The Truck That Kept Moving

Jake had always wanted to live on the road. No schedules, no ties—just his truck and the endless highways.

So when he found an old shipping container truck for sale, he saw more than just a vehicle. He saw a home.

It took months to renovate. He stripped out the cold metal interior, added wooden cabinets, a bed, a TV—everything to make it comfortable. By the end of the build, it felt more like a cozy cabin than a truck.

The seller had been eager to get rid of it.

“It’s yours for cheap,” the man had said. “Just take it far from here.”

Jake thought nothing of it. Until the first night on the road.

Night One: The Knock

Jake parked in the middle of nowhere, miles from the nearest town. He locked the doors, turned off the lights, and climbed into bed, exhausted.

Then came the knock.

Not from outside.

From inside the truck.

A slow, deliberate tap… tap… tap.

He held his breath. Maybe it was just the truck settling, the metal shifting with the temperature. He convinced himself it was nothing and forced himself to sleep.

But when he woke up, the truck had moved.

It was parked on the other side of the clearing.

And the engine was still warm.

Night Three: The Shadow

The third night, things got worse.

Jake was driving through a stretch of empty road when the GPS glitched. The screen flickered, rerouting him to an unknown destination.

Then, in the rearview mirror, he saw it.

A shadow.

Not his.

Something tall and unmoving, standing in the dimly lit back of the truck.

His stomach dropped.

He slammed the brakes, jumped out, and yanked the back doors open.

Nothing.

Just his bed, his shelves, his quiet little home on wheels.

But when he stepped back into the driver’s seat, the GPS had changed.

The route was no longer blank.

It read: “KEEP DRIVING.”

Night Five: The Cargo

Jake had to know. He searched every inch of the truck, pulling up floorboards, checking every cabinet.

Then, behind a hidden panel in the wall, he found something.

A manifest.

The truck’s original cargo list.

And one word scribbled in red ink:

“DO NOT RELEASE.”

As he read, a cold breath ghosted over his neck.

And from inside the walls, something knocked back.