The engine finally sputtered back to life.

I didn’t question it.

I slammed the truck into drive and hit the gas, refusing to look in the rearview mirror. The woman was gone. Or maybe she’d never been there.

The highway stretched endlessly ahead.

No headlights.
No signs.
No other cars.

Then the radio crackled.

Static.

I hadn’t turned it on.

A man’s voice pushed through the interference.

“You shouldn’t have stopped.”

I reached for the power button.

Nothing happened.

The voice continued.

“She only appears to people who leave.”

A knot formed in my stomach.

“…What?”

Static.

Then—

“Check your passenger seat.”

Every nerve in my body screamed not to.

But I looked anyway.

It was empty…

Except for a faded Polaroid.

I was certain it hadn’t been there before.

The photograph showed my truck parked beside the Mile Marker 117 sign.

The driver’s door was open.

The passenger door was open.

And standing behind the truck…

…was me.

Not a blurry shape.

Not someone who looked similar.

Me.

Except I was staring directly into the camera.

Smiling.

The date printed along the bottom made my blood run cold.

Tomorrow.

I nearly dropped the photo.

The radio hissed again.

This time the voice sounded frightened.

“If you see yourself… don’t let him get back in the truck.”

The transmission cut off.

At that exact second…

Something knocked.

Three slow taps.

From inside the truck bed.