Something Followed My Car Through a Snowstorm. The Snow Wouldn't Touch It Creepypasta

Speaker 00:00

[gentle music] Wednesday is the best day of the week. I know how that sounds coming from a 46-year-old living for a midweek school run, but that's where I am. That's what's left. Every Wednesday evening, I drive the carpool for four kids, my daughter, Ashley, and three of her friends from school, Leah, Craig, and Manny. I pick them up from the after-school club at half 4, and I drive them home one by one, door to door, same order every week. Leah first. She lives in the new build estate near the retail park, the one with the identical brick fronts and the tiny driveways. Her mom always waves from the kitchen window. Leah needs dropping off at the top of the drive because their gate sticks, and she can't open it from the outside. Then Craig. His house is down a cul-de-sac off of the Burntwood Road. His mom works late on Wednesdays, so his dad answers the door, usually holding a tea towel, looking like he's already burned something. Craig's 10, the youngest of the group, and he talks the entire journey about football, Minecraft, or whatever YouTube video rewired his brain that morning. He doesn't need encouraging, just needs an audience. Manny is after Craig.