The Unseen Passenger

Tom had always been a night owl. Long drives down empty highways were his way to clear his head, the solitude a balm after his hectic days in the city. He loved the peace of the road at night—until the night he took that back road through Shadow’s End.

The town itself was nearly abandoned, just a handful of houses and a diner that hadn’t been open in decades. But the quickest route home cut straight through it, and Tom knew the road well. Yet tonight, there was a mist settling over the town, thick and unnatural, clinging to his headlights like smoke.

As he drove into Shadow’s End, his radio crackled, though he’d turned it off. He tried adjusting the dial, but it wouldn’t tune to any station. Just static, mingling with a faint, barely audible murmur—almost like a voice.

He turned it off again, brushing it off as a technical glitch. But then, the headlights caught something in his rearview mirror. Just a shadow. Something small. But his heart skipped. He didn’t recall passing any pedestrians.

He shrugged it off and drove on, but every few minutes, he’d glance back and see a slight blur, like a person shifting in the back seat. The car felt heavier, the air colder. He told himself he was imagining things.

But then the shadow solidified.

Tom’s heart began pounding as he felt the chill spread through the car. The shadow was no longer faint. There, seated in the middle of the backseat, was the outline of a figure, barely visible in the dim light but unmistakably present. Its head was bowed, the posture unnatural—almost broken.

Tom’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel. He couldn’t look back again. He pressed harder on the gas, willing himself to focus on the road. But as he did, the radio crackled back on, this time blaring static that shifted into faint words.

“Stop… here.”

The voice was cold, distant, and wrong—like it had traveled across time to reach him. Tom’s mind raced. The nearest town was miles away, and stopping here wasn’t an option he wanted to consider. He sped up, heart racing, praying he could outrun whatever was haunting him.

“Stop… here,” the voice repeated, louder this time.

The road began to twist, the mist thickening until he could barely see beyond his headlights. The figure in the backseat seemed to move, straightening up, almost stretching, as if gaining strength. Its head lifted slowly, and for the first time, Tom glimpsed its face—a hollow, empty stare, eyes black as the night outside.

Panicked, he swerved, trying to keep his focus on the road. But then he heard it—a soft whisper from directly behind his ear. “You didn’t stop.”

Something cold brushed the back of his neck, and he felt fingers—a hand—grazing his shoulder. He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to scream, trying to keep his eyes on the road. But the whisper continued, insistent and angry.

“Stop here. This is… where I died.”

Tom couldn’t take it any longer. His foot slammed on the brakes, tires screeching as the car skidded to a stop on the side of the road. He threw open the door, stumbling out, his breath coming in gasps as he turned to look back.

The back seat was empty.

He stood there, heart racing, feeling the mist closing in around him, suffocating. The silence of the road was deafening, but in the stillness, he heard the whisper again—fainter this time, almost sad.

“You didn’t stop for me…”

Tom’s gaze drifted down to the side of the road, where a weathered cross lay half-buried in the mud. A small plaque was affixed to it, worn and barely legible, but he could still make out the words.

In loving memory of Sarah Moore. Gone, but never truly departed.

It took him a moment to gather himself, but when he finally got back in his car, the air was clear again, and the weight he’d felt was gone. The figure never reappeared, but Tom knew he would never take Shadow’s End Road again.

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