The Road

On a dark, frigid night, Tommy found himself driving through the nearly deserted streets of New York City, nearing the end of his shift. Exhausted but hopeful for one last fare, he noticed a man standing beneath the dim light of a flickering streetlamp. The man, dressed in old-fashioned clothes and a long, black coat that swept the ground, waved Tommy down. Without a second thought, Tommy pulled over; ready for what he assumed would be an ordinary ride.

Tommy: "Good evening! Where to?"

The man leaned forward slightly, his face half-hidden in the shadows cast by his coat.

Passenger: "Good evening. I need to go to the old cemetery."

Tommy hesitated for a moment, a twinge of unease crawling up his spine. The cemetery? At this hour? It wasn’t the kind of request he got often, especially so late at night. But he shrugged it off; after all, a long drive meant a higher fare, and the cemetery was far enough away to make it worth his time.

As they drove through the quiet, almost lifeless streets, the man began to speak in a low, almost whispering voice, his words carried softly through the still air inside the cab.

Passenger: "You know, I used to take this road every day for years. I worked in the city, but my family... they lived in the country. I would visit them every weekend."

Tommy, trying to ease the growing tension he felt, offered a weak smile. "That must’ve been quite a drive. Seems like a long way to go."

The man’s tone shifted slightly, becoming more somber, almost haunting.

Passenger: "Oh, it was long... but that night, the road seemed endless."

Tommy’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the passenger's voice took on a deeper, sadder quality.

Passenger: "That night, I wasn’t alone. My wife and daughter were with me... We were coming back from a birthday party. It was raining heavily, pouring really, and I couldn’t see anything ahead of me. The rain was so dense; it felt like I was driving through a curtain of water."

Tommy felt his pulse quicken. Something about the way the man spoke—so calm yet filled with an inexplicable sadness—made him uneasy. But curiosity got the better of him, pulling him deeper into the conversation.

Tommy: "So, what happened next?"

The passenger’s eyes seemed to glaze over, as though reliving the moment.

Passenger: "I lost control. The car slipped on the wet road, and before I knew it, we were flipping over, again and again. I could hear my wife screaming, my daughter crying... but it all went quiet after a while. Just... silence."

Tommy’s heart pounded in his chest. His hands began to sweat, and he could feel a chill creeping through the car despite the heater running. He swallowed hard before asking the question he already dreaded the answer to.

Tommy: "Did the ambulance come? Did you make it to the hospital?"

The man’s voice grew even softer, almost a whisper, but laced with a chilling finality.

Passenger: "Yes, the ambulance came... but it didn’t matter. The next day, the doctor declared all three of us dead. We didn’t survive the crash."

Tommy's blood ran cold. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to look back, but he resisted. A few moments passed before he could summon the courage to glance into the rearview mirror. His heart stopped. The back seat was empty.

He slammed on the brakes, the taxi screeching to a halt. He blinked in shock, finding himself at the entrance to the very cemetery the man had mentioned. The gates stood tall and foreboding under the moonlight, casting eerie shadows on the ground.

Was this real? Had the man truly been a ghost? He struggled to make sense of what had just happened, his mind racing. As he sat there, staring at the cemetery gates, a cold, sinister voice echoed from the back seat.

Passenger (whispering): "You’re next, Tommy... You’re next."

Tommy’s body froze, terror flooding his veins. Without thinking, he slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, tearing away from the cemetery with reckless speed. His mind spiraled, replaying the ghost’s words over and over. "I’m next... I’m next?" He muttered to himself, fear choking his throat. "No! No, I will live! I have to live! There’s so much I still have to do!"

The car sped through the empty streets, Tommy’s heart racing faster with every passing second. By the time he reached his house, his knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel too tightly. He stumbled out of the car, legs shaky, breath uneven. Bursting through the door, he found his wife, Emily, still awake, worry etched on her face.

Emily: "Tommy, what’s wrong?"

Tommy’s voice came out in frantic gasps. "I saw a ghost, Emily. I swear! He told me I’m next... that I’m going to die!"

He grabbed her shoulders, shaking slightly. "I’m not going to die, Emily... I’m not! I’ll live! I’ll live..."

Emily, though startled by his outburst, gently guided him to the couch. "Tommy, calm down. You’ve had a long day. Rest and we’ll figure this out in the morning."

That night, Tommy’s sleep was filled with fevered dreams, his mind haunted by the passenger’s chilling words. He mumbled to himself, his words incoherent but tinged with desperation.

The next morning, Emily, still worried, decided to investigate. She searched online for car accidents on the road Tommy had taken the night before. After some digging, she found a news article from twenty years ago, detailing a tragic accident where a man, his wife, and their daughter had died after their car lost control in the rain. It was the exact story Tommy had told her.

When she showed the article to Tommy, the color drained from his face. It was real. The man had been a ghost. He had truly spoken to a spirit from the past.

From that day forward, Tommy made a vow. He would never drive his taxi after dark again, and he would never, under any circumstances, go near the cemetery at night. Something in that darkness wanted him, but Tommy wasn’t ready to go. Not yet. He would live. He had to live.

The End