Lost on the Road: A Drive You Can’t Escape

 It was nearly midnight, and I was driving down an unfamiliar road, the steady hum of the engine giving me a strange sense of comfort. My GPS suddenly flickered—"Signal lost"—just as the road narrowed, swallowed by dense trees on both sides. A sharp bend appeared, and I gripped the wheel tight, my heart racing as my headlights illuminated an old, rusted sign: “Dead End.”

I tried to turn around, but the engine sputtered. This car had never failed me before. I felt a knot form in my stomach. I checked my phone—no signal. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out to inspect the car. That’s when the headlights blinked off, plunging me into complete darkness.

Then, I heard it—a faint tapping from the trunk. I froze. I knew I hadn’t put anything back there. My hands trembled as I reached for the keys, heart pounding with every click of the lock. Should I open it? What if there’s something—someone—inside?

The lid creaked as I lifted it, and all I found was a piece of paper, the words scrawled in shaky handwriting: "You can’t escape what’s already inside."

I slammed the trunk shut, my pulse racing. I turned toward the car and stopped cold—my reflection in the rearview mirror was smiling. But I wasn’t.

Suddenly, the engine roared to life on its own. I jumped into the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel as panic set in. The road ahead stretched into darkness, endless and unescapable. And somehow, I knew—I wasn’t driving anymore.