This story was sent in by Jake from Flagstaff, Arizona.
I’ve worked early shifts for years, the kind where your uniform basically becomes a second skin and you only remember to wash it when you’re already halfway to laying it out for the next morning. That’s how I ended up at a small laundromat on the east side of Flagstaff at around one in the morning. It’s one of those places wedged between a shuttered nail salon and a tax office that only opens seasonally. I wasn’t thrilled about being there that late, but my uniform had grease on the sleeves and I couldn’t risk showing up to work like that.
It was cold that night, colder than I expected for the season, and the inside of the laundromat felt even more stale than usual. Only one flickering fluorescent bulb lit the far corner, and the dryer next to me made this uneven thumping sound every few minutes that I kept telling myself was probably a loose zipper or something.
The first thing that stood out was a black pickup truck parked across the street. The engine was running, but the headlights were off. The cab was completely dark. At first I figured someone was on their phone or waiting for a friend in one of the nearby apartments, but the fact that it stayed running without moving made me pay attention. I told myself it was none of my business. At one in the morning, you get used to minding your own business.
About ten minutes later, when my clothes were halfway dry, I heard a low rumble outside. Through the glass front windows, I saw the same truck slowly rolling across the lot. It pulled right up to the sidewalk in front of the laundromat—close enough that if I’d opened the door too fast, I probably would’ve hit its bumper. The headlights were still off, but the engine was idling loudly, the kind of heavy diesel hum that vibrates in your chest.
I pretended to stay focused on folding a towel I didn’t even need to fold. I kept my eyes down, fighting the urge to glance up. The truck stayed there for maybe a full minute, just sitting in front of the windows. Then it eased forward and drifted out of sight to the right, like it was circling the building.
That was enough to make me feel stupidly exposed. I waited until I saw its taillights fade onto the main road before deciding to throw everything into my bag and get out of there. The dryers were still warm and the clothes probably weren’t completely done, but I didn’t care. I figured I’d just hang them up at home. I stepped outside, breathed in the cold air, and felt a little better.
I was loading my clothes into the backseat of my car when the truck reappeared. It came out of the side alley next to the laundromat, crawling forward at this ridiculously slow pace with no headlights again. There was barely enough light from the streetlamp to make out the driver leaning halfway out of his window, but I could see just enough.
His expression was completely rigid. Not angry, not confused—just fixed, like someone forcing themselves to hold absolutely still. His eyes didn’t blink, and his posture looked uncomfortable, like he was bracing against something. He didn’t say a word. He just stared directly at me while the truck rolled inch by inch into the parking lot.
That snapped whatever calm I had left. I shut the car door and locked it immediately. My hands were shaking so badly that I fumbled the keys twice before I got the engine started. For a second, I thought he might pull up and block me in, but instead he angled the truck sideways and stopped. The cab was dark. I couldn’t see if he was still hanging out the window.
When I pulled out of the lot, he followed right away. No hesitation. He stayed close behind me, matching my speed through each quiet residential street. The whole time, his headlights were still off, which somehow made it worse than if he’d been aggressively tailgating with brights.
I took three turns I didn’t need to take, trying to stay on roads with at least a few lights. He stayed behind me through all of them—no signals, no sound, no change in speed. Just that black shape gliding behind me.
Then, on the fourth intersection, he suddenly accelerated past me. No warning, no blinker. He shot forward, then swerved onto a cross street and disappeared into the dark like he’d never been following me at all.
I didn’t stop driving for another fifteen minutes. I just kept going until I recognized a main road and finally felt like I wasn’t about to get cut off or run off into some empty lot.
I never saw the truck again. No idea what that guy wanted or why he singled me out. Maybe he was messed up on something. Maybe he thought I was someone else. Maybe he was just bored and looking to scare somebody.
Whatever the reason, I don’t go to laundromats at night anymore. Even if it means dragging myself through a workday half-asleep, I do all my laundry in daylight now. And every time I drive past that building, I still picture that truck idling with its lights off, waiting for someone to step outside.