I’ve always had a penchant for night-time Uber drives; the darkness holds an eerie allure I prefer to the scorching morning sun. I’ve been an Uber driver since 2013, a decade of moonlit journeys that became a peculiar hobby alongside my nursing profession.
I’ve witnessed things that would send shivers down new drivers’ spines: reckless drivers, forest fires looming, tornadoes, heavy gusts of wind, and even passing crimes. But it wasn’t just the natural world’s chaos; I’ve encountered the supernatural too.
The most common eerie sight was a figure, a person walking down the middle of the highway. Yet, when they vanished in my rearview mirror, an unsettling feeling lingered.
Despite all this, I believed nothing could truly scare me, but I was dreadfully wrong.
It was November 2022, around 2:30 AM, as I navigated the rain-drenched roads of Los Angeles. The downpour was relentless, an unusual occurrence in a city not known for storms or hurricanes. Visibility was near zero. I decided to stop at a kiosk for a quick taco. Oddly, they were open that night. While devouring my meal, an Uber request flashed on my screen, destination: the mountains of Glendale, under the name “Naats.”
Considering the proximity to my home in Pasadena, I thought, ‘Why not make this my last ride of the night?’
To my surprise, the pickup was just a block away. Luck was on my side tonight. Devouring the taco, I sped to the pickup spot. There, I saw a tall man, dressed entirely in black, an umbrella shielding him from the relentless rain. His attire, a black suit, a black Trilby cap, and black leather shoes, hinted at a businessman or a tourist.
I greeted him with a simple, “Hey, how are you, Naats?”
“Enjoying my stay here,” he replied, his voice a low, eerie whisper. I glanced at him in the rearview mirror, and it seemed like he was smiling, but the darkness obscured his features. I looked away.
“Where are you from?” I inquired.
“Somewhere far,” he responded cryptically. “Like the Sahara, dry, hot, non-humid. You can imagine.”
His gaze in the mirror intensified, a piercing stare that unsettled me. I felt a growing unease and decided to turn on the interior lights to break the tension.
“You can keep it off. Don’t you like the dark?” he said, his smile audible in his voice.
“No, no,” I stammered. “I just thought you might prefer it with the lights on.”
He placed a hand on my shoulder and whispered in a snarky, eerie tone, “It’s okay, boy. I’ve been holding the light for so long.”
I couldn’t make sense of his words, and my confusion must have shown on my face. He noticed.
“Tell me, do you believe in God?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes,” I replied hesitantly.
“Then you must know me,” he declared, a sinister smile spreading across his face. “You have an angel, one assigned to you in Heaven. Perhaps you should keep talking to your God.”
And then, he started laughing. It wasn’t a loud, hysterical laugh, but a low, chilling one, like a mad dog lurking in the shadows. My heart pounded, my breathing grew heavy. The atmosphere turned eerie. I tried to drown out his laughter with the car’s music, but it refused to play.
I checked the app, noticing our destination was among the mansions atop the mountains. As we wound our way up, his laughter grew louder, more maniacal. Panic consumed me.
“Sir, are you okay?” I asked.
His laughter reached a fever pitch, almost like a shout. I hadn’t realized we were at the mountain’s peak until then.
“Sir! Sir!” I called out.
Then, the car stopped. Engine, lights, AC—everything died. His laughter ceased simultaneously. We were perched at the mountain’s edge, near a wooden fence. He opened the door, stepped out, and walked toward the fence with his cane, all the while maintaining a chilling, unbroken gaze on me.
The car roared back to life, lights illuminating his face. His skin was pale as death, and his long black hair spilled from beneath his Trilby cap. His eyes were locked on me, unyielding, as he removed his cap and held it over his heart.
“It was a pleasure meeting you. We shall meet again,” he said, then turned, jumped and vanished over the fence into the pitch-black abyss.
Something must have clicked in my head as I see myself going out of the car and approaching the fence.
Once I stepped closer, reality hit me like a ton of bricks.
I scanned the whole area, up and down. There was no land, just a precipice. A grandeur sight of a cliff. The fence was there to halt cars.
My heart raced, and I hyperventilated, every hair on my body standing on end.
I fled to my car, started the engine, and raced downhill. The world outside grew warmer as streetlights and people surrounded me. I checked the Uber app—now, the name was just three letter, “STN.”
It took me three agonizing months to return to Uber driving, never past 11 PM. I sought more hours as a per diem RN, avoiding nighttime shifts as much as possible. I couldn’t shake the trauma. Was he real, or was he something supernatural? I’ll never know.
And those haunting last words, “We shall meet again,” still send shivers down my spine, a reminder that he might be lurking just around the corner, waiting for the right moment to return.