Fake Traffic Stops

I’ve never had any issues with the law. I’m the kind of person who pays parking tickets on time, drives the speed limit, and keeps my registration up to date. So, when I got pulled over for the first time two weeks ago, I didn’t think much of it. The cop, a tall, stocky guy with sunglasses, even though it was late evening, told me I was speeding. I was confused because I knew I wasn’t, but I figured it was just a misunderstanding. He gave me a warning, told me to slow down, and I drove off. But then it happened again a few days later. This time, it was a different cop, but the same story—speeding. Again, I wasn’t speeding. I knew I wasn’t. I tried to tell him that, but he cut me off mid-sentence, acting like I’d insulted him by even questioning his judgment. He let me off with another warning, but I could feel my heart pounding in my chest the entire time. Something felt wrong. By the third time, I was starting to get freaked out. This cop said my taillight was out, but I had just had my car serviced the week before. There was no way it could’ve been broken. He shined his flashlight into my face, asked a bunch of weird, personal questions—where I lived, where I worked—before telling me I was free to go. No ticket, no real explanation. That’s when I started paying attention. I couldn’t help but notice how similar they all were—the way they stood, the tone in their voices, the way they looked at me like I was some sort of prey. I brushed it off at first. Maybe it was just paranoia. I mean, who gets pulled over three times in a week, right? But then it happened again. And again. Five times. Five different officers. Every one of them more aggressive than the last. By now, I was scared. Really scared. These weren’t just normal traffic stops anymore. It was starting to feel like a game—one I didn’t want to be part of. I mentioned it to a few friends, and they thought I was overreacting, saying maybe it was just bad luck. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something more sinister was going on. And then, last night, everything escalated. It was late, and I was driving home after visiting my parents. I was tired and just wanted to get home when I saw the flashing lights behind me. My stomach dropped. Not again. I pulled over, keeping my hands on the wheel like I always did. The cop approached, but something was off from the start. He didn’t ask for my license or registration. He didn’t even mention why he’d stopped me. Instead, he just stood there, staring at me through the window. His face was expressionless, cold. “You need to step out of the car,” he finally said. I swallowed hard. “Why? What’s wrong?” He didn’t answer, just motioned for me to get out. My heart was racing, but I didn’t move. Something in his eyes told me that if I got out of the car, I wasn’t going home. “Step. Out. Of. The. Car.” His voice was low and threatening now. I reached for my phone, but before I could dial 911, the door flew open, and he grabbed me by the arm, dragging me out of the car. I screamed, kicking and trying to break free, but his grip was like iron. “Stop fighting,” he growled, pinning me against the car. “You don’t want this to get worse.” I was shaking, trying to figure out what to do. There was no one else around. The road was dark and empty, and the only sounds were my ragged breathing and the pounding of my heart. That’s when I realized this wasn’t just another traffic stop. This was something else. Something sick. “Why are you doing this?” I choked out, my face pressed against the cold metal of the car. He didn’t answer, just shoved me harder against the door. I heard another car pull up behind us, and my stomach twisted in fear. Another cop. Or maybe not a cop at all. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a second man stepping out of the car, wearing a police uniform just like the first one. But there was something off about the uniform—it looked wrong, like it didn’t fit quite right. He walked over, smirking, as if this was all some kind of joke. “Got a feisty one, huh?” the second guy said, his voice dripping with amusement. “Let her go,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. The first cop laughed, low and menacing. “Oh, we’ll let you go. Eventually.” Panic surged through me. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. But it was. I was trapped, with no way out. I don’t know how long they kept me there, but it felt like an eternity. They didn’t hurt me, not physically. But they wanted to scare me, to show me how little control I had. They taunted me, asked me if I thought anyone would believe my story. And honestly, I wasn’t sure if anyone would. I couldn’t even believe it myself. Finally, after what felt like hours, they let me go. They shoved me back into my car, told me to drive away and “keep my mouth shut.” I didn’t say a word. I just drove. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely grip the steering wheel, but I kept driving until I reached home. I didn’t sleep that night. I just sat on my bed, staring at the door, wondering if they would come back. I thought about calling the police, but what was I going to say? That a bunch of cops were playing some twisted game with my life? Who would believe me? But I can’t keep quiet anymore. Something is happening, and it’s not just me. I’ve heard whispers from others in town—people who’ve had strange encounters, who’ve been pulled over for no reason, who’ve felt the same fear I did. I don’t know who these men are, but they’re dangerous. And I have a feeling they’re not going to stop until someone gets seriously hurt. Or worse.

creep spaces

11/15/20241 min read