Through winding roads and mist so deep,
A weary driver fought off sleep.
His headlights cut the swirling night,
A shadow flickered—pale and slight.
A figure stood along the way,
Drenched in rain, in shades of gray.
A woman, silent, cold, alone,
With hollow eyes like polished stone.
She climbed inside without a sound,
Her scent like earth and frozen ground.
She whispered soft, “Please take me far,
Beyond the trees where lost souls are.”
The road stretched on, a twisting seam,
The air grew thick, a waking dream.
Each time he glanced to meet her gaze,
Her form would flicker, shift, and haze.
His knuckles white, his breath turned thin,
A crawling fear beneath his skin.
Then, in the mirror, looming near,
Another face began to peer.
Not hers, but something far more grim,
A second passenger with him.
Its lips uncurled in wicked mirth,
Its eyes devoid of light or earth.
He veered, he swerved, the tires screamed,
The road ahead no longer gleamed.
And when he stopped to face his fate,
The seat was empty. Just too late.
A whisper brushed against his ear,
A voice both distant and too near—
“You’ve come so far, but now you know,
Not all who ride are meant to go.”
They found his car at break of day,
Doors swung wide in disarray.
Yet none could find the man inside,
Just empty seats and open ride.