This is a story about an ordinary day coming home from work.

I live out in the countryside and commute by personal car, driving along a mountain road every day. Unlike in the city, the streetlights here are spaced hundreds of yards apart. For the most part, it's just a strip of asphalt enveloped in the pitch-black night of the forest.

On this particular evening, though, I'd been driving for a bit after leaving the office when a sudden torrential downpour hit. Huge raindrops poured over my windshield, ruining my visibility and making driving pretty tough. Watching the rhythmic movement of the wipers, I silently focused all my tension on the gas pedal.

Then, up ahead, I caught sight of tail lights. Realizing there was a car in front of me, I eased off the gas a bit. I maintained a safe following distance and followed its lead down the road.

After a while, we came to a tunnel. Suspecting nothing out of the ordinary, I followed the car inside, but then...

(Wait... was there a tunnel on this road?)

A sudden surge of anxiety crept over me as I looked around the tunnel's interior.

Orange lamps were installed at regular intervals, but every single one of them was a dreadfully dim light on the verge of dying out. Driving through that space made me feel even more uneasy.

Still, having that car ahead of me eased my anxiety a bit, and I figured I'd just push through until I reached the other side.

Yet no matter how far I drove, I felt a growing sense of wrongness as we failed to reach the exit. The tunnel was a straight shot, so if I squinted at the road ahead, I should have naturally seen the light at the end. That was my logic, anyway, but no matter how hard I stared, I couldn't see anything resembling an exit.

(Well, it is nighttime... maybe you just can't see it?)

I convinced myself that since it was so late and pitch-black outside, the exit's light simply wasn't visible to the naked eye.

As I drove through the tunnel with that strange, nagging feeling, I suddenly noticed some movement in the rear window of the car ahead. Unable to help myself despite being behind the wheel, I stared intently at their rear glass.

Looking forward past the view of my wipers clearing away raindrops, I saw a silhouette pressed against the car's back window, as if someone were clinging tightly to it.

Unfortunately, because the tunnel lighting was so dim, I couldn't make out the fine details of the silhouette. Still, the light from the overhead lamps occasionally washed over it, allowing me to catch its outline with my own eyes.

(Ugh, that's creeping me out.)

That silhouette was likely facing opposite the direction of traffic—in other words, it was staring right at me in the trailing car. I couldn't shake that bizarre intuition, and a terrible feeling settled in my stomach.

Still, it was so dark that neither of us could actually make out each other's faces. Besides, once we got out of the tunnel, it would be even darker, so I realized it was a waste of energy to worry about it and kept driving.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

Then, cutting through the sound of the rain, I heard a loud, violent banging, like someone beating laundry.

The noise continued for a while. I strained my ears to figure out where it was coming from, but it sounded like it was coming from all over the car frame, making it impossible to pinpoint the source.

As I tried to locate the sound, I suddenly realized the car ahead had come to a complete stop. I slammed on my brakes, the tires letting out a shrill SCREEEEEECH. It wasn't hard enough to skid, but it jolted my body forward slightly.

I snapped my head up, glaring ahead with a burst of anger—What are you stopping so suddenly for?! That's dangerous!—but I regretted it instantly.

Looking ahead, I naturally saw the rear window of the car in front of me. Clinging to the glass was a naked, human-like figure about the height of a middle schooler, its mouth stretched open so wide it consumed its entire face.

It was a grotesque, uncanny sight—most of its head was nothing but a gaping maw. As I stared in stunned disbelief, questioning if it was even human, THUMP! THUMP! It began slamming itself against the rear window.

Just as it clicked that this thing was responsible for that noise earlier, THUMP! THUMP! The same sound echoed from my own car, and the force of the impact shook the entire vehicle.

"AAAAAHHH! AAAAAHHH! AAAAAHHH!"

A high-pitched screech—like the roar of a wild ape—pierced the air. Taking that as a signal...

"AAAAAHHH! AAAAAHHH! AAAAAHHH!" "AAAAAHHH! AAAAAHHH! AAAAAHHH!" "AAAAAHHH! AAAAAHHH! AAAAAHHH!"

...mysterious roars echoed from every direction, surrounding my car.

Unable to comprehend what was happening, I looked around in a panicked daze. The moment I turned toward the driver's side window, a creature identical to the one on the other car's rear glass leaned down from my roof and pressed itself against the window, showing off the inside of its impossibly wide, gaping mouth as it screamed.

"AAAAAHHH! AAAAAHHH! AAAAAHHH!"

The only thing separating that creature from me was a thin sheet of window glass less than an inch thick. Staring point-blank into the gaping maw that consumed its entire head, I lost it.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

I screamed at the top of my lungs, wrapping my arms around my head and crouching down low in the car.

If this was a dream, I wanted to wake up immediately. I chose to stay as still as possible, offer no reaction, close my eyes, cover my ears, and wait for them to leave.

THUMP-THUMP-THUMP! THUMP-THUMP-THUMP! "AAAAAHHH! AAAAAHHH! AAAAAHHH! AAAAAHHH! AAAAAHHH! AAAAAHHH!"

(Go away, go away, go away!)

The violent banging against my car and the overlapping, ape-like screeches felt like they were trying to crush my spirit.

Helpless, all I could do was chant a desperate prayer under my breath, wishing over and over for them to vanish.

I don't know how much time passed, but as my consciousness began to fade, I suddenly realized the noise had stopped. Lifting my head, I saw only an open, quiet mountain road. The presence of those creatures had completely vanished.

Not only that, but the car ahead was gone, too, and the heavy downpour had completely stopped.

I looked all around from inside the car, but seeing that there really was no one there, I felt a strange urge to get out and check my surroundings again.

And when I looked back, I froze in stunned silence.

The tunnel I was supposed to have just driven through wasn't there.

Come to think of it, while I was driving through that tunnel, the rain and the sound of the downpour had still been intense, and my wipers had been clearing away water. Thinking back now, that makes absolutely no sense.

Clutching my head in total confusion, my eyes happened to land on the driver's side window. There, amid the faint traces of dried raindrops, was a handprint with fingers slightly longer than a human's. It was the exact spot where that creature had held on while peering inside.

Climbing back into the car, I booted up the GPS to pinpoint my location. Sure enough, it confirmed I was on the mountain road I always took. Then, as if to signal my return to reality, another car sped past mine.

However, now that I was back in the real world and somewhat calmer, my mind was consumed by the vanishing tunnel and those bizarre creatures.

No—maybe what bugged me even more was the car I had been following.

Without any answers, I drove the rest of the way home. Nothing strange has happened since, and my life has been peaceful, so I've decided not to dig any deeper.

Looking back now, following that car in front of me might have been my big mistake. I'm certain that car lured me into that terrifying nightmare.

Ever since that night, whenever it rains, I find myself deeply wary of any car driving ahead of me. Everyone, please be careful when driving at night.