High Beams – The Lights Revealed the Killer in the Backseat
Once I left the main road, I had twenty minutes of dark highway before reaching home.
Streetlights were sparse.
By day, it was nothing.
At night, the rearview mirror kept pulling my eyes.
The truck appeared after I passed a gas station.
A black pickup.
At first, it followed at a distance.
Then suddenly, its high beams flashed.
WHAM.
The mirror went white.
I tilted it down, squinting.
“What the hell…”
I sped up.
The truck sped up too.
I changed lanes.
It changed lanes too.
At first, I thought it was harassment.
Men scaring lone drivers at night.
I’d read those stories.
Stopping seemed dangerous.
The truck kept flashing its lights.
WHAM.
Seconds later—WHAM.
If I slowed, it slowed.
If I sped up, it followed.
Not just scaring me—forcing me to look in the mirror.
Then I heard it.
From the backseat.
Sssk.
Leather shifting.
I froze.
Glanced in the mirror.
The truck’s beams washed out the backseat in glare.
Nothing visible.
I looked forward again.
“Imagination,” I muttered.
The truck flashed again.
This time, honked.
BEEP.
My hands slipped on the wheel.
I tried to dial the police, but my fingers shook too much.
Another sound.
Closer.
Right behind the driver’s seat.
Leather pressing, then releasing.
I held my breath.
The truck flashed