Last Stop — a short story for English reading and speaking

The motorway stretched in front of him like a never-ending black ribbon.

John had been driving for hours and he could no longer remember if he felt tired or not.

It was like he had lost all sense of feeling in his mind and body.

His was the only car on the road ahead. No other vehicles on either side of the two wide lanes of the motorway.

He blinked and cracked the window open a little to let in the cool night air. He breathed it in, took deep lungfuls of oxygen to clear the fog from his mind.

The gas tank read close to empty. And John needed a break.

What he really needed was sleep.

Driving on, in what felt like a haze, John saw a flickering sign up ahead.

As he got closer, he read the sign clearly: Last Stop Service Station.

John had been up and down this motorway a hundred times but had never seen this service station before. But the thought soon passed at the welcome idea of a cup of coffee and an hour or two of sleep in his car.

He pulled into the station, driving up the ramp road that came off the motorway. And as he came into the main forecourt, he saw that it was completely deserted.

It seemed strange to see no other cars there. No other sign of life.

But the call of nature, the lure of caffeine and a rest was practically intoxicating.

He parked in the deserted car park and made his way to the main building. One flickering sign above the main entrance.

No modern-day sliding doors in this place. Instead, an old rusted-out door that John had to shove open with his shoulder.

A small bell above the door pinged to signify his entrance.

Inside the building was a scene from a bygone era. Like something from decades ago.

A fluorescent light buzzed above him on the ceiling.

The shelves were stacked with snacks and confectionery but also covered in dust.

As John got closer, he saw that the labels on the items were from years ago.

What was this place?

It was like he had gone back in time.

Trying to find someone, a cashier or a worker, John made his way to the counter.

An ancient cash register placed heavily in front of him.

But no signs of life. No one around.

It was like the place had been abandoned decades ago, and no one thought to close it up.

A sense of unease crawled into John’s exhausted nerves but he was too tired to concern himself with it.

He grabbed a can of soft drink and a small bag of snacks and went to the public bathrooms.

A sign read: Gents. Like something from his grandfather’s days.

As he pushed the door open, he was overwhelmed by a powerful and nauseating odour that washed over him.

A putrid mix of something decaying and rotten, combined with something else, something indescribable.

The interior of the room was dingy. A dimly lit space.

But John hastily made his way into one of the stalls.

The walls of the toilet were covered in the usual graffiti. But there was something else there too.

Some dark stains that looked like blood.

John’s senses fired up and he found a new kind of energy. This was like walking into a living nightmare.

But exhaustion clawed at his brain, his tired-out muscles.

Coming out of the cramped stall, John tried to wash his hands in the sink, but the taps didn’t work.

The sink was filled with filth.

And again, what looked like dried-up blood.

He made his way back to the main building of the station. The old, decrepit supermarket and cash desk.

And as he emerged into the larger room, he heard the voices.

Faint, muffled whispering that seemed to come from the corner of the room.

It sounded like several people at one time, all trying to call out. Calling John for help.

John couldn’t make out what the voices were saying, it was like they were gagged. But the sound sent shivers down his spine.

He neared the counter and he realised that the voices were coming from behind the long desk at the front.

There was a large flap to let the cashier in and out and John lifted it slowly. It creaked open, the two hinges rusted from lack of use.

And as he stepped behind the desk, what he saw was beyond his darkest nightmares.

Lying huddled on the floor, under the desk, a group of emaciated figures stared back at him.

Their eyes hollowed out, their skin pallid and peeling away.

Their mouths opening and closing, but no teeth visible. Just rows of blackened gums and tongues freckled with filth and dust.

On their bodies, the tattered remains of their clothing.

Bloodstained and covered in grime.

All of them entwined together, trapped in some kind of twisted, eternal torment.

John staggered back, terror rising up and coursing through his veins.

He knew he had to escape. Get out of this hellish place, get in his car and just drive.

But as he spun around towards the door, he found the exit blocked with more of the grotesque figures.

One of them wore the tattered remains of the service station uniform. Another, a jacket from an electrical supply company. A third, the last remnants of what was at one time a business suit.

They all tried to call out, but just a choked sound came from their blood-stained mouths.

John veered down an aisle and saw another of the creatures blocking his way.

Panic-stricken he lashed out with his hand, trying to keep some distance between himself and these things, these beings, whatever they were.

Then, from behind, John felt an arm slip around his neck and hold him tight.

The other figures loped forward towards him, hissing and groaning.

The last thing John saw was the sign outside in the car park.

Last Stop Service Station.