The road was quiet after midnight. Lim preferred these hours. Fewer cars. Fewer conversations. No one asking why he avoided certain routes when the weather turned bad.
He checked his rearview mirror.
Empty.
He saw her at the first left turn.
A woman in red stood beneath a weak streetlamp. She didn’t wave. She didn’t step forward. She simply stood there, as if she had been waiting longer than the light had been burning.
Lim slowed.
For a second, he considered stopping.
Then he drove past.
“She’s waiting for someone else,” he muttered. “Not my fare.”
At the next turn, she was there again.
The Corners
She appeared only at corners.
Never in the middle of the road. Never crossing. Always where the street bent and shadows pooled.
After the third sighting, Lim changed his route. He took narrow streets, sudden turns, loops that made no sense. The kind of driving that would annoy a passenger.
He checked the mirror again.
Empty.
Still, at the next intersection, a lamp would flicker—
—and she would be standing there.
The radio thinned into static. The rear door lock clicked down and up again. Once, the taxi meter flashed before settling back to zero.
“Old car,” he said.
His hands were slick. He wiped them against his trousers. The steering wheel felt damp.
The streets felt closer than they should.
The Turn He Left Behind
The sight of the faded minimart sign pulled something loose inside him.
The shallow drain near the curb.
The slope before the traffic light.
Rain on the windshield.
He hated driving in the rain. It made the road shine too bright.
A flash of red stepping off the curb.
He slammed the brake.
Too late.
The sound wasn’t loud. Just wrong.
He stepped out into the rain. She lay near the curb, breathing in thin pulls. Her eyes were open.
Looking at him.
His mouth filled with a metallic taste. His ears rang.
No other cars. No open windows. No voices.
“It wasn’t my fault,” he whispered.
He took one step toward her.
Then another.
Rain blurred his vision. For a moment, he could not see her clearly.
If he stayed, everything would fall apart.
He turned back.
He got into the taxi.
He drove away.
After that, he avoided this estate.
Meter Running
The taxi meter clicked on.
Lim’s hands were still on the wheel.
Numbers climbed slowly. Then faster.
He pressed the button to shut it off. Nothing.
A soft thud sounded from the back seat.
Not loud.
But close.
The GPS screen flickered. The map blurred before clearing to two words:
Destination Reached.
He was at that same intersection.
The corner stood empty.
The back of the taxi dipped.
Just slightly.
The rear door lock clicked.
He could smell damp fabric, like rain trapped inside a closed room.
Something brushed lightly against the back of his seat.
Lim’s breath shortened. He kept his eyes forward.
Slowly, he looked into the mirror.
She sat directly behind him.
Her hair hung wet against her face. Water pooled on the seat and crept forward along the seam.
Her eyes did not move.
The numbers on the meter spun. Hundreds. Thousands.
“It wasn’t my fault,” he said, and this time it sounded like a plea.
She did not answer.
The Last Fare
Lim pressed the accelerator.
The taxi moved forward.
Streetlamp. Minmart. Drain. Slope.
Again.
His chest tightened. He drove faster. The engine strained.
The same corner returned.
In the mirror, she remained seated.
Watching.
The meter kept running.
Water slipped onto the floor and spread toward his feet.
He lifted them instinctively.
The steering wheel turned slightly beneath his hands.
Just enough to follow the curve.
Inside, the meter reset to zero.
It did not stop.