truckers welcome

all right everybody, here's the plan: we stay home and panic
Alice Isn't Dead Theory

So all we know at this point is that the Driver is chasing her not-dead wife Alice. Who seems to have disappeared without a trace. Why does this story seem familiar? Because it mirrors almost exactly A Story About You from Night Vale. Think about it: in ASAY, Cecil says you up and leave your fiancée without saying a word and go to live in Night Vale, and a significant amount of time seems to pass. After a long time, your wife mysteriously manages to find you after being involved with the a vague organization and the Night Vale Police. It’s never mentioned how she found you or how she got to Night Vale, and being a trucker seems a pretty legit way to arrive, and explains why she’s traveling to begin with. What I’m saying is, what if you are Alice and we’re only just now finding out what your wife’s side of the story is, because we already know yours?

sitting in cars for hours is the worst part of the holidays especially in the south it’s like all you have to look at is pine trees pine trees pine trees fence cows cows fence jesus is life abortion is sin we have strippers truckers welcome adult dvds buy one get one peaches pecans peaches peaches peaches peanuts BOILED peanuts jesus jesus vidalia onions big box sex shop $tripper$ with the dollar signs instead of the s your ad could be here advertise now pine trees fence pine tre

Creepypasta #559: They Beckon

Story length: Super long

The 18-wheeler rolled through the midnight terrain at a constant speed of 75 miles per hour. The trucker hadn’t given his name. The hitch-hiker with his mop of tangled blond hair, his ragged camouflage backpack, and his unchecked wanderlust wouldn’t have remembered it anyway.

It was a lonely stretch of interstate somewhere on the map between one coast and the other. It didn’t matter if it was Minnesota or Texas, Florida or Idaho, it all looked the same in the dark. The stars were a scattering of illuminated pin pricks on a blanket of impenetrable cosmic blackness. The vegetation along the road looked like an undulating mass of living shadows.

“Thanks again,” said the hitch-hiker.

The trucker nodded. “You’re welcome again. Glad to have some company.”

“I bet this job can get boring sometimes, huh?”

The trucker shrugged. “You get used to it.”

Then the engine whined and the wheels sputtered. The cab vibrated and the trucker whispered an irritated curse.

“I’m not a mechanic, but that doesn’t sound good,” said the hitch-hiker. He straightened up and scanned the highway for other vehicles. They were alone.

The trucker grimaced, clutching the gear shift and fighting back against the massive grunting engine. The semi decelerated. “Well, we might be walking if I can’t figure this out.”

The trucker pulled onto the shoulder then switched on the hazard lights as the semi eventually rolled to a stop.

“Well, the truck stop is only about five miles back,” stated the hitch-hiker.

“Listen to me,” said the trucker.

The hitch-hiker studied the trucker’s face. He saw large blood-shot eyes and quivering lips. A maddening fear had rushed up from somewhere deep within the trucker’s soul and the hitch-hiker suddenly wished he had declined the invitation for a lift at that truck stop isolated by miles of lonely highway.

The trucker took a deep breath before saying, “If you see people outside ignore them. They’ll try to get you to come with them. I’ve seen this before on isolated patches of road late at night. I can get the truck going again if you give me time.”

“Is this a joke?” asked the hitch-hiker. “Because if it is it’s not funny.”

The trucker shook his head. “Their eye’s beckon. Do you know what that means? Beckon. To summon, to invite. They’ll want to take you away.”

“Man, this is some weird stuff,” said the hitch-hiker. He went for the door, but the trucker reached out his hand to stop him.

The hitch-hiker recoiled from the trucker’s grasp as if assailed by something cold and unnatural.

“Look! They’re here,” said the trucker.

The hitch-hiker looked into the night. A figure appeared. Then another and another. In the glow of the headlights he saw a mob of somber faced travelers who seemed to stare back at the hitch-hiker as if astonished by his very existence. Men and women, young and old, casually swarmed the shoulder of the highway. And they did beckon.

One of them, a man in his 30s wearing dirty clothes, held a small suitcase in one hand and with other waved for the hitch-hiker to join their ghastly horde. Then the others waved and nodded and called out in silent cries for the hitch-hiker.

The sound of the ignition kicking up shattered the silent spectacle. The trucker turned the key, but it wouldn’t turn over. Instead the engine sputtered and whined. The trucker cursed under his breath.

“Who the hell are these people?” asked the hitch-hiker.

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