me a little shake. I even hear sirens and machinery and shouting, "Wow!" These people put on a good production. They'll have to tell me how they do it, but after I sleep a bit, I just need to sleep. That's all. Just sleep. I'll ask them when I wake up. And just before I fall asleep, my eyes glance over to the dashboard. And I see the car's clock blinking 12, 12, 12, then 12/01. That feels significant, but I don't know why. Maybe the voices can tell me when I wake up in the morning, and I'm sure there will be a morning. There has to be. These people are good, but they can't make it stay midnight forever. Can they? But more, subscribe and turn on all notifications so you never miss any of our weekly uploads. Setting your makeup, then forgetting it's even theirs. Meet new groupie setting mist from Mavily New York. Gel to mist technology locks in your look for up to 24 hours, with flexible all-day comfy grip. Just plump, dewy hydrated skin that still feels like your skin. Try new groupie setting mist from Mavily New York. Maybe it's Mavily!