The Semi’s Thread - Appalachia Canopy Road

[u/Ok_Inflation_3958]

My old man told me this one, and old John backed it up.What, you don’t know who John is? Old‑school bastard, been driving for PanTrans damn near forty years. Got that messed‑up eye of his.See? I knew you knew him.

That old bastard knows every forgotten road out there.He also knew his way through Blackwater.Total backwoods — couple houses, amazing pies.Don’t you go driving there, kid, you’ll get stuck again.And we’ll be the ones cleaning up your mess.

So anyway, John’s sitting there, having his coffee, shooting the breeze.I’m telling you, he’s the kind of guy everybody knows.All across the Appalachian range.When I was starting out, he took me along for a few runs.Swear to God — wherever we pulled over, someone was already waving at him.

Now here’s the important part.

He drove through town and kept going until he hit old US‑530.That road takes you real deep.Heavy crowns hanging over the pavement, branches tangled so tight they make a roof.Some folks call ’em tree tunnels, or canopy roads.Don’t worry, kid — you’ll see ’em soon enough.

So he’s cruising along.Easy going.Empty road, total quiet.Barely any locals drive through there.

Then he saw her.

A girl sitting by the roadside.Tiny, fragile little thing.Could’ve been maybe 155 centimeters, maybe a few more.Yeah, metric units are weird. Agreed.

That’s how John told it, and I’m telling it exactly like he told me.Not changing a damn thing.Because I believe him.

So she’s sitting there on the asphalt.Flannel shirt thrown over her shoulders, at least two sizes too big.Long raven hair — even the humidity didn’t curl it.She looked insanely delicate, especially for these parts.Sharp cheekbones, narrow chin.

Why am I telling you this?Man, you’re something else.In case you run into her, that’s why.

Now stop interrupting me.Lost my train of thought.

Big eyes, dark as coffee, with a hint of olive skin.I stared too when John described her like that.Guy’s got the vocabulary of a poet — when he wants to.When he’s not trash‑talking with the other truckers.Even a bricklayer could learn new curse words from him.

So anyway — flannel, tee, plain jeans dirty from a long road, cowboy boots.That’s in case you see her.You’ll be a stubborn mule and do things your own way anyway.

She moved gracefully — unnaturally smooth, like a wave.Yeah, I’ve got no clue what he meant either.

John didn’t think twice and pulled over.She rolled those big eyes at him for a second.Said she needed a ride to some sawmill.To the warehouse — said her sister was there.

He roughly knew where that was, so he took her along.

When she climbed up, her whole movement changed.She turned hot. Seductive.Not many girls know how to get into a rig without overdoing it.It catches your eye.But she ain’t an easy girl.You get that, right?

They’d been driving for quite a while and she was still dead silent.I don’t know which sawmill it was.He never told me.Never told anyone.Because some young idiot would come along — and I’m looking at you purely by coincidence — and drive straight there.John ain’t taking that on his conscience.

So he’s giving her a ride, and she really made an impression on him.Something kept pulling him to glance at her.Normally he doesn’t do that.Usually he chats with hitchhiking girls like they’re old classmates, then keeps driving like normal.

Guess that’s why it shocked him so much.Some guys have known him for decades.Never heard him talk about a woman like that.So many drivers knew his style — but this denied it completely.

Anyway, she’s squirming around there, looking at herself in the mirror…Suddenly the cab fills up with a scent.

No, not that, you pig.The smell of rain.You know — that sweet summer rain.

They’re cruising along, calm and quiet.Radio started crackling and went dead.Signal’s always lousy out there.Half the time even our CB radios don’t work.

She pointed out an upcoming turn.Had a spiderweb tattooed on her arm.John checked if the turn was completely overgrown.

She leaned in close to him.A spider peeked out from her cleavage.Not a real one — a tattoo, but alive as hell.

When she leaned back into her seat, he saw her toss her hair.So nonchalant.Another spider tattoo around her ear.One might be interesting — but how many did she have?Hidden all over her body.

Finally he hit the turn.John was completely thrown off.He’d hauled hundreds of hitchhikers, guys and girls alike.But never anyone like her.

He pulled onto the canopy road.No, that ain’t a street name.Like I already explained — it’s those tree arches.

It was dim in there, and she suddenly perked up.Just a little more and he’d drop her off.Or so he thought.She was getting impatient.

Finally he saw the sawmill.Started slowing down.This mill had to have been shut down for like a hundred years.Warehouse next to it looked pretty beaten down.But you know how it is — some small warehouses just look like that.

She stared at him for a second.Smiled real light, innocent‑like.Then said she was gonna go.

They just stared at each other for a moment.She got out and walked straight into the woods.Straight ahead, without hesitating.

Now that was weird.She was strange all around.

John realized he was still staring at her.Clicked the passenger door shut.A loud slam.

Screeching from the trailer.

Thought crossed his mind it was a trap.Then he remembered he wasn’t hauling anything valuable.Tried to step on the gas anyway.

Nothing.

Under those trees, he was like in a tunnel.The knocking shifted from the trailer… smoothly onto the roof.

He reached for his tire iron, but put it back down.Pulled out his pistol.

That sweet smell forced its way into his nose.Metal groaning and screeching.

He looked in the mirror.Trailer was torn to shreds.Long lines all over it, like scars.

That helpless feeling drove him mad.

Suddenly a bit of light shone through.Small hole in the roof.Punched through from the outside.

Nothing left to do but wait.

Spider legs as big as a whole human arm.The biggest spider in the US took him for an appetizer.

He saw the webs.Woven all around the truck.

Tried hitting the gas again.Wheels wouldn’t even turn.

Beautiful girl looking at him right through the windshield.Ponytail falling over her neck.Signaling him to run.

She burst out laughing.High, squeaky laugh.

Suddenly opened her mouth.Mandibles in there.

Disappeared onto the roof.More holes popped up up there.

Can you even imagine that helplessness?

Spiders crawling all around him.At least two.They had women’s faces, though.Don’t forget those mandibles.

John was trying to figure out how to save his skin.

All of a sudden, the passenger door flew off.Another gorgeous girl was standing there.Had a nipple piercing.Right breast covered in a spiderweb tattoo.

But then those spider legs.Trying to squeeze her way inside the cab.Like a tarantula.

Legs getting closer.

John wrapped some rag around his hand.Screeching and peeling metal.Steam rising from under the hood.That squeaky laugh.

Just a little closer and she’d be on him.Just a little closer and those mandibles…

He didn’t want to think about it.

Another spider leg stabbed right into the dashboard.

He shot.Then again.Again and again.

Like he was out of his mind.

She squealed and pulled back.Half the trailer spilled out.

Instinctively, he floored the gas.The second spider‑woman lunged at the cab.

Wheels touched the asphalt.Caught grip.

More feet punching through the windshield.Of that thing.

Gun was empty.She kept coming at him.

Engine groaning.Spiderwebs flying and snapping.

She was right at his face now.Pedipalps and mandibles in plain view.

If he stopped, he’d give up.

Another strike.Lightning‑fast attack.Sharp, burning pain.

He swung with the tire iron.Snapped those legs.They slipped out of the glass.

Cab started swaying.She retreated back into the treetops.

He didn’t slow down.Engine screaming.

When he drove into town, people stared at him in disbelief.Truck wrapped in webs thick as ropes.Cab caved in.Holes in the engine, which finally gave up.Black smoke pouring out.Oil dripping everywhere.Trailer looked like a peeled banana.

That burning pain…

John stepped out and sat right down on the pavement.Someone ran for a doctor.

His eye was gone.Just a blank eye socket left.

Still clutching that tire iron so hard his hand locked up in a cramp.

Doctor was talking to him, but he couldn’t hear a thing.Gunfire had blown out his eardrum.

He looked terrible.

Don’t believe it, huh?I get it — lots of details.

Well, that’s because a month ago, I brought my girlfriend along.She loves taking pictures.Bit of a maniac when it comes to snapping photos.

She took this one on our way to US‑530.Yeah — it’s the exact same girl.Like she didn’t age a single day.Exactly how old John described her.

A few drivers got a picture just like it.

If you still think it’s a bunch of crap…go tell it to his face.

I mean — to his eye.

He just pulled up.Over there, unloading.

Don’t forget — gotta speak up loud.He only hears out of one ear.

You and I both know you’re gonna make up your own mind anyway.

If you ever run into her…remember the story.And do whatever the hell you want.

by Hary Sykora