The man behind the counter stopped counting change the second he heard where they were headed.
His fingers froze mid-air, and a single coin slipped and rolled across the counter toward Rishi.
That was the moment the night started to feel wrong.
Rishi and his cousin Meera were on their way back from a school tournament, riding in a small rented car that smelled faintly of old seat covers and diesel. The highway outside Pune was empty except for the glow of trucks far ahead. Their coach had gone ahead with the team bus, leaving the two teens to return with Meera’s older brother, Arjun, who insisted he knew the route.
But the GPS had sent them onto a lonely side road winding through fields and small hills. The sky had turned cloudy, then darker than expected.
When the fuel light blinked on, they pulled into the nearest gas station—a tiny place with a single pump and a faded sign that flickered like a tired candle.
Inside, the air felt still. A radio played a slow, sad song. The attendant was the only person there: a thin, middle-aged man with a tired face and sharp eyes.
Arjun asked, “Is this road the fastest way to Chandrapur?”
Everything went quiet.
That was when the attendant asked them not to continue.
“You shouldn’t take this road,” he said in a low voice. “Not tonight.”
His eyes locked onto Arjun, then flicked to Rishi and Meera as if checking whether they understood him.
“This area… strange things happen here after dark.”
Arjun laughed it off. “Strange things? Like what?”
But the man didn’t smile. He leaned forward a little.
“You’ll see lights where there are no houses. You’ll hear people when the road is empty. And if you stop, even for a minute, the night becomes… different.”
Rishi felt a chill run down his neck.
Meera whispered, “We can take the longer road back. It’s fine.”
But Arjun shook his head. “It’s late. We just need to get home. GPS says one hour.”
At that, the attendant’s expression tightened.
“GPS doesn’t work right on this road,” he said.
Then he lowered his voice even more.
“If you see another car behind you—don’t let it pass.”
Rishi’s mouth went dry. “Why?”
The man didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped back.
“I’ve warned you,” he said softly. “The rest is yours.”
They drove off in uneasy silence. The station’s single lamp faded behind them until it was just a glow in the dark.
Rain began to fall.
Not heavy, just soft, cold drops tapping at the windshield like fingers. The wipers moved back and forth in a slow, tired rhythm.
Arjun tried to lighten the mood. “Come on, guys. He was just being dramatic.”
But the road ahead didn’t help. It cut through tall grass and empty fields. No houses. No shops. No people. Only scattered trees that looked like bent silhouettes.
Every few minutes, the GPS recalculated, its soft voice confused.
“Re-routing…
Re-routing…”
Then it would fall silent again.
Rishi kept glancing at the side mirrors. Darkness pressed in on both sides of the car. Meera hugged her backpack, eyes fixed on the blur of road.
“Did you see that?” she asked suddenly.
Rishi leaned forward. “See what?”
“A light. In the field.”
Arjun frowned and kept driving. “Probably a tractor.”
But Rishi had seen it too—just a faint yellow glow far off the road, like a lantern bobbing along in the night. It flickered once, then vanished.
A few minutes later, another appeared on the opposite side.
Then another behind them.
Soft, warm glows where nothing should be.
Arjun muttered, “Probably reflections.”
But the lights weren’t reflected. They drifted slowly, like they were following.
Then they heard it.
A voice. Faint. Far behind.
A single word carried over the wind.
“Stop.”
Meera’s fingers tightened around her backpack. “Tell me that was the radio.”
Arjun didn’t answer. The radio was off.
Rishi swallowed hard. “Just keep going. Don’t slow down.”
They drove faster.
The road twisted through a patch of thick trees. The headlights carved shapes in the branches—dark, bending figures that leaned as if watching the car pass.
The GPS spoke again, voice crackling:
“Turn… left…”
There was no left turn.
Just a pond beside the trees.
Arjun turned it off.
Then Meera whispered, “There’s a car behind us.”
Rishi shot a look in the rearview mirror.
She was right.
A pair of headlights had appeared out of nowhere on the empty road. They glowed too bright, too white, cutting through the rain like needles.
Arjun exhaled shakily. “Finally. A real car.”
But Rishi felt something was off. The car behind them didn’t bounce with the potholes. It didn’t sway on turns. Its beams stayed perfectly steady.
Too steady.
Meera whispered, “It’s getting closer.”
The headlights crept toward them, growing larger.
Arjun hit the accelerator, but the road was slick. The tires skidded slightly before catching grip again.
The car behind didn’t struggle. It glided smoothly, as if it floated above the road.
Rishi felt his chest tighten. “Don’t let it pass.”
Arjun nodded, jaw clenched. “I… I know.”
The headlights brightened until they lit the entire interior of their car. White light washed over them, sharp and cold.
Then—
They blinked off.
Not dimmed.
Just off.
The car behind them vanished.
The road was empty once more.
No sounds except the rain.
No lights anywhere.
Just darkness stretching out in every direction.
Arjun slowed a little, breathing hard. “Did we imagine that?”
Rishi shook his head. “Keep going.”
They drove for twenty more minutes without speaking. The road finally connected back to the main highway, lined with trucks and buses and the distant lights of real towns.
The moment they reached it, the rain stopped.
The GPS updated normally.
The world felt solid again.
None of them said a word until they reached home.
The next morning, curiosity pulled Rishi back online. He searched the area where they had driven.
He zoomed in on map after map.
The road was there—but the gas station wasn’t.
Only an empty stretch of land, marked with nothing.
He tried satellite view.
A dark field.
No building. No roof. No sign of anyone working there.
When he told the others, Arjun turned pale.
Meera whispered, “Then… who warned us?”
Rishi didn’t know.
But later that evening, when he checked the car one more time, he found something tucked into the side pocket of his seat.
A single coin.
The same kind that had rolled across the counter the moment the man looked afraid.
It was still warm, as if it had just been placed there.
Rishi set it down on his palm.
The metal was slightly bent—like someone had pressed it too hard while holding on.
And he realized they had left just in time.
Because someone had helped them.
Someone who wasn’t supposed to exist.
The coin slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a soft metallic ring.
Just once.
Then silence.
A silence that felt like someone, somewhere, had finally stopped watching.
