Little Tales of Horror

The Uber Driver

The driver flipped on his glasses as he walked out the store. His head aimed towards the window and he watched. He shifted into a comfortable position on his seat and closed the door. He pulled over his belt in one swift pull and buckled himself. Then the keys were shoved into the ignition and the engine started. We reversed and pulled out onto the road. Once more we were on the move and his face sat still in the mirror.

"Your boyfriend. Might his name be Gregory?"

"Uh – Yeah. How – you must know him?"

"Yeah, funny. I went to school with him. Was he a football fan by chance?"

The car hadn't felt anymore silent, until now. "He's a baby for football."

"I'm a diehard fan myself." We pulled into another petrol station and he added, "Look, I'm sorry about this dear. I'll be another few more minutes."

My eyes ignored the fast movement of the Uber driver. He left the car and locked the vehicle on his way. The store doors opened in swift silence. He removed his glasses, stepped inside and vanished from my sight. A phone sat against the front window near the driver seat and it flashed. It asked to swipe. We've arrived, arrived at our destination? I opened my phone and it asked to rate my ride. The man's profile picture, empty, a blank image.

"Back," A deep voice roared after a door swung open. "You alright?"

I was taken back and I stumbled to reply. He didn't mind. He started the car, threw on his belt and reversed. Another dozen minutes on the road and this time we didn't stop. We drove onwards and I made it work in peace. When he expected me to pay me, I instead grabbed my bags and walked away from the car. He swore and yelled as I marched away. My pace picked up speed. I wanted to escape as fast as possible.

Work was long, I remember the hours passing by, and the seconds were like snails in a race. To top the menacing day I felt ill. A runny nose, sore throat and the desire to return to bed. When I could pack up and leave, I reached for my phone. Uber-Hm? Uber. No, not after the incident earlier that morning. It was getting dark and I couldn't imagine running into that man again. His creepy presence over the steering wheel and the odd stops around town. No, I'd best call my boyfriend for a lift.

If Gregory didn't answer I'd maybe get a lift with a best friend. I called Gregory's number and waited. His voice did answer, except it told me to call back at a later time. I called another three more times and again waited. The phone was shoved against my ear when a hand landed on my shoulder. A co-worker, she saw my distress and offered a lift home.

"I've never tried Uber." My co-worker said. "I'm no good with technology and I can't trust strangers. For that exact reason. I would've had a heart attack." She laughed.

I laughed with her. Our drive home was quite genuine. I've seen her around, had the small talk around the office. She seemed really friendly. She even helped me to the door of my home. We held a strong conversation out the car and down the steps, towards the front door. We walked past a small garden. Then, in the shadows and on the ground, I spotted small shards of glass. It flickered little reflection from the front house light. My laughing stopped and I looked at the windows of the house.

It took a little for my co-worker to catch on. She'd never visited, so she had no clue there was supposed to be a window beside the front door. A curtain swooped out of the open window and over the concrete. She immediately called the police and I continued to stand still. Would it have been wise to call Gregory's name? To walk into my own home? Maybe not – though I found the courage to do it anyway.

"Gregory?" I called and I called again.

My co-worker hissed my name and eventually followed me inside. The house was dark. It felt so unnatural, so wrong to see my home shrouded in a dark mist. A silent void and a crackle under my shoes. I couldn't tell if this was my house. Up the hallway was pitch-darkness. Our bedroom was not seen on the other end. I called Gregory's name, there was no reply. I didn't walk up there at first until I saw his car in the garage.

The police arrived. We crawled back out from the empty house and met the officer face to face. We explained little. They didn't take notes about the Uber driver too seriously. I told them there was nobody inside. Three months later. I moved in with my Mum. My Mum has a photo of him hanging on the wall in the lounge-room. The police searched around town, through the house and even my phone for evidence.

Mum and I will sometimes sit down and watch T.V. I feel like he hangs around, and my Mum said she has hope he's still alive. She said she's dreamt about him and he's told her a few secrets. He's alive and well, apparently. Then again. She's had the same type of dreams about her husband. He passed away only a few months ago, too.

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