The Pale Green Buick

In October 2012, I was parked on the side of Old Mill Road, a winding two-lane highway that cuts through the Blackwood Forest in upstate New York. My friend, Danny, had asked me to drive him to his cabin to pick up some hunting gear he’d left behind. It was around 11 PM, and we’d stopped at his place so he could grab a few things. I waited in the car, my headlights off, the engine idling, as he went inside. The road was a black ribbon through the trees, and the only light came from the moon, which was a thin sliver barely visible through the dense canopy.

I sat there for about fifteen minutes, staring at the bend in the road ahead. The forest was so thick that you couldn’t see past the curve, and I knew any car coming from the other direction would be invisible until it was right on top of me. There were no streetlights, just the occasional flicker of fireflies, and the silence was so deep that I could hear my own heartbeat.

Then, far off, I saw a light. It was a pale green glow, not like any headlight I’d ever seen. It didn’t have the bright white of halogen bulbs; it was more like the sickly light of an old mercury vapor lamp, and it was moving slowly around the curve. As it came closer, I could make out the shape of a car—an old Buick, from the 1970s, with those huge, boat-like fenders and a quad headlight setup. The green light emanated from the headlights themselves, casting everything in an eerie hue. The car moved at a crawl, its engine making a low, wheezing sound, like it was struggling to breathe.

I felt a chill run down my spine. The car was heading straight toward me, but it didn’t seem to notice me. It kept to the center of the road, drifting slightly, and as it passed, I got a look at the driver. He was a gaunt man with a pale face, staring straight ahead, his hands gripping the wheel at ten and two, but his fingers were long and bony, with knuckles that looked swollen. He was mouthing something, over and over, but I couldn’t hear what. The car’s license plate was caked with dirt, but I could make out the letters: ‘W-B-T-M.’ Then the car continued on, disappearing around the bend behind me, its green glow fading into the darkness.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I tried to laugh it off, thinking it was just some old classic car with weird aftermarket lights, but something felt wrong. The air had gotten colder, and my breath was visible in the car. I checked my watch: it was 11:07 PM. Danny had been inside for almost twenty minutes. I was about to honk the horn when I saw the green light again, coming from the direction the Buick had gone, but now it was coming back, much faster.

The Buick reappeared, but this time it was on the opposite side of the road, heading toward the curve I’d been staring at. It was moving at a normal speed now, and as it passed, I saw the same driver, but he was leaning forward, his face pressed to the windshield, his mouth moving faster. I noticed his eyes were wide, and there was a look of terror on his face, as if he were being chased by something. But there was nothing behind him on the road.

The car rounded the curve and vanished. I was shaken, my hands trembling on the wheel. I decided I had to get out and see what was taking Danny so long. As I opened the car door, I heard a low growl, like an engine revving, and the green light appeared again, but this time it was right behind my car, blinding me in the rearview mirror.

I turned around, expecting to see the Buick, but instead, I saw a pair of glowing green eyes, floating in the darkness about ten feet from my bumper. They were not animal eyes; they were human, but with a pale green iris and a vertical pupil. They stared at me, unblinking, and I felt an overwhelming dread, as if I were being weighed and found wanting.

Then the eyes blinked, and they were gone. The green light vanished, and the forest went back to pitch-black. I scrambled out of the car, ran to Danny’s door, and banged on it. He opened it, startled, and I told him we had to leave immediately. He saw the look on my face and didn’t argue. We got in the car, and I drove away, my heart pounding, not daring to look in the rearview mirror again.

Later, when I dropped him off at his apartment, he asked me what I’d seen. I told him about the Buick and the eyes. He went pale and said, ‘Oh God, that’s the ghost of Old Man Whittaker. He died on that road in the 80s. His car went off the curve, and they never found it. They say he’s still searching for his wife, who was in the passenger seat. Her name was Beatrice. The letters on the plate—WBTM—they’re his initials and hers. He’s doomed to drive that road forever, picking up passengers who he thinks are her. But you’re alive, so he must have mistaken you for a deer or something. But the eyes… that means he’s seen you. He’ll be back for you. Leave town.’

I never went back to Blackwood Forest. For months, I had nightmares of green eyes staring at me from the darkness. And sometimes, late at night, when I’m driving on a lonely road, I’ll see a pale green glow in my rearview mirror, following me. But when I look closer, it’s just the lights of another car, or a reflection of the moon. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that one day, Old Man Whittaker will finally catch me, and I’ll be trapped in that Buick, driving that endless road, searching for something I can never find. And the green eyes will be watching, knowing my name. I haven’t told anyone this story, because they’d think I’m crazy. But I know what I saw. And I know that the road to Blackwood is not a road to anywhere safe. It’s a road to somewhere else.'”,
“But let me tell you, if you ever find yourself on Old Mill Road at night, and you see a pale green car with a driver who seems to be mumbling to himself, don’t stop. Don’t look into his eyes. And whatever you do, if you see green eyes in the darkness, don’t be there the next night. Because he’s always looking for the next passenger.’