The Last Ride

Sam was a small-town cab driver with a knack for reading people. But last Tuesday, something about the guy who climbed into the back seat just didn’t sit right with him. It wasn’t the suit, though it looked oddly crisp for midnight in a town like this. It was his eyes—fixed straight ahead, almost unblinking, like he was watching something no one else could see.

"Where to?" Sam asked, breaking the silence.

“Edge of town, the old Miller farmhouse,” the man replied, his voice cold as gravel. Sam's stomach twisted. The farmhouse had been abandoned for years, a relic of local ghost stories. But, hey, business was business.

They drove in silence, the hum of the engine the only sound. A light fog clung to the road, and trees loomed on either side, casting shadows that seemed to shift and watch. Sam kept glancing in the rearview, but the man just sat there, staring out the window, as if he were… waiting.

"Ever been out here before?" Sam asked, trying to shake off the chill crawling up his spine.

The man’s mouth curved into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Once. A long time ago.”

It was only fifteen minutes to the farmhouse, but it felt like hours. Sam’s fingers were tight around the wheel as he turned down the dirt road that led to the Miller place. And as they pulled up, Sam’s headlights swept across the house. It was a mess—windows shattered, weeds growing up through the porch steps. The place looked like it had been waiting for someone just as much as the man in his back seat had.

As soon as the car stopped, the man opened his door and stepped out without a word. Sam felt an urge to call out, to ask why he’d come to this wreck in the middle of nowhere. But then the man stopped, turned, and looked Sam dead in the eye.

“Wait here.”

Sam wasn’t sure why, but he nodded, pulse hammering in his chest. The man walked toward the house, his figure disappearing into the darkness.

Minutes ticked by. Sam kept an eye on the house, half expecting the man to burst out at any second. But nothing happened. The longer he sat, the more he wanted to leave. But that gaze, the way the man had told him to wait—it gripped him.

Then, just as Sam was about to give in and leave, he saw the man emerge from the shadows. But he wasn’t alone. A little girl stood next to him, clutching his hand. She looked like she’d walked straight out of another time—dress torn, face pale, eyes distant and… lost.

Sam’s heart pounded as the man opened the back door and helped her into the car. Without a word, he climbed in beside her, his gaze unreadable. Sam’s mouth went dry as he turned the car around and started back toward town. He wanted to ask who she was, why they’d gone there, but the silence was too heavy, too strange.

They were nearing the outskirts of town when Sam noticed something strange in the rearview mirror. The little girl—she was staring straight at him, her lips moving silently, eyes wide and pleading. And that’s when he saw the bruises around her neck.

A cold sweat broke out on Sam’s skin. He glanced at the man, who was staring forward again, unmoved. Just as Sam opened his mouth to speak, the man leaned forward, his face inches from Sam’s.

“Drive,” he whispered, his voice like ice.

Sam swallowed, heart hammering, and did as he was told. They drove in silence until they reached the man’s drop-off point, an empty parking lot on the edge of town. The man stepped out, and for a moment, he looked back at the little girl. Sam could have sworn he saw something almost… sad.

Then the man turned to Sam, his eyes cold once more. “Forget about tonight.”

Sam swallowed hard and nodded, though he knew he wouldn’t. He watched as the man and the girl walked into the darkness, vanishing without a trace.

And that’s when he noticed the back seat was bone dry where the girl had been sitting.