Speaker 1: 12 AM.fm . I'd been hauling cargo for nearly 2 decades, and I thought I had seen it all. Long, lonely roads, sketchy deliveries, and the kind of isolation that can drive a man mad, but nothing prepared me for the midnight delivery that almost cost me my soul. It was a little after 11 PM when the call came in. My usual dispatcher was out sick, so some guy named Tom was filling in.
His voice had an odd hollow quality, like he was talking from far away, or maybe like he wasn't really there at all. I've got a job for you, he said. It's urgent, high paying. You need to deliver by dawn. Can you handle that?
Sure. What's the catch? I asked because there's always a catch with these late night gigs. No catch, he said, but his voice was too smooth, too rehearsed. Just one rule.
Don't open the trailer. No matter what you hear, no matter what happens, keep it locked. Get it to the drop off by 5 AM. His words sent a shiver down my spine, but I chalked it up to the late hour. Easy money was easy money, and I'd done worse for less.
You got it, I replied though. Something in my gut told me to hang up and forget the whole thing. I picked up the trailer from a decrepit warehouse on the outskirts of town. The place was falling apart, cracked windows, rusted metal, the works. A skinny guy in a dark jacket handed me the keys.
He didn't say a word, just stared at me with sunken eyes and pointed to the trailer, his finger trembling slightly. Remember, he whispered. Don't open it. The trailer looked ordinary enough, but there was something off about it. Something I couldn't quite place.
The air around it felt colder, heavier. I shook off the unease, hitched up the trailer, and pulled onto the highway. The darkness swallowed me whole and soon it was just me, the road, and the of the engine. The first hour was uneventful. The radio stations faded in and out.
Leaving me with nothing but static and broken melodies. I turned it off, preferring the silence, but that's when the noises started. At first, it was just a faint tapping. Like something lightly knocking against the inside of the trailer. I ignored it, assuming it was the cargo shifting.
Tapping soon turned into a scratching. A harsh grating sound that set my teeth on edge. It was like nails dragging across metal, deliberate and insistent. I turned the radio back on, cranking the volume, but the noise only grew louder, more urgent. Soon, it was banging like fists pounding on the walls, trying to break free.
My pulse quickened and a cold sweat formed on my brow. Whatever was in that trailer wasn't just cargo, it was alive. My grip tightened on the wheel as I tried to push the thoughts away. Maybe it was some kind of animal, livestock maybe. But deep down, I knew it wasn't.
The noise was too rhythmic, too calculated. It was as if something was testing the walls, searching for a way out. I reached for the key to the trailer lock, my fingers trembling. I wanted to look, needed to look. But before I could act, the CB radio crackled to life.
Driver, you there? The voice was distorted, almost mechanical. It was Tom, but he sounded different. Frantic. Desperate.
Everything okay? I hesitated. Yeah, just some noise from the back. What exactly am I hauling? Silence.
Then in a low, almost pleading tone, Tom replied, you don't wanna know. Just get it to the drop off and whatever you do, do not open that trailer. The line went dead, leaving me alone with my growing fear. The banging continued more insistent now, as if whatever was inside knew I was wavering. I was trapped between my curiosity and a primal fear I hadn't felt in years.
2 hours in, the headlights appeared, distant at first then growing brighter, closer. A convoy of black SUVs, sleek and silent, like shadows on wheels. They flanked me moving in unison, their windows tinted so dark I couldn't see the drivers. My heart pounded as they closed in. Their intentions clear.
They wanted the trailer. Whatever was inside, they couldn't let it reach its destination. Panic gripped me as one SUV swerved ahead trying to cut me off. I jerked the wheel, narrowly avoiding a crash, but they stayed with me relentless. I couldn't outrun them.
My rig was too old, too slow. I knew I had no choice. I had to find out what was in that trailer. I had to know what they were so desperate to stop. I veered onto a deserted side road, skidding to a halt.
The SUVs followed, their tires screeching as they formed a barricade behind me. Men in black suits spilled out, their faces masked, their guns drawn. They didn't shout, didn't threaten. They just moved with cold precision like they'd done this a 100 times before. I scrambled out of the cab, the key to the trailer lock in my hand.
My mind screamed at me to stop, to turn back, but I couldn't. I had to know. I jammed the key into the lock, twisted it, and flung the doors open. Inside was a coffin, massive and ancient looking, secured with thick iron chains. The wood was dark, almost black, and covered in strange symbols that seemed to writhe and pulse in the dim light.
The air around it was frigid, far colder than it should have been, and I could feel a faint vibration, like something inside was barely containing its rage. Then the lid creaked, just a little at first, then more, until a pale withered hand slid out, fingers tipped with jagged claws. A low guttural growl emanated from within and the chains rattled as the lid began to rise. The CB radio crackled again, Tom's voice rising in panic. You didn't open it, did you?
Please, God, tell me you didn't open it. I couldn't answer. My breath caught in my throat as the coffin lid slid fully open, revealing a figure that should have been dead. Its skin was gray, tight against bones that jutted out like blades. Eyes sunken deep into its skull flared to life with an unnatural yellow light.
It turned its head toward me and I felt my blood run cold. The men in black raised their guns, but they were too late. The creature moved with impossible speed, leaping from the coffin in a blur. It tore through the men like paper, its claws slicing through flesh and bone with horrifying ease. The screams that followed were inhuman, filled with pain and terror.
I stumbled back, The enormity of my mistake crashing over me. The men weren't there to stop me. They were there to contain what I was unknowingly transporting. And now, I had let it loose. I sprinted to the cab, My mind blank with fear.
The creature's growls echoed in the night as it slaughtered the last of the men. I slammed the door shut, my hands shaking as I turned the ignition. The truck roared to life, but I wasn't fast enough. With a snarl, the creature landed on the trailer, its claws ripping into the metal. The truck shuddered under its weight as it crawled toward the cab.
Its eyes locked on me, filled with a hunger that defied words. The sky was lightning, just barely. The first hints of dawn were on the horizon, but it wasn't fast enough. I floored the gas, the truck groaning as it sped down the road. The creature's claws scraped against the roof, tearing through steel like it was nothing.
But as the sun began to rise, something changed. The creature's growls grew weaker, more frantic. Its claws slipped, and I heard a shriek that cut through the air like a blade. The truck shuddered as the weight lifted, and in the rear view mirror, I saw it tumble off the back, smoke rising from its skin as the first rays of sunlight touched it. I didn't stop.
I didn't dare. I drove until the sun was fully up and the darkness had finally lifted. When I finally reached the drop off, I was a wreck. My nerves shot. My mind teetering on the edge.
The man who met me was calm, almost indifferent. He took one look at me, nodded, and said, you did well. We'll handle it from here. He handed me an envelope stuffed with cash, but I knew I'd never spend it. No amount of money was worth what I'd just been through.
As I drove away, I glanced back and saw them loading the coffin into another truck. The chains reforged. The symbols redrawn. They were taking it somewhere else to someone else for another midnight delivery. But I knew one thing for sure, I would never drive at night again, and I'd pray for the poor soul who got the next call.
12 AM .fm