Let Me In!
1223 Words
*********Warning! This is a true story******
Andre had been trucking since the '70s. A road warrior with calloused hands, a gravel voice, and a stubborn streak a mile long. He didn’t care how old he got—he’d drive until the wheels fell off or he did.
That night, the sky was black velvet, and the air buzzed with the hum of distant semis. He circled two truck stops on the edge of nowhere, both packed to the brim. Rigs wedged in tight like sardines. No space left for an old man and his long-haul.
"Not a damn spot left," Andre grumbled, headset crackling in his ear.
“You're gonna have to find somewhere safe,” came the reply from his old partner, Mike. “Be careful, man. Ain’t safe parking in the middle of nowhere. There's safety in numbers. Ain’t many folks stupid enough to mess around near a bunch of sleeping truckers.”
Andre smirked. “I’m not stupid. Just tired.”
“You call me in the morning, you hear?”
“Will do.”
Andre clicked off the call, his eyes catching the silhouette of an old, abandoned gas station just off the road. Faded signs. Weeds cracking through asphalt. Ghost of a business long killed by the truck stops.
He reversed the rig into the lot, angling so he could see the road from the cab. A survivor’s instinct. Engine idling, he pulled off his headset and laid it on the tiny pull-out table. The fridge door clicked open. He snagged a mini Diet Coke, unwrapped the last half of a soggy sandwich, and fired up an old TV app on his phone.
Satisfied that the doors were locked and the driver’s window was cracked just enough to let the summer night breathe through, Andre settled into bed. His curtain closed. Lights off. Show humming softly in the dark. Within minutes, the rhythm of the road faded into the silence of sleep.
---
THUMP.
Something jarred the truck. Andre’s eyes flew open.
He didn’t move.
Footsteps padded alongside the driver’s side.
"Hey, man,” a voice called.
Andre stayed still. Listening.
Knock.
"Hey, man. I need a ride."
Andre sat up just enough to raise his voice. “Go on now. I’m not your ride.”
Silence.
Then the door handle jiggled.
Andre shouted, “I can protect myself! Get outta here!”
"Hey, it's cold out here," the voice pleaded. "Let me come in and rest. I promise—I just need to get to the next town."
Andre groaned, rubbed his face, and sat fully up. “I’m gonna call the police.”
"Come on, man. Help a brother out."
“You’re not getting in my truck,” Andre barked. “Go away.”
The handle rattled again. Then—SLAM! The truck rocked hard. The guy was shaking the whole damn rig.
"Let me in!" the voice screamed.
Andre had had enough. He pulled his pants on, yanked the curtain open, and glared out. A man in a hooded sweatshirt stood at the door, face obscured in the night.
"I said go away. I can't help you," Andre growled.
"I really need a ride. Let me in and I’ll leave you alone."
Andre grabbed his flashlight. Something about the way the man kept his head down set him on edge.
"You can't be out here harassing people,” Andre said. “Maybe in the morning, if you’re still here, I’ll give you a ride. But not tonight.”
"Okay. Sorry."
The figure turned and slinked toward the shadows of the abandoned station. Andre watched him vanish into the dark, then dropped back onto his bed. He kept his pants on, just in case. Curtains drawn, doors locked, he drifted off again.
---
BANG!
A thunderous crash on the cab door jolted him upright.
He ripped the curtain open—expecting a crash, a wreck, maybe another driver—but there was only the hooded man again.
He was slamming both fists on the side of the truck, hard enough to rock it side to side.
"LET ME IN!" the man screamed again and again, voice cracking, deeper now, almost... distorted.
Andre cursed under his breath and grabbed the protection he kept by his bed.
Curtains flung wide, Andre climbed into the front seat, bent down to glare through the glass. “I said get the hell away from my truck!”
The man grabbed the mirror, pulled himself up toward the window. Andre could feel the weight of him clinging to the truck.
“Let... me... in…” the voice rasped.
“I’m warning you!” Andre barked. “I’ll protect myself!”
The man chuckled.
A low, guttural sound—like it didn’t belong to him. Like it didn’t belong to any man at all.
Moonlight spilled across the cab.
The man lifted his head.
Andre recoiled.
The hood fell back, revealing a face the color of bone. Smooth, unnatural. The eyes were pits of solid black, no whites, no soul.
"LET ME IN!"
Andre’s blood iced. He scrambled into the driver’s seat, jammed the gearshift into drive.
The truck lurched forward. The thing slipped, hit the ground—and then vanished.
Andre reached the road, heart pounding. He checked the mirror.
Nothing.
Not a body. Not a figure. No trace.
He sped back toward the truck stops, shaking. He didn’t care where he parked. He just needed to be around someone. Anyone.
A spot opened near the edge of the lot. He pulled in, killed the engine. Hands clenched on the steering wheel, staring at his own pale knuckles.
It wasn’t a dream.
He locked the doors. Laid his protection on the table. Kept his pants on.
Curtains closed.
Sleep didn’t come easily. When it finally did, it brought nightmares—of a white face, hollow eyes, and a voice that echoed with unnatural hunger:
Let me in...
---
Morning came with a jolt from the alarm. Andre sat up, heart still heavy in his chest.
He couldn’t shake the image.
The truck stop was alive now. The world had resumed.
He walked inside, used the restroom, grabbed a coffee and sausage biscuit. When he climbed back into the cab, he paused before pulling out.
Out of curiosity, he looked toward the abandoned gas station in the distance.
Nothing.
No figure. No signs of a disturbance. Just an old, rotting husk.
It was like last night never happened.
---
Hours down the road, his phone rang. Mike.
Andre told him everything—every eerie detail. Mike stayed silent until the end.
Then he said, “You ain’t gonna believe this… but I was listening to a podcast the other day. Truckers calling in with strange stories. Several of 'em reported the same thing.”
“What thing?” Andre asked, uneasy.
“People... or things outside their trucks. White faces. Eyes black as midnight. Always asking the same thing.”
Andre swallowed.
“Let me in.”
---
From that day forward, Andre never parked alone again.
Not once.
He always made it to a truck stop—didn’t matter how late, how crowded. He’d rather sleep wedged between two reefers than ever spend another night alone on the road.
Because he knew now.
There was something out there.
And it wanted in.
- Writer
