Being born and raised in El Salvador it exposed me to a lot of different urban legends, different types of scary stories that people often say to kids to scare them off. none of those stories prepared me to what happened to my family and I to a trip to 2 hours away from home while we headed back from a hiking trip to a river.
after we were done and headed home, we had to drive on a dirt road for about 1 hour, think route 66 but in Spanish. We had to stop for a moment so my aunt could throw up because she suffers from motion sickness. as we are stopped in this empty dirt road we hear this toyota hilux driving to the river, it was moving very slow, coasting. my dad told everyone to get inside the car because we were leaving, if you are familiar with any third world country, a slow moving car when there’s no other cars or civilization near you inst always good news. so as we all rush to get inside the car the truck finally passes us, it was a almost new hilux (at the time in 1998) as it creeps up next to us, we see is full of people, all with a dead look in their face and covered in blood, all their faces turned to us as if they were watching us. the truck had some damage but nothing major. as soon as that happened my dad rushed out of there as my aunt chanted the “padre nuestro” as loud as she could.
I don’t know what happened to the people inside that car, I don’t know if they were dead, or if they were hurt, but to this day I remember that haunting memory, the faces, the way the truck creep next to us.