Chapter 1: Midnight Run, No Return

Every delivery driver working in Florida knows the rule—never, ever take an order past midnight. Not if you wanna make it home, anyway. That’s just how it is. I always added, 'Or so they say.'

It’s the kind of thing people murmur at orientation, or half-joke about over a chipped mug at a Waffle House at 2 a.m.—a rule that sounds like some local legend until you notice everyone’s dead serious. No one ever laughs. The regulars get this look in their eyes, like they’re staring at something only they can see, something they don’t want to remember. Their hands grip the table just a little too tight. Even the old-timers—guys who’ve outlasted hurricanes, bar brawls, and the worst of Florida Man—get twitchy if you bring it up. There’s a sharpness in the air, like the hush before a storm. It’s just part of the job, right alongside lousy tips and flat tires.

Because *they* only come out after dark. I remember thinking, Who the hell are "they" supposed to be?

Some folks call them shadows. Others blame swamp gas, or too much moonshine. But everyone agrees: once the clock hits midnight, you keep your wheels rolling and your head down. Nobody ever spells out who "they" are, but every driver’s got a story—about a friend of a friend who disappeared on a midnight run, or came back ghost-pale and quit nights for good. It’s always someone else, but the fear’s real.

I’m not a local. That night, I took a rush order after midnight—didn’t have much of a choice, so I took a shortcut. Should’ve known better, but desperation has a way of making you stupid.

I’d only moved down from Georgia a few months back, still figuring out the hustle, still rolling my eyes at the scary stories. Bills don’t pay themselves, and my shoebox apartment wasn’t getting any cheaper. When the app dinged and flashed that fat tip, I told myself the legends were just stories—urban myths, nothing more. Easy money, right?

Halfway down the road, a wild boar the size of a minivan—had to be at least 600 pounds—planted itself smack in my path. My heart slammed into my ribs so hard I almost dropped the handlebars.

The thing looked like it’d clawed its way out of a fever dream. Its bristly hide shone greasy in my headlights, and it stood there, solid as a boulder, not a care in the world—like it owned that road. The air reeked of swamp mud and something sharp and metallic, almost like blood. For a second, I wanted to turn around and bail, but the clock was ticking. That tip was calling my name.

I snapped a photo and dropped it in the drivers’ group chat, grumbling: "Bro, what is this Florida wildlife? Wild boar boss fight at 1 a.m.—send help." Usually, the chat’s all memes and complaints about gas prices, so I figured someone would roast me or drop a boar GIF.

My hands shook a little, but I tried to play it cool. Tossed in a boar emoji, trying to make it a joke. Maybe someone would laugh, or at least tell me how to scare the beast off. Or maybe just tell me to grow a pair. Who knows?

The group chat blew up. Pings everywhere, my phone lighting up like Christmas. "Dude, look again! My family hunts boar—whatever that is, it ain’t a boar!"

Notifications poured in so fast my phone nearly vibrated off my seat. Guys I’d never seen post before started tagging me, dropping frantic warnings. It was like I’d tossed a lit match into a haystack—suddenly, everyone was wide awake. Shit was getting real.

I’m a gig driver. Was about to clock out, dreaming of sleep, when a late-night order popped up for a convenience store run. I remember thinking, Just my luck.

The app pinged, and I let out a groan. My back ached, my stomach was howling—just another night in the grind. Still, the payout looked good, and my bank account was in full-on SOS mode. I figured, what’s one more run? Famous last words, right?

Didn’t want to take it, but the customer was dangling a $100 tip. Who does that for a midnight snack?

A hundred bucks for snacks at this hour? Either someone was feeling extra generous, or they were desperate. Probably some college kid up late gaming, or an old dude who forgot dinner. I told myself it was just an easy score. I mean, come on—how do you say no to that?

Who turns down easy money? Seriously.

Not me—not with rent due in three days and my car insurance one missed payment from vanishing. I was already out, anyway. Might as well make it count. Still, I hesitated. That little voice in my head started whispering about the midnight rule, but I shoved it down.

Plus, I was starving—figured I’d grab a couple roller dogs at the store. Perks of the job, right?

The thought of a greasy roller dog and a fountain Coke almost made me forget the weird vibes. My stomach growled so loud I had to laugh, which snapped the tension for a second. I promised myself I’d get two—maybe even go wild and add chili. Why not?

The streets were totally empty. I was the only soul around, waiting outside the 7-Eleven. Not a car, not a single other driver in sight.

Not even the usual sketchy crowd or packs of teens loading up on Monster. The flicker of those fluorescent lights overhead felt extra harsh, and the silence pressed in from every direction. The kind of quiet that makes you glance over your shoulder—twice.

Just as I grabbed the order and started to head out, I heard something behind me. Faint, muttering. Like someone mumbling a prayer, all raspy and low. It made my skin crawl.

That sound—the kind that sends goosebumps up your arms, makes you freeze mid-step. I stopped cold, hand still on the counter, heart pounding so hard I could hear it. Suddenly, the hum of the fridges and the buzz of the lights faded into the background. Everything felt far away. Too far.

I spun around on reflex and locked eyes with the woman at the counter—the clerk. Her stare was as black as a thunderhead rolling in over the Gulf.

Her eyes were deep, bottomless, and icy, like staring down into a sinkhole that goes on forever. For a split second, I wondered if she was even breathing. She didn’t blink. Just being in her gaze made the air feel heavier, like trying to breathe underwater.

She stood behind the counter, hair falling loose and messy, half her face hidden, her mouth twisted in a smile that looked all wrong—too wide, too stiff, like she was hiding a secret joke only she got.

The way her lips curled up—it wasn’t friendly. It was stretched too far, too tight, like she was on the verge of laughing at some private punchline. Her name tag read "Jolene," but right then, she could’ve been anyone. Or anything. I felt a chill slide down my back.

The AC was cranked up way too high, blasting cold air across the tile. A shiver ran through me. I happened to glance up and spotted a silver cross taped above the doorframe.

But it wasn’t just any cross—it looked hand-carved, maybe whittled from driftwood, the tape yellowed and curling at the corners. I wondered if Jolene put it there herself, or if it was a leftover talisman from some other clerk who knew what these nights could bring. Was this just a Florida thing, or something more?

Goosebumps crawled up my arms. As I jammed my key into my scooter, I couldn’t shake the prickling feeling—like someone was watching me from the shadows, just out of sight. Was it Jolene? Or something else?

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Every shadow seemed to stretch too long, every reflection in the glass a beat behind. I told myself I was just being jumpy, but that didn’t help. Not one bit.

I risked a look back—the clerk was now pressed right up against the window.

Her face was so close her breath fogged the glass, leaving a streak that slid down. Her eyes never left mine. She looked like a mannequin in a store window, locked in some unnatural pose. My stomach twisted.

Her whole palm and face were mashed against the glass, just like something out of a midnight horror flick. Like those old-school movies you only watch with the lights on. I half-expected the glass to crack.

It reminded me of those old VHS tapes my uncle used to dig out—creepy flicks where the monster always watched from the window, silent and patient. Except this time, the monster was real. And it was staring straight at me. My mouth went dry.

Her lips moved, whispering something again and again. It sounded like: "Evan, don’t go…" My blood ran cold.

The way she said my name—slow, drawn out, almost begging—sent shivers crawling up my spine. I hadn’t told her my name. I was sure of it. My hands started to tremble, sweat slick on my palms.

I picked up the pace, heart pounding. I needed out, now.

Didn’t even bother to look back again. My brain was screaming at me—Get out! Get out!—and all I could hear was my heart thumping in my ears. I just wanted to be anywhere but there.

What the hell, did I just run into a psycho? Or something worse? My nerves were shot.

I tried to laugh it off, but my voice cracked in my throat. Maybe she was just bored, screwing with me on the late shift. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was seriously, seriously off. Like the world had tilted sideways.

This was my first time on this road, first time ever at this convenience store. Everything felt unfamiliar—too quiet, too dark.

I’d driven all over the county, but somehow, I’d never landed a drop-off in this corner before. The buildings sagged under decades of weather, wood swollen and paint flaking. The streetlights flickered, throwing shadows that seemed to crawl up the walls. My gut clenched.

This area’s an old trailer park. I’ve delivered to plenty—usually, even at midnight, there are folks out grilling, drinking beer, shooting the breeze. Not tonight.

Normally, people wave at strangers, music floats out of open windows, laughter drifts across the lot. But tonight, nothing. No porch lights, no TV glow, not even a dog barking. Just dead silence.

But tonight, not a soul in sight. Not one. I felt like I’d stepped into a photograph, frozen in time.

It was like the whole park was holding its breath. Even the crickets had shut up. I felt like an intruder, like I’d wandered into a place I had no business being. Should’ve trusted my gut.

At a fork in the road, my GPS kept blinking, urging me to take the side path. The main road was right there, but the shortcut kept calling.

The map flashed, the little blue line pulsing like a heartbeat. I hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen, but the app kept rerouting, pushing me toward the shortcut. My pulse thudded in my fingertips. Bad sign.

I glanced at the lane to my right—pitch black, so dark it looked like it swallowed the world. Couldn’t see the end, couldn’t see anything past the first few feet.

The darkness was thick, almost solid, eating up the weak glow from my headlight. The road sign was crooked, tangled in Spanish moss. I thought about bailing, but the app’s timer was ticking down, numbers flashing red.

The main road had lights, but I was about to go overtime. According to the GPS, the main road would take forever—I’d definitely be late. My luck, right?

Late meant a crap rating, maybe losing that $100 tip. I weighed my options, my stomach twisted in knots. The shortcut was risky, but so was blowing my gig. Damn.

No choice. I flicked on my headlight, sucked in a breath, and dove into the side lane. My nerves were shot.

The beam cut through the dark, but just barely. Every pothole rattled my bones. I gripped the handlebars so tight my fingers went numb. Just keep moving, I told myself.

The light caught a street sign: "Redwater Road." That name hit me like a slap. I froze for half a second.

The letters were faded, but there was no mistaking it. Something about "Redwater Road" made my skin crawl. I’d heard that name before—somewhere. But where?

Redwater Road… Why did that sound familiar? My stomach dropped. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d heard it in a warning.

A memory hovered, just out of reach. I slowed down, eyes darting through the shadows. My gut screamed at me to turn around, but the clock kept ticking. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Before I knew it, I slammed on the brakes, panic flaring.

My scooter skidded, tires screeching. My heart lurched up into my throat. Right there, dead center in the road, was something I’d never seen before—and never wanted to see again. Ever.

Something huge and fleshy blocked my way. At first, all I saw was a pinkish blob with hands and feet. Its eyes glowed like blood-red marbles in the dark. My skin crawled.

It didn’t move like an animal. It just stood there, staring me down, breath steaming in the night air. My headlights glinted off metal—earrings? My brain scrambled, trying to make sense of it. Nothing made sense.

My head went fuzzy. The air felt like it dropped twenty degrees. Goosebumps crawled up my legs, and I shivered hard.

I shook so bad my teeth clacked. The air pressed down, thick and suffocating. Every instinct screamed, Run! But my body was frozen, stuck in place.

Suddenly, I remembered where I’d heard about Redwater Road. My heart stuttered.

Back at orientation, someone had whispered about it—always in a hush, eyes darting around. Something about old curses, people going missing. I’d laughed it off. Idiot.

Not long after I started, I joined the local drivers’ group. The old-timers laid down the unwritten rule: never take orders after midnight, especially near Redwater Road. I’d shrugged it off. Rookie mistake.

They’d swap stories, half-laughing, half-freaked. Some swore they’d seen shadows with eyes, voices in the dark. I’d figured they were just hazing the new guy. Now I wasn’t so sure.

They all seemed scared of something. Real fear, not just talk.

Not the usual kind, either. The kind that gets under your skin, makes you check the locks twice before bed. I should’ve listened. Too late now.

I’m a skeptic. Didn’t buy into it back then. I feel dumb for that now.

I’d always prided myself on being logical, practical. Ghost stories were for campfires and bored kids. But out here, on Redwater Road, logic was a joke. I felt like a fool.

But now, the air felt twisted, heavy with something I couldn’t name. My skin prickled.

The silence was thick, broken only by my ragged breathing. The creature didn’t move, didn’t blink. It just stared, daring me to do something. Anything.

I swallowed hard. Was that the clerk’s voice behind me again? My skin crawled.

Her words echoed, tangling up my thoughts. I glanced over my shoulder, half expecting to see her standing there, hair covering her face. My heart skipped a beat.

"Evan… don’t go!" Her voice rang in my ears. I shivered.

The voice was softer now, almost lost under my racing heartbeat. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it out. Didn’t work.

Was she warning me…? Or something else?

A cold sweat popped out on my forehead. Maybe she wasn’t crazy. Maybe she knew something I didn’t. That thought scared me more than anything.

Just in case, I shot a video and sent it to the group chat. Didn’t want to scare anyone, so I tried to play it cool:

"Yo, Florida wildlife boss level unlocked. What the hell is this?" I tried to sound like I was joking, but my voice was shaking. Figured someone would meme it, or tell me to run.

I tried to sound chill, but my hands shook. The camera caught the thing’s outline, those red eyes. I hoped someone would crack a joke, tell me it was just a trick of the light. Anything.

But less than a minute later, someone tagged me—hard:

"HEY! Look again, dude. My family hunts boar. That’s NOT a boar!"

The reply came in all caps, urgent as hell. Suddenly, everyone piled on. The chat filled with warnings, panicked advice. My phone buzzed nonstop. I felt sick.

ChaseTheStorm: "Why didn’t you listen? You think being a college kid makes you invincible?" The words hit like a slap.

His words stung. I’d always thought I was too smart for local legends. Now, I wasn’t so sure. Maybe I was the idiot after all.

BigTex: "Listen, my grandma used to live out there—everyone’s from the same old families. You know how it is—lots of weird stuff happens." My skin crawled.

The way he said it, so matter-of-fact, made my stomach twist. I pictured dusty porches, rocking chairs, secrets whispered in the sticky night air. It felt too real.

Their panic freaked me out. Who knew so many people were up at this hour? Felt like I was being watched.

It was like the whole county was holding its breath, waiting to see what happened to me. I wanted to turn off my phone, pretend none of this was real. But I couldn’t.

"If it’s not a boar, then what the hell is it?" I typed, hands shaking. I needed a normal answer. Please let it be a prank, or just some mutant raccoon.

I typed with trembling fingers, hoping someone would say it was just a weird gator, or a trick of the light. Anything but what I was starting to believe.

ChaseTheStorm: "We don’t say its name. Bottom line: anything not human comes out at night. Kid, you better run!" The words made my stomach drop.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. We don’t say its name? What kind of place was this, anyway? My skin prickled.

BigTex: "Doesn’t matter if you run—it holds grudges. Once it’s got your scent, you’re stuck. If you make it out, I’ll introduce you to someone who knows what to do." That didn’t help. Not one bit.

The promise of help made it worse. I realized just how alone I was out here. My hands shook harder.

The more I read, the worse I felt. Then the thing blocking my way started making noises. Weird, garbled noises.

It sounded like someone gargling marbles, the sound bouncing off the trees. My stomach twisted up, and I fought the urge to puke. This was not normal.

Didn’t sound like a boar. More like a person trying to talk, voice all wrong. My skin crawled.

The voice was guttural, broken, like it hadn’t used words in years. The fear shot through me like lightning.

"Liver… liver…" The word oozed out, sticky and cold. I froze, breath caught in my throat. My brain screamed, Move!

I forced myself to look closer—and almost lost it. My head spun.

My vision blurred, but I couldn’t look away. Every detail seared into my mind, like a brand.

Calling it a boar felt wrong, but calling it a person felt even worse. My thoughts scrambled.

It was wrong. All wrong. Like someone tried to build a human out of leftover animal parts and gave up halfway through. Nausea churned in my gut.

It was a boar with human hands and feet, draped in a red shawl, wearing women’s jewelry—even earrings dangling from its ears. My stomach flipped.

The shawl was bright, almost glowing in the dark. The jewelry clinked as it shifted, bracelets and rings catching the light. It looked like something you’d see at a church potluck, not on a monster. My mind reeled.

Its blood-red eyes locked on mine, and its snout twisted into a grin, chewing on something with a nasty crunch. I wanted to run, scream—anything.

The sound echoed, wet and sharp, through the night. I caught a glimpse of something pale and round between its teeth—didn’t want to know what it was. Nope.

My first thought? I’ve played way too many horror games—this had to be a hallucination. Had to be.

I tried to laugh, but the sound got stuck in my throat. No game ever felt this real, this cold. This was different. This was real.

But no matter how I looked at it, it was really there. Right in front of me. No escape.

The smell, the sound, the way its eyes followed me—too vivid. I pinched my arm, hard. The pain was sharp, immediate. I was awake. No dream.

I stumbled back, heart in my throat, and jumped on my scooter. My mind screamed, Go!

My hands fumbled with the keys, sweat slicking my grip. My chest felt like it was caving in. Couldn’t breathe.

Tried to start it—nothing. Looked up, and the boar-thing was standing upright. My blood froze.

Its spine cracked, bones shifting under the skin. It towered over me, taller than any person I’d ever seen. Its grin stretched wider, lips splitting to reveal yellowed teeth. Nightmare fuel.

It lunged, body twisted, face monstrous, charging at me with impossible speed. My heart almost stopped.

I screamed—raw, animal terror. The scooter engine coughed to life just as the thing closed in. Adrenaline kicked in, pure survival mode.

It was straight out of a nightmare. My legs felt like concrete, my mind blank, just watching it get closer and closer. That freaky clucking laughter echoed from its mouth…

The sound was all wrong, like someone trying to do a chicken and a hyena at once. It bounced around in my skull, threatening to break something loose.

Mom, help! The thought came out of nowhere, sharp and desperate.

For a split second, I thought of home—my mom’s kitchen, her hugs. I wanted to cry. But there was no time for that now. Survival, that’s it.

In my panic, the scooter finally started. I didn’t think, just gunned it and tore out of there, heart pounding.

The tires spun, gravel flying everywhere. I didn’t look back. The only thing that mattered was getting away—putting as much distance as I could between me and that thing. Move, move, move.

Finally, I burst out onto the main road. When I looked back, there was nothing—no boar, just an empty, pitch-black alley. Like it’d never been there.

The silence was deafening. I waited, listening for footsteps, searching for red eyes. Nothing. My heart hammered, adrenaline flooding my veins. Still not safe.

I gasped for air, pinched my face hard—ouch. That hurt. Good. I was alive.

The pain grounded me, brought me back. I was still here, still in one piece. I tried to slow my breathing, counting to ten, but my hands shook.

Was it all a hallucination? My mind raced.

I wanted to believe it was, but the chill clinging to my bones said otherwise. My shirt stuck to my skin, soaked in sweat. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I felt like a ghost.

It felt like waking up from a nightmare, still half-lost—until my phone started ringing, shrill and urgent, yanking me back to reality. I jumped.

The ringtone was loud, jarring—cutting through the silence like a blade. I fumbled for my phone, fingers clumsy with fear. Please let it be normal.

"You ate my delivery? Damn it, you’re half an hour late! Want me to come get it myself?" The voice was sharp, angry, blasting from the speaker. I almost laughed. Monsters chasing me, and this guy’s mad about snacks. Unreal.

That’s when I saw a flood of angry messages from the customer on the app—threatening to report me, get me fired if I didn’t deliver in ten minutes. Like I needed more stress.

The notifications stacked up, one after another. I couldn’t keep up. My rating was tanking, dropping with every ping. Great.

The drivers’ group was blowing up too:

"You’re in real danger now. You think it only turns into a boar? Let me warn you: from now on, don’t trust anyone or anything—human or animal!" I read it twice. My stomach dropped.

The warnings felt different now—less like superstition, more like a lifeline. I wanted to believe it was just a nightmare, but the fear in their words was real. Too real.

I was spooked, but I figured I was almost done. I was back on the main road—should be fine, right? Right?

I tried to convince myself streetlights and traffic would keep the monsters away. Kept one hand tight on the throttle, ready to gun it if anything twitched.

There was a security booth with a guard, and a police station just a few blocks up. I clung to that.

The thought of cops, of anyone else awake, gave me a little hope. Maybe I could finish this delivery and finally go home. Maybe.