Ghosts Aren’t Supposed to Drive Cars

The night was colder than I expected, the kind of chill that sneaks past your jacket and settles deep into your bones. My Uber app said the driver was three minutes away. Three minutes felt like an eternity as I stood there, shivering under a flickering streetlight, my phone clutched tight in my hand. When the car pulled up sooner than expected, I felt a rush of relief. No one wants to linger on an empty street longer than necessary.

I leaned toward the window. “Mark?” I asked. A slight nod from the driver was all the confirmation I needed. Without giving it much thought, I slid into the backseat. The car smelled unusual, like it had been locked away in someone’s attic for years. Old wood and faint smoke. I figured maybe the driver was into antiques or something. But the silence in that car was thick, almost oppressive. No small talk, no music, just the hum of the engine and the occasional sound of tires on asphalt.

The first few minutes of the ride felt normal enough, but then I started noticing the route. Streets I knew well seemed oddly distorted, like a funhouse mirror version of the city. I glanced at my phone to check the map, but the app wasn’t loading. Just a blank screen with a pulsing dot where we were. That’s when I realized something wasn’t right.

“Are we going the right way?” I asked, trying to sound casual but feeling my pulse quicken. The driver didn’t respond. His eyes stayed locked on the road, his hands gripping the wheel tighter than necessary. The smell in the car seemed stronger now, like burnt wood was filling my lungs. I’d seen too many bad movies to ignore the alarm bells going off in my head.

The dashboard light illuminated the driver’s hands, and they didn’t look right. The skin was too pale, almost waxy, and for a second, I thought I could see veins that shouldn’t have been that visible. Panic started to creep in. I looked out the window, trying to figure out where I was, but nothing felt familiar. Buildings that I knew had been torn down years ago were suddenly there again, looking as though they’d never been touched.

“Hey, I think you missed a turn,” I said, my voice wavering. Still, no response. The driver tilted his head slightly, as if listening to something far away. I reached for the door handle, my heart racing. “I’ll just get out here,” I said quickly. No reaction. My fingers fumbled for the handle, but it felt jammed. The air in the car grew heavier, pressing down on me like a weight.

The rearview mirror caught my attention. My reflection was there, wide-eyed and panicked, but the driver’s seat showed nothing. Just an empty space where a person should have been. My chest tightened. I yanked the door handle again, this time with all my strength. It swung open, and I threw myself out onto the sidewalk, scraping my hands and knees but too terrified to care.

When I turned to look back at the car, it was gone. Not driving away, not disappearing into the distance—just gone. The street was empty, silent except for my own ragged breathing. My phone buzzed in my hand, and I glanced down to see a message from my real Uber driver: “I’m here.” He was parked just around the corner, looking puzzled when I climbed into the car, still shaking.

“Rough night?” he asked. I nodded, not trusting myself to explain what had just happened. How could I? I wasn’t even sure I believed it myself.

Since that night, I’ve developed a new habit. I check every license plate, every driver’s photo, and even their star rating before I step into any car. Call it paranoia if you want, but I’ve learned my lesson. There are stories about haunted houses and eerie forests, but nobody ever warns you about the ghost cars that might be cruising the streets. Maybe they’re drawn to those quiet, lonely nights when the world feels just a little off.

Ghosts aren’t supposed to drive cars. It doesn’t make sense, and yet, I’ll never forget the pale hands on that steering wheel or the empty space in the mirror. Sometimes, reality doesn’t play by the rules we expect. And sometimes, you just have to trust your instincts, even when the world is telling you to sit back and enjoy the ride.