Terrible ghost story: the last car never clicked in.

The last car of the horror ghost story

This is a story I heard from an old man after class in a training class. His surname is Jiang. In the early 1950s, he came to Xinjiang from Shanghai to support frontier construction. Later, he never left and stayed in Xinjiang. He said he couldn't leave here. All his children ran back, leaving him and his wife alone, which was quite lonely.

That was his fourth year in Xinjiang, that is, 1958. At that time, Lao Jiang was the driver of a transport team in Urumqi. The task of their transport team is very clear, that is, to transport young people from all over the country to Xinjiang to different counties to "go to the revolutionary battlefield." Of course, in those days, there would be no air-conditioned bus for you to take. The motorcade is full of Jiefang trucks and several old trucks left by the Soviet Union. The youths on the sideline sat in the dump truck behind the truck, pulled up the canvas and set off.

1in the spring of 958, Lao Jiang's transport team received a task to transport a group of frontier youths who had just arrived in Xinjiang from Shanghai, and the destination was Aksu, southern Xinjiang. According to the number of people, 8 cars are needed this time, and the time limit is 5 days to reach the destination. I'm not kidding. It took so long to get from Urumqi to Aksu. On the first day, I usually spend the night in Toksun. The next day, I crossed the dry ditch and spent the night in Yushugou. On the third day, I went to Korla and added water to refuel. On the fourth day, I spent the night in Kuqa. Arrive in Aksu on the fifth day. Young people in the frontier have to sit in a dump truck for five days before they reach their destination, which shows that the conditions at that time were still very difficult.

Early that morning, the eight cars of the motorcade were full of young people from Shanghai (men and women were separated), and they set off when they were ready. Lao Jiang is the driver of the eighth car, which is the last car in the team.

Arrived in Toksun on the first day. The next day we will cross the dry ditch. Friends in Xinjiang should know that the main canal is the only way from southern Xinjiang to Urumqi, but the road conditions are very poor. Because to cross the Tianshan Mountains, the car has to go around the mountains, and the road is very narrow. It is better to build an asphalt road now. It used to be a dirt road with poor visibility. So dry ditch is really a challenge for drivers. Jiang was still young at that time, and he crossed the drought ditch for the first time. She was a little nervous, clutching the steering wheel and never dared to stay away from the car in front.

Just as Ginger was shivering for a long time, it suddenly became cloudy at noon.

Originally, the visibility was low, so Jiang didn't dare to be careless and drove more carefully. Driving, Jiang suddenly noticed the dusty behind the car, as if there was a car following, and Jiang Ye didn't pay much attention. After a while, the car approached and Ginger took a look, huh? This car seems to belong to the team. Very familiar, but the popularity is too low. Jiang can't see the license plate. Well, it seems, is there another car in the team? Ginger wanted to think, and didn't care.

In this way, after driving for more than half an hour, the car has been following Lao Jiang's car, almost never leaving. But ginger always feels a little strange. The team added a car. Why doesn't he know? And those people were in the original eight cars yesterday morning. Who's sitting in the back car? But the idea only flashed for an instant, and Jiang Ye didn't think much. It's important to drive now.

Probably when he was about to get out of the main ditch, Ginger noticed that the car behind him was moving to his left, as if to overtake him. At this time, the section where Jiang walked was the most tortuous and dangerous section of the trunk ditch. Old ginger secretly scolded: it's neither too early nor too late, and now the road is difficult to cross! But there's nothing I can do. Just go beyond it. Ginger gave way to the right wing. At this time, the car is about to catch up with Jiang's car, and Jiang slows down. Suddenly, Ginger had a strange feeling. Why doesn't the car honk? People who can drive must know that when overtaking in narrow roads, they must honk their horns to signal the driver in front to give way, especially in such bad road conditions as dry ditches. But why didn't such a big truck honk when overtaking? At this time, all the strange feelings of old ginger surged up. Yes, this car has been following for so long that I have never heard it honk. It seems that I haven't even heard the sound of the engine (the engine of the old truck is very loud), so it's strange to follow it quietly! Before ginger thought about it, the truck was parallel to ginger's car. Jiang looked at the driver with a strange face and no expression. Ginger always feels a little strange when she sees this face, but she can't say what's strange. The truck passed by quickly, and through the canvas pulled out of the parking space, Lao Jiang clearly saw that all the people sitting in the car were young women, very young, and the clothes were definitely from big cities. But their expressions-like drivers, have no expression. . . . My eyes are a little straight, too . . During the whole overtaking process, Jiang didn't hear any sound, just like the engine of this car didn't start at all, and even the friction of the wheels was not heard.

The car passed by, did not merge to the right, continued to overtake, and soon disappeared. Ginger was almost blank at that time, and I didn't know how to ditch.

In the evening, the motorcade went to Yushugou for the night. Ginger jumped out of the car first and counted all the cars. There are still eight cars, but not many. Jiang asked the driver of the car in front if he had seen a truckload of women passing by, and the answer wasno. Some drivers even laughed at Jiang for thinking of women. . . . Ginger asked the young man sitting behind his car again, and the answer was the same: I didn't see anything. . .

This matter has passed, but the car has remained in Lao Jiang's mind, as well as the driver and the strange face of the young woman. . . 1999,65438+In February, Lao Jiang passed away, which did not usher in the new millennium. At the same time, he also took away the strange experience that happened 40 years ago. . .

Don't press enter for horror ghost stories.

I am a net worm, a standard net worm.

What attracts me is not the internet itself, but because I like the tranquility of the night too much, just as I was so obsessed with the impetuous carnival with my friends. I think maybe one day I will still return to the impetuous noise, which is called the law, the law of extremes meet.

The wall clock above the library door rang, 12 o'clock.

I sat in front of the computer desk, turned my head to the right, and opened the curtains and screens conveniently. The window is always open, because there are often people smoking late at night in this study, and that person is me. At this time, I don't want to be crowded during the day. I just want a cigarette from Wan Li in a clear sky to accompany me. Cigarettes are much more reliable than people wearing fake masks. It's true.

Take a deep breath of the familiar air. As far as I can see, the window is black. The lights in the opposite building have long gone out, and even the outline of the building does not exist. Yes, I am idealistic at the moment. As long as I don't want to exist, it doesn't exist. I really turn a blind eye.

I am not sleepy, because today is the weekend, my weekend.

Break into a chat room at random, find a room with the most people, and watch them chat or cry or laugh, or play or make noise. I have been silent and don't want to talk. The netizen who came to strike up a conversation failed. After I left, I smiled at the screen, because I had the right to silence and refuse.

? Afraid of me? Ha ha. ? This sentence aroused my interest in chatting.

? Not afraid! Hey, hey, I'm a little devil. Who's afraid of who? ? I answered.

I don't know why, since we started chatting, people in the chat room have left one after another, and in a short time, only the two of us are left.

? Is anybody there? They are afraid of you, I asked with a smile.

? It's all dead. It won't start until tomorrow morning. ? He said simply.

? Why am I confused? Is he a hacker? I think.

? Because I want to tell you my story alone. Remember, don't press enter when I'm talking! ?

? Why should I listen to your story? I have to press enter! ?

After typing these words, I pressed the enter key heavily and sent it over.

At that moment, I regretted it a little. I admit I am curious. I want to hear his story, but I'm more curious about what will happen if I press enter.

However, it is too late, I have already knocked, and everything is inevitable.

The chandelier in the study suddenly? Dad? Sparks flashed on the ground and then went out without warning. I think there may be power failure in the building, which often happens. But the computer screen in front of us is still on, and our chat records are still displayed normally.

The sound of strong wind came from the open window, and the collision between the window and the window lattice was particularly harsh in the middle of the night. I moved my boss's chair to the window, and there was no sign of wind in the dark window. I just turned it on and off with the windless wind, and then turned it on and off again.

My brain is blank. I stood up and wanted to close the window to separate the darkness indoors from the night outside the window, so I would feel much safer.

When my trembling right hand was about to touch the window handle, I saw a pale woman's hand by the light of the fluorescent screen, grabbed the handle faster than me and closed the window gently. I took a deep breath and patted my pounding chest.

But no! In such a late night, in this study, I have never been lonely! There is a mother at home, but the mother in the next bedroom must have fallen asleep.

This hand? Whose hand is this woman's? Is it?

It's really a hand, just a hand, a hand without arms.

I looked in the direction of my slowly retracting hand and stopped at the computer screen. This hand actually came from there!

The original chat record on the screen has been replaced by a woman's head. Long black hair covered her whole face, and her hair was lying on my computer desk, spread on the drawn-out keyboard. Blood dripped from my black hair, from the keyboard to the floor under my feet.

I just want to escape, escape from this study, but my body seems to be nailed to the computer chair and my limbs are as limp as mud. Try to open your mouth. Are your lips exclaiming? Oh, my god, that shape, but my throat can't make any sound.

The hand that just closed the window slowly reached out to me, and I couldn't help trying to lean back. The hand took the cigarette butt that was about to fall to the ground from my fingers, pressed it in the ashtray in front of my eyes, and quickly shrank back to the screen.

I just sat there. I can only sit there. Any part of my body no longer belongs to me. The only feeling is that my hair stands on end, and the cold air permeates every pore. I'm sure I'm shaking.

A sad and empty woman's voice came faintly from behind her black hair:

? I told you not to press enter, and now I have to tell you a story myself. ?