Nightmare Gallery: A Treasury of Twisted Terror Tales

The Last Stop

Nora had driven this route a hundred times before, the dark, winding road that cut through the forest on the way back to her tiny town. She knew every twist, every turn, every sign. She could drive it with her eyes closed.

But tonight, something felt wrong.

The radio crackled with static, her headlights barely illuminating the dense mist that seemed to swallow the road. Her phone had lost signal miles back, leaving her in a bubble of silence and isolation. It was the kind of silence that felt alive, pressing in from all sides, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 1:37 AM. She should have been home by now.

A sign appeared on the side of the road, its letters barely visible through the fog: "Last Stop: 1 Mile."

Nora didn't remember ever seeing a sign like that before. It wasn't marked on the maps, and she'd never come across anything called "Last Stop" on any of her drives. But as the mist grew thicker, the thought of a place to stop—maybe a small diner or a gas station—sounded comforting.

A minute later, she saw the glow of lights ahead, a small, dim building nestled among the trees. The fog parted just enough to reveal a flickering neon sign: "Last Stop – Open 24 Hours."

She pulled into the gravel lot and killed the engine, the silence wrapping around her once more. The building looked like an old diner, the kind that might have been bustling back in the 1950s. The paint was peeling, and the sign buzzed faintly, casting a sickly green light over the entrance.

Nora hesitated. Every instinct told her to keep driving, to push through the fog and get home. But something about the place drew her in, a strange curiosity that she couldn't shake.

She opened the door and stepped inside.

The diner was eerily quiet, and it took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim, flickering lights. A jukebox stood in the corner, its lights pulsing slowly, though no music played. The red vinyl booths looked worn, cracked, as if no one had sat in them for years.

Behind the counter stood a man, his face obscured by shadows. He looked up as she entered, his expression unreadable.

"Welcome to the Last Stop," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Can I get you something?"

Nora forced a smile, brushing off the creeping unease that settled in her stomach. "Just... coffee, please."

He nodded and turned to prepare it, moving slowly, almost methodically. As she waited, Nora glanced around, noticing the walls lined with photographs. They were all black-and-white, old and faded, each one showing people smiling in front of the diner.

She stepped closer to inspect them, her eyes narrowing as she studied the faces. Something about the expressions seemed... off. The smiles were too wide, the eyes too blank, like they were forced or frozen in place.

"Interesting photos," she said, trying to keep her voice steady as she turned back to the man behind the counter.

"They're regulars," he replied, setting a cup of coffee down in front of her. "Everyone who stops here eventually becomes one."

Nora gave a nervous laugh, but the man didn't join her. His eyes were fixed on her, unblinking, and a strange chill ran down her spine.

She took a sip of the coffee, barely tasting it as she set the cup back down. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. The air felt heavy, thick with an energy that seemed to cling to her skin.

"Thanks for the coffee," she said, sliding off the stool. "I should get going."

The man tilted his head, his gaze piercing. "Are you sure? Most people who come here find it... difficult to leave."

Nora swallowed, forcing a smile. "I'll be fine. Thanks again."

She turned and headed for the door, her heart pounding in her chest. But as she reached for the handle, she froze.

The windows were dark. The headlights of her car were gone, swallowed by the fog. She could barely make out the outline of the road beyond the diner.

She yanked the door open, stepping out into the mist, and felt a strange resistance, like pushing through something thick and invisible. She made her way to her car, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the keys.

The engine sputtered to life, and she pulled out of the lot, her tires kicking up gravel as she sped back onto the road.

But the fog didn't lift.

She drove for what felt like hours, the road stretching endlessly before her, the mist swallowing everything beyond her headlights. Her heart hammered as she glanced at the clock. It was still 1:37 AM.

The realization hit her like a punch to the gut.

She was back in front of the diner.

The neon sign buzzed faintly, casting its sickly green glow over her car. She stared, her mind reeling, as the door to the diner creaked open.

The man was standing there, his face shadowed but his eyes gleaming with an unnatural light.

"Welcome back," he called, his voice carrying over the empty lot. "I told you, everyone who stops here becomes a regular."

Nora's hands shook as she gripped the wheel, her knuckles turning white. She couldn't stay here. She couldn't.

She slammed her foot on the gas, peeling out of the lot and back onto the road. But as she drove, the fog thickened, pressing in from all sides, blurring the lines between reality and nightmare.

When she glanced at the clock again, it was still 1:37 AM.

And when the mist cleared, she was back in front of the diner.

The man was waiting for her, standing in the doorway, his face twisted into that same eerie smile.

Nora's breath hitched as she realized the truth.

She would never leave.

With a resigned breath, she stepped out of the car and walked back inside, feeling the weight of the diner settle over her like a shroud.