About twelve years ago, I was on a road trip back from a Blink-182 concert in LA. We were heading east through Arizona, on our way back to Ohio — a 33-hour drive because my buddy just had to see them live. It was the middle of the night, and I was behind the wheel when this happened.
We were out in the middle of nowhere when we rolled up to a line of cars stopped for road construction. You know the kind — flashing amber lights, cones everywhere, the glow of brake lights stretching ahead into the dark. There were four of us in the car — two girls, two guys — just talking, laughing, playing music, trying to stay awake.
After about 20 minutes, one of us said, “Haven’t we been sitting here forever?” It felt weird — too long for just a flagger rotation or a light. Eventually, curiosity got the best of me, so I got out to take a look.
That’s when things got really strange.
The construction vehicles were running — engines humming, yellow lights spinning — but there was nobody in them. No drivers, no workers. I looked at the other cars lined up, and I swear to you, there was nobody inside any of them either. Empty. Every. Single. One.
We’d been sitting in a traffic jam in the middle of the Arizona desert at 2 a.m., surrounded by cars and equipment that were all on — but completely abandoned.
I jumped back in the car, freaked out, and we sped off like a bat out of hell. To this day, none of us — not one — has any clue what we saw. We weren’t asleep, we weren’t high, we weren’t hallucinating. All four of us remember it the exact same way.
A line of running vehicles, lights flashing, engines purring —
and not a single soul in sight.
Credit: Poe
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