The Woman of the Lake

[00:00:00] Nights are being spent driving around in dark roads on a taxi until a sudden encounter brings things out of the darkness. My name is Edwin, and here's a scary story. I've been driving nights for, god, it must have been 12 years. You lose count after a while. Most people can't handle the shift.

[00:00:26] They say it's too quiet, too dark, too much time to think. But for some of us, it's the only time the world makes any sense. Fewer people, less noise, no traffic, just the hum of the engine, the rhythm of tires on asphalt, the occasional drunk trying to haggle over a $10 fare. Sal and I started around the same time, though he's got a few years on me. Used to be a mechanic, then ran some bar that burned down.

[00:00:56] We never liked talking about that part. Anyway, we both ended up in cabs, and night after night, it was just the two of us, checking in over the radios. Nothing formal, just, you out tonight, or catch anything interesting. Like two truckers sharing the road. Only our road never really went anywhere. Sal was sharp in his own way. Crusty, sure, but funny.

[00:01:22] The kind of guy who could make you laugh without trying, usually insulting your mother or questioning your life choices. We never saw each other much in person. Sometimes at a diner or at the taxi stops when he wanted a break. But mostly, they were just voices through static. But after a while, you get to know someone better that way. More than face to face. You hear it when their voice tightens. When something's off.

[00:01:48] That night, it was early October. I remember that much. The air was bringing along that feeling of stinging in the nose. Not cold enough for frost yet, but enough to make you wish you'd brought a thicker jacket. It was parked near a 7-Eleven on Main, holding a lukewarm coffee and watching the neon flicker. The street was dead quiet. Not unusual for that time of night. Sal's voice cracked over the radio.

[00:02:17] You get anything yet? Nah, I said. Had a guy puke out the window earlier. That's about it. You? Couple of college kids going nowhere fast. One of them tried to pay me with a vape pen. I laughed. Did you take it? You bet I did. Mango. Still don't know how to use it though. We talked like that for a while. Nothing deep. Just the kind of nonsense you toss back and forth to keep from going nuts. After a pause, Sal said. Kind of quiet.

[00:02:48] You ever get that feeling you're the last person awake in the world? Every night, I said. That's kind of the point, isn't it? Hmm. Another silence. Not the good kind. Then he says. Saw someone walking out on Route 6 just now. That made me sit up a little. What? Like hitchhiking? No thumb. Just walking. Like real slow.

[00:03:17] Long hair. No jacket. Weird, man. Maybe broke down? Didn't see a car. Just her. She looked strange. Strange like creepy or how? He didn't answer right away. She looked at me. Now, that might not sound like much. But the way he said it, it wasn't about the look. It was about how long it lingered.

[00:03:47] Like she saw something in him. Like she knew something. And Sal wasn't the type to spook easily. I said. Did she flag you? Nope. Just kept walking. Didn't even step out of the lane. Like she wasn't afraid of getting hit. Maybe high or something. Maybe. But he didn't believe it. And if I'm being honest, neither did I.

[00:04:16] That stretch of Route 6 he was talking about? Nobody really uses it. Unless they're cutting through the old state road. It was windy. Narrow. No shoulder. There was a wreck out there a few years back. Girl got hit by a car and left in the ditch. They never found out who did it. Small town memory. It fades. Fast. If it ain't yours. Anyway. We didn't talk much after that.

[00:04:44] Sal said he was going to go loop around and head back toward town. I didn't think much of it. Just another strange story in a job that's full of them. But I remember I kept glancing at my rearview mirror a lot more that night. Didn't know it yet. But that was the last normal shift I would have in a while. A few nights went by without much to report. Sal didn't bring her up again. And I didn't ask.

[00:05:14] That's how we worked. We never pushed too hard when something felt off. But I noticed he got quieter. Didn't talk as much on the radio. Didn't joke around like he used to. And one night I asked if everything was okay. And all he said was... Yeah. Just tired. That was a lie. Still. I let it go. It was a Thursday night. Right around 2 in the morning. And I was heading down Holloway Road.

[00:05:43] Toward the industrial park. Nothing but warehouses and empty parking lots out there. I picked up a guy from the rail yard who smelled like diesel and stale cigarettes. Dropped him off. And was looping back toward town. When I saw her. The same woman. Long. Dark hair. White shirt. Jeans. No coat. Walking on the gravel shoulder like she had nowhere to be. No streetlights out there.

[00:06:12] Just the dim beam of my headlights cutting through the dark. I slowed down without even thinking. She didn't even turn her head. Didn't wave. Didn't acknowledge me at all. And I swear. I swear. It was the same woman Sal described. At first I thought maybe she just looked familiar. Could have been someone local. We get the occasional runaway or someone drifting through. There was something in the way she moved.

[00:06:42] Slow. Deliberate. Like she wasn't walking to get anywhere. Just walking to walk. I eased up next to her and rolled down the window and said. You alright? She didn't stop. Didn't even flinch. Just kept walking. I drove maybe another 30 yards and then pulled over. Watched her in the mirror. Still coming. Still no reaction. And I waited.

[00:07:09] I let her pass me by and when she did. I got a good look at her face. It was blank. Not tired or sad. Just hollow. Like her expression had been turned off. Death. And that was enough for me. I didn't radio Sal right away. I'm not sure why. I think I was just trying to rationalize it. Maybe she was sleepwalking. Maybe on something. Maybe she was just someone who didn't want help. But later.

[00:07:39] Back near town. I finally keyed the mic and said. Hey Sal. I think I saw your ghost. Static for a second. And then. Where? Holloway. Just outside the park. But there was a long pause. You sure? Pretty sure. Same description. And he was quiet again. And then he said. I saw her last night.

[00:08:09] My grip on the mic tightened. Where? Out. Near the lake. Just standing there this time. That was ten miles in the other direction. Neither of us said what we were thinking. We're not superstitious guys. Not really. But we both know what our eyes saw. And when you're out there. Enough nights. You start to learn the difference between a feeling. And a fear. But this wasn't fear.

[00:08:39] This was something else. I didn't sleep much that week. I kept telling myself it was just a weird coincidence. Same woman. Different nights. Whatever. Maybe someone was messing with us. Maybe it was just two tired old guys seeing things. Night shifts do that to your head if you're not careful. Time slips. Roads blend together.

[00:09:06] You start filling in blanks with stuff you don't even realize you remember. But Sal wasn't letting it go. He started tracking it. Writing down the times, places, weather conditions. I stopped by the dispatch garage one evening and saw the inside of his cab. Legal pads. Full of scribbles. Little lines drawn between map points. Circles around certain roads. It wasn't like him. Sal's whole life philosophy was,

[00:09:35] Don't dig too deep. You might not like what's buried. He learned that after asking too many questions from some of the writers. You learn things you don't want to know or can land you in jail. Now, he was straight up begging for that information. So I asked him flat out, You think this is the same person every time? He didn't look at me. He just said, I don't think she's a person. And that stuck with me.

[00:10:05] Because he wasn't saying it like some weirdo looking for ghosts. He said it like someone who had convinced himself of something he wished he hadn't. Over the radio, Sal got twitchier. He would cut in and out at weird times. Ask if he had seen her that night, Even when I was downtown and she had never been spotted anywhere near there. One night, I told him,

[00:10:34] No, I hadn't seen a thing. Then he got real quiet and said, She's standing behind you. No, I knew he was joking. He had to be. But I checked the mirror anyway. Thankfully, there was nothing. But I didn't laugh. Things got worse after that. Not with her. She didn't appear again for a while. But with Sal. He stopped responding sometimes. It would just vanish off the grid for hours.

[00:11:04] When I would ask him about it, He would make something up. Bathroom break. Flat tire. Customer wanted to go out of town. All lies. I knew it. But I didn't push it. Until that night, he showed up at the diner. He looked rough. Eyes were red. Skin pale like he hadn't seen daylight in weeks. He sat across from me. Ordered coffee but didn't touch it. Just kept looking out the window like he was waiting for something to come out of the dark.

[00:11:35] Do you remember that wreck out by the lake? He asked. I nodded. I think it was me. That hit me like a cold slap. He went on. Voice low. Almost like he was talking to himself more than to me. He said there was a night. A long time ago. When he'd been drinking. A lot. He got behind the wheel. Dumb. Selfish. He admitted it.

[00:12:04] He remembers coming around a bend. Headlights catching something. Someone. But it was too late. Everything after that was a blur. He swore he didn't remember where he went or what he did. Book of the next morning with no idea how he got home. When he got to the cab he noticed a cracked bumper. Said he convinced himself it was just a dream. Bad luck. Something he had imagined. But now. Now he wasn't so sure.

[00:12:35] I sat there trying to process it. I mean. What do you say? If it's true. That means the girl from all those years ago. The one we all felt sorry for but forgot. Might have been his doing. And I realized something else. That same night. I picked him up. Out by the garage where he kept the car. He said he needed a lift. I remember he was shaken. Reeked of booze. I didn't ask any questions.

[00:13:05] Didn't want to get involved. And maybe. Deep down. I knew. Something was wrong. But I didn't want to know. Neither of us said anything for a long time. And then Sal leaned in and whispered. I think she's coming for me. I wanted to say that was crazy. That he needed a sleep. Needed a break. But I couldn't. Because the way he said it. It wasn't fear. It was certainty.

[00:13:35] Like a man who hears a knock on his door at 3am. And already knows who's on the other side. I didn't hear from Sal for two nights. At first I thought maybe he had taken a break. God knows he needed one. I figured he finally scared himself enough to get off the road. Maybe even checked into one of those motels out by the lake. To clear his head. But when I called his cell. It rang once and then went to voicemail.

[00:14:04] The next day the garage said his cab was signed out. But he hadn't come back. That's when I knew something was wrong. The dispatcher didn't seem worried. He probably just went off the clock. Happens all the time. She said. That wasn't Sal. He never missed check-in. Never just disappeared. Not without a word to me. Then came the radio transmission. I was heading back into town. An empty cab.

[00:14:33] Early morning gray bleeding into the sky. A kind of hour where the world feels like it's waiting for you to do something before it continues. Static popped up on the radio. And then his voice. Raspy. Broken. Full of panic. She was there. She was in the car. I looked in the rear view. And my goodness. I saw her face. She was just staring. I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. The signal crackled. Cut out.

[00:15:01] And then came one more word. Quiet. Barely audible. Remember. Remember. And that was it. I pulled over on the shoulder. Hands locked tight around the wheel. My heart was hammering. My breath fogged up the glass. I tried calling again. But nothing. Radio dispatch. No response. It was like I was the only one left on the road. So I did what I hadn't done in years.

[00:15:32] I went back to the lake. The place hadn't changed. Dirt road. Old fencing falling apart. No trespassing signs. Sun faded and ignored. It looked the same as the night I picked him up. Years ago. Mud on his jeans. Busted knuckle. Wild eyes. That never asked. Not once. And now I wish I had. I found his cab pulled off on the side. Half hidden by brush.

[00:16:02] Lights off. Driver's door open. Inside everything was in place. Keys still in the ignition. Wallet on the dash. The heater was still running. Ticking quietly like a heartbeat. I touched the hood. It was still warm. But he wasn't there. No footprints in the dirt. No trail. Just the quiet hum of the engine and the soft buzz of the radio. Still tuned to our usual channel. I climbed in.

[00:16:31] Sat behind the wheel. I felt like I was trespassing in someone else's memory. Then the radio came alive. Not Sal this time. Just a soft hiss. Like breathing. And then. Her voice. Was flat. Unemotional. Not spooky or ghostly. Just calm. You left him there. I don't know how long I sat there.

[00:17:01] I didn't answer. I couldn't. My hands were shaking and my mouth was dry. You left. Me. There. And that's when it hit me. This wasn't about Sal's guilt. Not just his. It was mine too. Because I remember that night. I remember the call. The one I ignored because my shift was ending. To go pick up someone by the lake.

[00:17:28] I remember seeing the busted bumper the next day and saying nothing. I remember watching Sal unravel and telling myself it wasn't my problem. All the news reports of that girl we all felt sorry for. Deep down, part of me thought it had been my fault. But I somehow pushed those thoughts away long enough to vanish. But it was. It was my fault. It always was. And now, sitting in his cab with the sun rising and cold streaks across gravel,

[00:17:58] I finally let myself feel it. Just the weight of everything I hadn't done. I stayed in Sal's cab until the sun was fully up. Just watching the light creep across the dash like it might burn something away. The radio had gone quiet again. Nothing but a low hum in the background. I waited, half hoping she would speak again and half praying that she wouldn't.

[00:18:28] She didn't. Eventually, I drove the cab back into town and asked a buddy to help me bring back mine. I knew he wasn't going to ask any questions. I didn't even think about it anymore. I didn't call dispatch, didn't file a report. Just parked it behind the garage where it would blend in with the others. I wiped down the wheel, the gear shift, the door handle. Out of habit, not fear. Then I just walked home. No one asked where Sal was.

[00:18:57] Or maybe they did and I just wasn't listening. The thing about this town is people disappear sometimes. Not often, but when they do, we smooth it over. A whisper here, a rumor there. Folks say someone moved or cracked or ran off chasing something better. No one ever says what they really think. I went back to work the next night like nothing had happened. That's the part that scares me the most.

[00:19:26] How easy it was to slip back into the routine. I kept the same route. The same radio channel. Same, empty roads. But the silence felt heavier now. Darker. Like the cab had picked something up and brought it back with me. I would catch myself looking in the mirror for too long. Flinching when the radio crackled. Watching the shoulders of the road like she might step out from the trees at any second.

[00:19:56] She never did. But Sal didn't come back either. Weeks passed. Then months. No calls. No signs. His place stayed locked up. His things untouched. It was like he had been peeled out of the world and no one noticed the gap. You know, sometimes I wonder if I imagined all of it. The sightings. The voice. The confession. Maybe Sal just snapped and drove until the road ran out.

[00:20:26] I don't know in what car. But maybe I built the rest out of guilt and bad memory. But then sometimes. Late. When the streets are dead quiet and the only sound is my engine and the buzz of the radio. I hear it. A click. The kind you get when someone keys their mic. Someone on the other end pressing the button. Holding it. Listening. I always answer.

[00:20:56] I don't know why. Maybe it's a habit. Or maybe hope. Sal. I say. You out there? No reply. Just the long, stretching hum of dead air. I could stop. I should stop. But I don't. Because part of me thinks one night I'll hear his voice again. Tired. Scratched up. Laughing at me for being dramatic.

[00:21:25] Saying he just needed to get away. That none of it meant anything. And the other part of me? The other part knows that if I do hear him. It won't be Sal on the other end. It'll be her.

[00:21:58] Scary Story Podcast is written and produced by me, Edwin Covarrugias. A huge shout out for those who left your reviews on Apple Podcasts. Robloz11 says they listen to Go to Sleep. GamingGod asks about the automatic ads. And I know they get annoying, but we're working to get brand deals so I can make it less annoying. Loloreclipse says they like creepy technology stories, which is pretty cool actually because I like those too. And StyleGirl1 likes the voice and added some encouragement on there for me.

[00:22:27] So thank you so much for that, by the way. Very much appreciated. And thank you all for your reviews on Apple Podcasts. Also, remember we're taking true stories if you want to write them out and send them in so I can share them on my new podcast, Paranormal Club. You can send me a DM, email me your stories. That's edwin at scarystory.com or over on paranormalclub.com. And that might make it to our next listener stories episode. But we have other stuff available on there too, not just listener stories.

[00:22:56] But that's Paranormal Club, available everywhere, including YouTube. I'll link to everything in the description of this episode. Anyway, thank you very much for listening. Keep it scary, everyone. See you soon.