The Midnight Passenger

Jack had been a taxi driver for over a decade. He had seen all kinds of passengers—drunk businessmen, exhausted nurses, suspicious loners. But nothing had ever unsettled him like the ride he picked up on that cold October night.

It was just past midnight when his radio crackled.

"Passenger waiting near Blackwood Cemetery."

Jack frowned. The cemetery was on the outskirts of town, a lonely stretch of road with nothing but old gravestones and a few streetlights that barely worked.

Still, a fare was a fare.

The Mysterious Passenger

As Jack pulled up to the gate, he spotted a figure standing under a flickering streetlamp. A young woman, dressed in an old-fashioned white dress, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders.

She opened the door and slid into the back seat without a sound.

Jack glanced at her through the rearview mirror. “Where to?”

Her voice was soft, almost distant. “Riverside Hotel.”

Jack nodded and started the meter. The drive was about twenty minutes, but something about the woman made him uneasy. She sat perfectly still, hands folded in her lap. Her skin was pale—too pale. And the car suddenly felt colder.

He tried to make conversation. “You out late tonight?”

Silence.

Jack cleared his throat. “That’s a pretty dress. Looks… vintage.”

Still, nothing.

Then, in the mirror, he saw her lips move. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

Jack forced a chuckle. “Not really. But I’ve had a few passengers who tried to scare me with stories.”

The woman finally met his eyes in the mirror. “Maybe you should.”

The Vanishing Act

A chill crawled down Jack’s spine. He focused on the road, gripping the wheel tighter.

After what felt like an eternity, he turned onto the final street. “Almost there,” he muttered.

Then, he glanced at the mirror again.

The back seat was empty.

Jack’s heart stopped. He slammed the brakes, his breath coming in short gasps. The door had never opened. The seatbelt was still buckled.

But she was gone.

The Final Clue

Shaken, Jack drove straight to the Riverside Hotel. Maybe she had slipped out without him noticing?

He walked up to the night clerk. “Hey, I just dropped off a woman—dark hair, white dress. Did you see her come in?”

The clerk’s face paled.

“You mean Eleanor?” His voice was barely a whisper.

Jack frowned. “I— I don’t know her name. She just asked to be dropped off here.”

The clerk swallowed hard. “Eleanor was a guest here… fifty years ago. She left one night to visit her parents' graves at Blackwood Cemetery. But she never made it back. Some say her spirit still tries.”

Jack felt the blood drain from his face.

The hotel doors creaked open slightly, letting in a gust of cold air. Somewhere in the distance, a soft voice whispered…

"Thank you for the ride."