You're hauling at 62 miles per, in the middle of the night on an unlit highway near Little Big Horn.
You hear a voice:
"Can you help me?"
It's from inside your cab.
You look over your shoulder to the sleeper. Sitting there in buckskins is Custer. Yeah, that Custer. You go cold in your seat. Then he's gone.
Truckers can have some frightening experiences in this line of work, although they mostly involve speeding Honda's packed with teenagers and the truck stop chef's Special of the Day.
But the ghost of the doomed general as a backseat driver?
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