The Silent Passenger
Not everyone in your car is alive.
Ryan was a rideshare driver. He had picked up hundreds of passengers—some friendly, some quiet, some odd. But none of them ever made him feel afraid.
Until that night.
It was past midnight when he got a new ride request. The pickup location was on the outskirts of town, near an abandoned gas station.
Ryan hesitated. It was an unusual spot, but he needed the money.
When he arrived, a woman was already standing by the curb. She was wearing a long black coat, her hair falling over her face.
She got in without a word.
"Where to?" Ryan asked, checking the app.
The destination was a cemetery.
Ryan swallowed hard. "You visiting someone this late?"
Silence.
The woman just stared out the window.
Something felt off.
Her hands were too pale. Too still. She wasn’t even blinking.
The longer Ryan drove, the heavier the air became. The car felt cold, like the temperature had dropped suddenly.
Then, he noticed the smell.
A faint, rotting odor.
He glanced at the rearview mirror. The woman was sitting too still.
His gut screamed at him to stop, but he was only a few minutes away.
Finally, they reached the cemetery. The woman still hadn’t spoken.
Ryan cleared his throat. "We’re here."
She didn’t move.
"Ma’am?"
Nothing.
Slowly, Ryan turned to look at her.
The seat was empty.
His breath hitched. He hadn’t heard the door open. Hadn’t seen her leave.
But in the rearview mirror—
She was still there.
Her head slowly tilted, and in a hollow whisper, she said—
"I never left."
Ryan’s scream echoed through the empty cemetery.
The next morning, his car was found abandoned by the gates.
Ryan was never seen again.
About the Creator
Hridoy Hasan
Welcome to my page! Here, I share a variety of stories, articles, and ideas. Each piece is crafted with care to inspire, inform, and entertain. As a dedicated writer, I’m committed to creating content that connects with readers.
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The Station Without Trains
Seen (1) At the far end of a desert highway stood a train station that no map acknowledged. There were no tracks leading to it, no schedules posted, and no trains that ever arrived. Still, every evening at sunset, the lights turned on. Maya found the station by accident while driving cross-country to escape a life that felt too heavy. Her radio had gone silent miles ago, and her phone showed no signal. When she saw the station glowing in the distance, she pulled over, relieved to find signs of life. The station was clean, almost untouched by time. Wooden benches lined the platform, and an old clock hung above the entrance, forever stuck at 6:40. The air smelled of dust and iron, like a place waiting to be used. “Hello?” Maya called. No answer. She sat on a bench, telling herself she would leave in five minutes. But as the sun disappeared, the lights grew warmer, softer. Calm settled over her in a way she hadn’t felt in years. A man in a conductor’s uniform stepped out from the shadows. His clothes looked old-fashioned, but neatly pressed. His face was kind, though tired. “You’re early,” he said. “Early for what?” Maya asked. “For the train,” he replied. Maya frowned. “There are no tracks.” The man smiled gently. “Not all journeys need them.” He explained that this station was a place between leaving and arriving—a pause for those who were lost, grieving, or running from something they couldn’t name. People didn’t come here on purpose. They arrived when they needed stillness. “Does the train ever come?” Maya asked. “Yes,” he said. “But only once for each person.” Maya felt a tightness in her chest. “Where does it go?” The conductor looked at the horizon. “To the life you stopped believing in.” Maya thought of the dreams she had abandoned, the version of herself she no longer recognized. Tears surprised her, sliding down her face without warning. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” she whispered. The conductor nodded. “That’s why the train hasn’t arrived.” They sat in silence as the stars appeared. For the first time in years, Maya didn’t feel the urge to run. She felt seen. Slowly, the station lights dimmed. The conductor stood. “When you leave,” he said, “you won’t remember this place. But you’ll remember how you felt.” A distant sound echoed—not a train horn, but something close to a heartbeat. Maya blinked. She was back in her car, parked on the side of the empty highway. The station was gone. The road stretched endlessly ahead. But her chest felt lighter. She turned the key and drove forward, not knowing exactly where she was going—but certain, for the first time, that she was finally on the right track.
By Do bol ho jaaye 5 days ago in Horror
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