Rest Stop Terror-2

Driving through the dead of night, I pulled into a remote rest stop after hours on the road. Only one other car was there, its windows pitch black.

Inside the dim bathroom, I froze.

A man stood facing the corner, shoulders rigid, head down. His stillness was... wrong.

I hesitated but walked past him to the nearest stall, locking the door. The room was deathly quiet. After a tense moment, I flushed the toilet—despite not using it—and stepped out.

He was gone.

I bolted back to my car, heart pounding, and sped away. Relief washed over me as I reached another rest area 20 minutes later. This time, the lot was empty.

As I finished in the stall, footsteps echoed on the cold tile floor, stopping right outside my door.

Through the thin crack... I saw those same boots.

I kicked the stall door open—but nobody was there.

Was I paranoid... or was he still following me?