I work at a Toll Booth. We have strange RULES.

The rules are there to protect  us. Always follow them. Deep in the mountains of Montana is a small  town called Eden.

And just outside of town, is a rusty old tollbooth. It guards the only  road in and out of town. Now, I’ve heard a lot of rumors about that old tollbooth.

Some say it keeps  evil away from town. Others say it’s actually to keep us from leaving. And a few people say it’s  a gateway to someplace…different from our world.

But what I do know for sure is that it’s  important to our town. So important in fact, that it’s considered a great honor to be chosen  to operate the booth at night. Only the oldest families in town are allowed to do it.

And  my family, well, we pretty much founded Eden. And as the mayor’s son, I was  finally old enough to do a shift. “James, you know why we're here, right?

”  Dad’s voice was gruff. He always sounded like he’d just finished yelling.  Which, to be fair, he usually had.

I nodded, knowing better  than to take this lightly. "Yeah, it's about more than just  watching the booth. It's about keeping everything in order, right?

" I said. "Exactly. It’s an honor.

You’re not just keeping the town safe. You’re maintaining a tradition  that’s protected us for generations. ” he said.

We reached the tollbooth. No one has to pay  for it during the day. The arm stayed up.

Anyone can come and go whenever they want. But  at night, it’s a different story. Someone was always in the booth after sundown.

But no one  really talks about what happens during those shifts. We weren’t allowed to leave town at night  anyway. So no one really bothered to find out.

In front of it is a wooden sign  telling people about the payment. It cost one penny to pass through. Dad unlocked the door.

The old wood creaked loudly as it opened. He led me  inside. It was cramped with the two of us there.

The air was filled with the musty  smell of old wood and tobacco. He reached into his coat and pulled out a crumpled piece  of paper. He handed it to me with a stern look.

“Now, anyone can pass by as long as they pay the  toll. But that’s more symbolic than anything. These are the rules you really need to follow. 

Don’t break them, no matter what you hear or see. Can you do that? ” Dad said.

“Yeah, I can,” I replied. I tried to sound more confident than I felt. He patted my shoulder.

It was surprisingly gentle/ “I know you can. I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you were ready. ” His voice  softened for just a moment.

Then Dad turned to leave. It was getting dark  fast and he needed to be home soon. “Remember, son.

Rules are what protect us. It’s how  the town has survived all these centuries. ” I watched him disappear down the road before  unfolding the paper.

I read through the rules. Some of them made no sense. Do Not Respond to Your Name Trace the Symbol When the Clock Strikes Midnight Ignore the Reflection in the Mirror from 3 AM to 4 AM Do Not Accept Anything from the Old Woman Never Turn Off the Old Radio Ignore All Cries for Help Always Salute the Headless Officer I stared at the list, trying to figure it out.

What headless officer? And what’s with  the old woman and a mirror? Were these riddles or something like that?

But Dad wasn’t the  type to do that sort of thing. He wouldn’t pull a prank like this. Nothing made him  happier than keeping order around here.

So, I figured I better take it seriously. I flicked a switch by the door. A single lightbulb came to life.

But honestly, the booth wasn’t that  bad. It actually looked pretty cozy. There was a plush chair with a thick blanket draped over it.

A  space heater sat on the floor. A small sink with a mirror stood in one corner. Some books and an old  radio rested on a table mounted on the wall.

The radio hummed softly in the background. I turned  up the volume and found an easy rock station. I started to make myself at home.

I  brought some water and snacks with me, plus a thermos of chicken soup Dad made.  I unscrewed the cap and took a nice big gulp. Dad wasn’t the best cook, but the soup  reminded me of home.

It was nice and familiar. “Alright, let’s do this,” I said to myself.  I looked at my watch.

It was 6:15 PM. The sun was completely gone now. Dad said  I could only leave when dawn broke.

I locked the door behind me before I  settled into the chair and pulled the blanket over my legs. I figured it would be a  long night, so I might as well get comfortable. The first half hour was peaceful.

I  flipped through an old mystery novel until I saw some headlights in the distance.  They came from a tiny blue car headed out of town. It was shiny and newer looking than  most around here.

It was cruised towards the tollbooth. I set my book down, watching  as the car eased up close. The driver rolled down the window and dropped a shiny penny  into the collection basket.

Routine stuff, right? I hit the button to raise the toll arm  and gave a friendly wave as the car rolled past. But then, something odd struck me as the  taillights faded into the distance.

I realized I couldn’t picture the driver at all.  All I could remember was a smile. Just a blurry, indistinct smile.

I couldn’t remember if  they had hair, what they were wearing, or even if the driver was a  man or a woman. Nothing. Nada.

I rubbed my eyes. I had to be more tired than  I thought. But the more I tried to remember anything about the driver, the more that smile  seemed to float in my memory.

I couldn’t attach a face to it. All I remember are the teeth.  Perfectly straight teeth.

Like something out of a dental magazine. And the blue car?  I wracked my brain but couldn’t think of anyone in Eden who drove one like that.

The whole thing made me uneasy. How could I not remember anything about someone I just  saw? I shook my head, trying to shrug it off.

“Get it together, James,” I muttered to myself. But as I was still trying to shake off the weird  feeling from earlier, a shiny green sedan rolled up to the toll booth. The driver was a middle-aged  guy with a friendly face.

He rolled down his window. The familiar lyrics of "Take Me Home,  Country Roads" by John Denver filled the air. Man, that song took me back.

Dad and I used to sing  that in the house when he was in a good mood. "Great song choice," I said with a nod. The man replied with a smile and a thumbs up.

He dropped a penny into the collection basket  and drove off, humming along with the song. But then, things got weird. Like, déjà vu weird. 

Another green sedan, identical to the first, pulled up. The window rolled down, and there  was the same guy. With the same smile.

And the music? It picked up right where it had left off. "Uh, nice to see you again?

" I tried to joke, not sure what was happening. He just smiled again, dropped another penny, and drove off. The  song continued to play the entire time.

Before I could even process what happened,  another green sedan rolled up. The same guy, the same song, continuing from where it left  off again. This repeated over and over again.

Each time the song resumed exactly  where it had stopped until the whole thing finally played through. It  was like watching the same scene on repeat. Except the song stitched  itself together a bit more each time.

I checked my watch when the final "Country Roads"  notes faded away with the last green sedan. Forty-five minutes had passed. Forty-five minutes  of the same car, the same guy, and the same song, over and over.

I swear those sedans came  by right after one another. It shouldn’t have taken that long to get through the whole  song. I rubbed my eyes, expecting to see the sedan appear again.

But it didn’t. The road was  quiet, the night suddenly feeling a lot colder. A few minutes later, a police car  showed up.

It sped towards the booth with its lights flashing. And it  was coming out of town. That caught me off guard.

Our town only had one  police car and this wasn’t it. Did something terrible happen back home? The car pulled up to the booth.

And I braced myself for some bad news  as he rolled down the window. But instead of a familiar face, there was no  face at all. No head, even.

It was just a bloody stump where the officer’s neck should have been.  Yet, his uniform was spotless. It was perfectly pressed like he was ready for inspection.

He  wore a badge, but I couldn’t make out the name. I could hear angry, growling noises coming  from the backseat. Something fierce and wild that didn’t sound human or animal.

Remembering the rules, I quickly saluted the Headless Officer. He returned the  gesture. A crisp, precise movement that seemed normal despite everything else.

Then,  without a word, he drove off into the night. After that encounter with the Headless Officer,  I took another long look at Dad's list of rules. Seemed like they were more literal than I  thought.

The old radio crackled to life as I read them over, making me jump. It started jumping  channels until it landed on a station I’ve never heard of before. Called itself Radio Harmony.

The radio host's voice came through, smooth and calm. He was saying how it was almost time for  the “Midnight Record. " I glanced at my watch, and my stomach dropped.

It was nearly 12. It  didn’t feel like I’d been in the booth that long. I scrambled to figure out how to follow  the rule about the symbol.

The list said I had to trace something. But with what? I  searched the booth for some sort of clue.

And that's when I noticed a small box under  the desk. Inside, I found an old paintbrush and a dusty bottle of ink. Just in time, a  strange song started playing on the radio.

I assumed it was the Midnight Record the host  mentioned. But it wasn’t like any song I’d ever heard. It was a mix of drums, and a high-pitched  whirring sound made the hairs on my neck stand up.

I tried to change the station, but the radio  won’t let me. It was stuck on. Behind me, a glowing blue symbol appeared inside the  toll booth’s door.

It formed a circle, with runes drawn on the inside. I dipped the  brush in ink, and carefully traced over them. The symbol glowed brighter with every rune I  traced.

By the time I got to the last rune, it was blinding. I could barely keep my eyes  open. In the background, the song on the radio was nothing but screaming now.

I squeezed my  eyes shut instead, waiting for it all to stop. Finally, the light blinked out as suddenly as  it appeared. The symbol was completely gone.

The radio went silent for a moment before  it switched back to my easy rock station. Everything was back to how it should be. But my heart was still pounding.

I struggled to catch my breath. I took out some water and just  gulped it all down. And that’s when I heard it.

A loud cry coming from outside. I looked up. In  the distance, I could see a woman stumbling to the booth.

She had a worn-out coat. Her face was  covered up by her long stringy hair. She staggered to the toll arm, trying to push her way into town.

I called out to her while pointing to the sign. “Ma’am, all it cost is one penny.  Please don’t break the arm” I hollered.

But it was like she couldn’t hear me. Instead, she got even more upset. She slammed her body against the barrier  hard enough to shake it.

The whole time, she’s sobbing like her heart just broke. I yelled for her to stop, hoping to snap her out of whatever panic she was in. That caught  her attention.

She froze. It was like someone hit the pause button on a movie. She stayed like  that for a few seconds.

Not moving an inch. Then suddenly, she dropped to all fours.  Her limbs scrambled across the road, headed right at me.

Her head bobbed up and  down as she moved like her neck was on a string. She kept sobbing even as she jumped  to the window. She hung on to the booth, demanding I let her in.

Then without warning,  she started banging her head against the glass. I tried to calm her down. But all she  did was cry and smash her face against the glass.

That’s when I saw police lights in  the distance. They came from the direction of the town. The patrol car pulled up fast  and out stepped the Headless Officer.

He went straight for the woman. He grabbed  her and quickly got her off the booth. I could see her struggling to break free as  he put her in the back of the police car.

Then I did the only thing I could  do at that moment. I put up a hand and saluted the Headless Officer. Rules are rules.

He returned the gesture before  driving off with the crying woman. I settled back into the booth and figured I’d  call Dad to ask what the hell was going on. Who was that headless cop?

But, of  course, my phone had no signal. The questions would have to wait until morning.  I glanced at my watch.

It was almost 2 AM. A beat-up green pickup truck covered in  rust rolled up to the booth. It looked like it would fall apart any minute.

The  driver was an old woman who began fumbling for a penny as she reached the toll arm. That  was when I remembered one of the rules: Do not accept anything from the old woman. I wasn’t  entirely sure if this was the "old woman" the rule mentioned, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

I quickly hit the button to raise the arm. "No need for that, ma'am, you can go right ahead," I  told her, trying to sound as polite as possible. But she wouldn’t have it.

She insisted on paying,  pushing this dirty coin at me. I reassured her, "Really, it's okay. You don’t have to  pay tonight.

" But she got more agitated, shoving the coin closer to me. I looked closer at the coin she was so desperate to give me. It wasn't even a  penny.

It was larger, weirdly shimmering under the moonlight. The longer I looked at it, the more  it seemed to flicker like it wasn’t entirely real. "Please, just go through," I started  to beg.

I didn’t want anything to do with that coin. Whatever was going  on with it, it didn’t feel right. Despite my protests, the old woman wouldn’t  budge.

She leaned closer to me. “Do you know who I am, young man? ” I shook my head, taking a step back.

“I’ve never seen you before. ” She laughed. “I’ve known you since you were born, James.

I’ve been here every time a child was  born in Eden, ever since your ancestors first settled this land and made a deal with me. ” As she spoke, I noticed the rust from her truck began to spread like a disease. It crawled  up the sides and over the hood.

It didn’t stop there. The rust spread to her, creeping onto  her skin. It flaked off her whenever she moved.

She continued, her eyes locking onto  mine, “Your town owes much to that deal, boy. We had an agreement. Safety and prosperity  for Eden, in exchange for certain.

. . concessions.

” Her words made my stomach drop. I didn’t  want to believe her. But the fear in her eyes and the supernatural spread of rust  were all too real and immediate to dismiss.

“What kind of deal? ” I managed to ask. She smiled, the rust on her lips cracking.

“A deal that’s kept this place alive and thriving. ” The rust was now eating away at her clothes, hands, and face. Her features slowly  started turning less human.

It was like she was slowly turning into a statue. “Remember, James, every rule has its reason. Every pact has its price,” she said, her voice  becoming a croak as the rust claimed her throat.

With a final nod, she threw the coin on the  road and drove toward town. Her truck left a trail of rust particles floating in the air. I watched until her taillights disappeared into the darkness, turning my attention back to  the ground where she had dropped the coin.

It wasn't a coin anymore. Lying there in the dust  was something else: a giant, dirty fingernail. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Headlights  shone in the distance. But they looked different. They weren’t from a car this time but a  motorcycle.

It rolled up to the booth from out of town, its engine cutting through the quiet  of the night. The guy riding it wore sunglasses. I thought that was weird considering it was pitch  black outside.

He pulled up to pay the toll, pushing up his sunglasses to flash me a  smile and a thumbs up as he passed through. But something went horribly wrong just as  he got past the toll arm. He suddenly lost control of his bike, which skidded across the  road, leaving harsh black marks on the asphalt.

The motorcycle crashed, and the motorist  ended up pinned underneath, not moving. "Hey, are you okay? " I called out, my heart  racing.

He groaned in response and weakly raised his hand, signaling me to come over and help. I was about to leave the booth when I remembered the rule: ignore all cries for help. My stomach  churned with conflict.

I wanted to help him, but those rules. . .

they were  there for a reason, right? Just then, I smelled gasoline in the air, sharp  and alarming. A fire erupted from the bike, and the motorist started screaming for help.

Thick  black smoke rose, making it hard to see what was happening to the guy. My instincts screamed at me  to do something, and I was just about to leave the booth when he started calling out my name. But wait.

How did he know my name? I never told him. I paused, my hand on the booth  door.

Another rule flashed in my mind. Do not respond to your name. His screams sounded  real enough, but the way he said my name felt off.

It was calm and monotone. Almost like  it was a recording played over his cries for help. It didn't sit right with me.

I hesitated as the flames grew, reaching seven feet high. The screams grew  louder, more high-pitched. But I’d hear my name every few seconds.

It sounded exactly  like it was being dubbed over the screams. Just then, the familiar police car appeared  down the road and pulled up right to the burning wreckage. The Headless Officer stepped  out.

He walked straight into the flames and carried out the motorist. He didn’t even look  human anymore. He looked more like a being made of fire.

He walked normally as the Headless  Officer guided him to the backseat of the cop car. I wasn’t at the booth but gave the officer  a salute anyway. The road cleared as the car drove away.

There was no trace of  the wrecked motorcycle or the fire. I kept staring at the road. I felt sick at how  close I was to breaking a rule.

A loud banging coming from inside the booth snapped me out  of it. Heart racing, I followed the sound to the small bathroom mirror above the sink. I  hesitated and remembered the rule about not looking at mirrors between 3 and 4 AM.

It wasn’t  quite that time yet, so I risked a quick look. What I saw nearly knocked the wind out of me.  In the mirror, another version of myself was desperately banging on the glass.

It wore  my clothes, but they were torn and filthy. A nasty cut was bleeding down its cheek,  and its fists were bloody as it pounded against the glass. The reflection looked  utterly terrified, eyes wide with panic.

Remembering the rule about ignoring mirrors  between 3 AM and 4 AM, I glanced at my watch. It was still a few minutes shy of 3 AM, so  technically, I was still in the clear to look. But what I saw was making me wish I hadn't.

Turning back to the mirror, I noticed that headlights appeared in the distance behind  my desperate reflection. I spun around to check the road, but it was empty. No car, no  lights, nothing.

Looking back in the mirror, I saw a vehicle had pulled up to the  booth. It was an ambulance, and my reflection still frantically pounded the glass. I watched, horrified, as a tall man in a dark suit stepped out of the ambulance.

The  weirdest part? He was wearing a pig mask. The man in the pig mask reached the booth in  the mirror and did something unthinkable.

He crawled right through the small booth window.  My heart was pounding out of my chest as I rechecked my watch. It was precisely 3 AM.

Remembering the rule, I forced myself to turn away from the mirror. Behind me, the banging grew  even louder, more frantic. I could feel each thud vibrating through the floor of the booth.

It  sounded like bones cracking as the reflection punched the mirror more forcefully. I squeezed my eyes shut, placing my hands over my ears as I tried to  block out all the noise. The rule was clear: do not engage with the mirror from 3 AM to 4  AM.

I had to ignore it, no matter what happened. As I stood there, trying to block out  the horrific sounds from the mirror, the bone-cracking sound suddenly stopped.  But it was quickly replaced by a new, equally disturbing sound: a loud, wet  thudding.

It was repetitive and consistent, and each thump sounded wetter than the last. Just then, a car rolled up to the toll booth. Trying to look normal, I took the driver's  penny and raised the toll arm to let them through.

The driver gave me a nod and drove off.  Nothing unusual there. Then another car came, and another.

Each driver looked completely  normal and paid the toll without any fuss. For a moment, it almost felt normal. Like I was  working a regular toll job.

Except it wasn’t. It was 3 AM, on some back country road. It shouldn’t  be this busy.

Who were these people heading in and out of town? Something was off. The steady  stream of cars seemed too timed, too regular.

Throughout it all, that awful, pulpy  thumping sound continued against the mirror. It was relentless. And as I waved  through the next car, I heard a new sound.

I could hear the sound of pigs in between each  thud. Squealing, snuffling, even the occasional snort. But it was unmistakable.

I tried to focus on the road, the drivers paying their tolls. Anything but the  sounds behind me. But it was hard.

The thudding seemed to grow louder and more desperate  with each passing minute. It felt like each sound was being drilled into my brain. As soon as the clock struck 4 a.

m. , the familiar sight of a police car cut through  the darkness. It was the Headless Officer again, but this time, something was strapped to the roof  of his car.

It was a giant pig head, much larger than any I'd ever seen. The thing was so big it  looked like it might just fall off at any second. This wasn’t like any pig you’d picture.

It had a  face covered in thick, matted hair. It had jagged teeth that stuck out from its mouth. Yellow  pus dripped from its nostrils.

The strangest part? It had antlers growing out of its head. As he passed by the booth, I remembered the rules and gave the Headless Officer a quick  salute.

The moment his car passed through, the disturbing thumping noise haunting  me from the mirror finally stopped. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been  holding. I checked my watch.

It was safe now. Cautiously, I turned to look at the mirror.  It looked normal, like any other mirror, except for a small crack in the center.

As the night wore on, the booth settled into a routine. Sometimes, the radio I listened to  would turn to that weird station—Radio Harmony. It would play some gospel music before flipping  back to my rock tunes.

I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the road  and the cars that came through. Then, a white van approached the booth. As it  neared, the driver rolled down the window to pay the toll.

That's when I noticed something  alarming. His head was turned entirely backward as if somebody had twisted his neck. Struggling  to maintain my composure, I quickly allowed the van to pass.

As it drove away, I saw more faces  in the back window. They were all staring at me, their heads also twisted backward. Not long after, a woman driving a shiny green pickup pulled up.

The truck was  so new it practically gleamed under the booth lights. She leaned out to pay and asked if  I had seen her mother drive by. I couldn't be sure.

So many cars had come and gone. The  woman just laughed, a light, carefree sound that seemed out of place with everything that’s  happened. She drove off, leaving a trail of flower petals fluttering on the road behind her.

As dawn approached and I counted the minutes until my shift ended at 6 AM, I suddenly heard  what sounded like a crowd of footsteps in the distance. I squinted down the road, trying to make  sense of the shape approaching the toll booth. As it drew closer, the sound clarified into the  scuttling of numerous legs against the asphalt.

What emerged from the darkness was horrifying—a  giant dark centipede with a human head at the front. The rest of its body stretched out into  segmented lengths down the road, rushing towards me. This wasn't mentioned in any of the rules.

As it reached the booth, it started slamming against the window. Up close, I could see that  its body was made up of stitched-up skins, so gruesomely put together that I couldn't tell  if they were human. Despite the violence of its actions, the centipede's human face  remained eerily calm as it continued to smash its body against the toll booth. 

With each crash, I felt the booth shake, the structure straining under the assault. The centipede monster began to wrap its long body around the booth, constricting it like a snake.  The windows fogged up with the press of its dark, stitched skin against the glass, and soon, I  could barely see outside.

The booth creaked and groaned under the pressure. I backed away from the windows, unsure of what to do next. The rules had  prepared me for a lot, but nothing like this.

Through the twisted, stitched mass of the  centipede monster, I could see the flashing of police lights in the distance. Thinking  about all the times the Headless Officer had shown up right when I needed help, I scrambled  to raise the toll arm, hoping somehow it might signal him or anyone else who could see. Suddenly, there was a loud crash outside, and the booth shook violently.

The centipede  creature hissed loudly, its grip tightening around the booth, but it stayed put, squeezing  harder. I couldn't see what was happening outside. Then gunshots rang out.

Followed by wet, chopping  sounds—like something being cut or torn apart. The booth went dark. I could only wait, hoping  for it to be over soon.

More gunshots erupted, closer this time, and the booth shook  again, more violently than before. It was so forceful that it knocked me off my  feet, sending me crashing into the edge of the table. Pain flared bright and sharp  in my head, and then everything went black.

When I came to, my watch alarm was beeping—6:30  AM. The early morning light filtered through the booth. To my shock, they looked completely  normal.

No signs of a monster, no damage, no Headless Officer—just silence and the sunrise. I felt a dull ache where I hit my head, but picked myself up and made my way back to town.  As I approached, I saw my dad waiting for me.

His expression was serious, and  there was a hint of concern in his eyes. “Do you understand why the rules are  important now? Why someone must always be at the tollbooth at night?

” he asked. I nodded, still processing everything. “But what was that thing?

The centipede creature? ” His face grew somber. “We call it the Skin-Taker.

It’s why we don’t let anyone go out  of town at night. It doesn't come often, but I'm sorry it came on your first shift. ” “I think I was saved by the Headless Officer,” I said, trying to make sense of the night's events.

Dad nodded. “The rule about saluting him is a new one. He’s been trying to get his head back from  that thing for decades now.

In the meantime, he helps out at the booth when he can. Dad paused, smiled, and said one last thing. “He’ll always protect you, ya  know.

You’re his great grandson.