Delta In The Dark
I’ve spent the past four years driving every night for work. I was in a fairly rural part of Mississippi somewhere between Clarksdale and Greenwood, where it’s all two-lane highways the 250-mile drive home. The weather had turned pretty sour as I was leaving Clarksdale. I called my wife told her there were high wind advisories and very possible tornado threats, and I’d call her as soon as I made it to a safe area again.
I had already been working for 14 hours when I got in the truck, so I ate dinner and grabbed some coffee to stay awake and alert. Now. If you’ve never driven through flat farmland at night for one hundred miles, it’s very fatiguing and spooky even without bad weather. I had driven maybe 30 miles out into the farmland when hail started bouncing off my truck.
In July, hail means tornado, and I knew it. I pull off to the side, with no one around me, and start looking for the storm or tornado I believe is approaching. I rolled the passenger window down and shone a bright flashlight off into the night. Nothing there. I turn to the driver’s side—and this guy has his face pushed against my glass. Grinning from ear to ear.
It was a tall male, very, very pale white, eyes were sunk back quite a bit, but that grin is what truly got me. It was corner to corner with crooked teeth like the Cheshire cat. Then I screamed, and he was gone. I slammed the truck in drive and took off at the highest speed I could go. Now, my company has a camera installed in my truck.
So even though I called my wife and didn’t tell her about this guy or the hail, I made darn sure I checked my SD card the moment after I hung up. I promise you, this guy never popped up on my front or rear cameras. I’ve always played it off as my imagination, but I will say I don’t drive through the delta in the dark anymore if I don’t absolutely have to.