It was 2:47 a.m. when Jason pulled up to the intersection — empty streets, rain on the windshield, not a soul around.
The traffic light glowed red.
He waited.
And waited.
Two minutes. Five. Ten.
Still red.
He laughed nervously, looked around, and reached for his phone — but the screen wouldn’t turn on.
Then, through the mirror, he saw headlights behind him. One car. Old. Rusted. No driver inside.
The red light flickered.
The car behind honked — a long, metallic scream. Jason hit the gas and drove straight through.
A second later, his world went white.
When he opened his eyes, he was still sitting at the intersection.
Rain. Silence.
The same red light glowing above him.
The clock read 2:47 a.m.
And in the reflection of the rear-view mirror — that same rusted car, still waiting, still empty.
oafeque
