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The Hidden Weapon
An unreleased short story from the book:
Rideshare Dark Tales from the Driver’s Seat
The rain had started falling in thick sheets, turning the streets into rivers, blurring the lines between the black pavement and the hazy glow of streetlights. The windshield wipers slapped against the glass in a steady rhythm, offering little comfort to the driver as he navigated the nearly empty streets.
Ryan had driven through weather like this before, but tonight something felt off. He couldn’t quite place it—maybe it was the weight in his gut, that inexplicable sense that something wasn’t right. It was the kind of feeling that scratched at the edges of your mind, making you second guess every decision.
He glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of the man sitting in the backseat.
The passenger was quiet, his face partially obscured by the hood of his jacket. He hadn’t said much since he’d gotten in, just a terse, “Downtown,” when Ryan had asked where he was headed. His voice was soft, almost polite, but there was a strange edge to it, something off.
Ryan wasn’t normally the kind of person to profile his passengers, but there was something unsettling about this man. His movements were too deliberate, his eyes darting around too frequently. He kept his hands tucked into his pockets, and every now and then, he’d check his phone with a quick glance, as though waiting for something—or someone.
The unease in Ryan’s stomach grew. He tried to push the feeling aside, focusing on the road ahead, but it lingered, gnawing at him.
The silence stretched on until the sharp crackle of a police siren broke through the night. The red and blue lights bathed the car in an eerie glow, flashing in rhythm against the rain-soaked streets.
Ryan sighed, pulling over to the side of the road. He knew it was just a routine stop, nothing more. The police officer approached, his footsteps loud in the stillness, and Ryan rolled down his window, offering the usual smile and a tired greeting.
“Good evening, sir,” the officer said, his voice steady but cautious. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”
Ryan shook his head, the tension in his shoulders tightening. “No, officer. I don’t.”
“License and registration, please.”
As Ryan fumbled to retrieve his papers from the glove compartment, he caught a glimpse of the passenger in his rearview mirror. The man was sitting perfectly still now, his eyes locked onto the rearview mirror, watching the officer’s every move.
Ryan felt a prickling at the back of his neck, like fingers dragging slowly across his spine.
The officer took a step back, shining his flashlight inside the car, casting harsh beams across the interior. Ryan handed over his license and registration, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. The officer glanced at them briefly, then at Ryan.
“Have you been drinking tonight, sir?” The officer’s eyes narrowed, but his gaze flickered to the passenger for a split second, then back to Ryan.
“No, I haven’t,” Ryan replied, his voice steady, but there was an undercurrent of something—fear, perhaps. He wasn’t sure.
The officer hesitated, his hand hovering over his radio as if weighing something, then turned back to the vehicle.
“Wait here for a moment, please.”
Ryan didn’t respond. He sat frozen, watching the officer walk back to his patrol car, the tension in the air thickening with every passing second. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, and in the silence of the car, the world seemed to stop.
That’s when it happened.
The passenger shifted, moving slowly and deliberately, as if he’d been waiting for this moment. Ryan heard the faint sound of a zipper, then the cold glint of metal caught his eye—a gun, a sleek black handgun, pressed against the back of his seat. His blood ran cold.
“Drive,” the passenger’s voice was low, almost a whisper, but there was no mistaking the command in it. “Take a right turn. Head towards the old mill.”
Ryan’s hands clenched the steering wheel, the plastic biting into his palms as he tried to process what was happening. The gun was real. The situation was real. His heart pounded in his chest, his throat tight with panic.
“Please,” Ryan’s voice cracked, the words coming out before he could stop them. “I don’t want any trouble. I don’t know what you want, but I’ll drive you wherever you need to go. Just… just don’t do anything crazy.”
The passenger’s lips curled into a tight smile, but it wasn’t a smile—it was a predator’s grin, one that sent a ripple of cold fear through Ryan’s bones.
“You’re not in control here, friend. You drive, and don’t ask questions. If you do, I’ll show you what happens to people who don’t listen.”
Ryan’s grip tightened, his knuckles white. The officer was still behind the patrol car, but it felt like miles away, like he was living in another world. The sound of the rain against the roof was deafening, and the hum of the engine seemed impossibly loud in the silence between them.
Ryan turned the car right, taking the first corner he could. He didn’t know the area well, but he knew enough to recognize the path leading towards the old mill. The place had been abandoned for years—no one went there anymore. That’s why it was the perfect place for people like this man. The thought made Ryan’s stomach twist.
The passenger leaned forward, his breath warm against Ryan’s ear as he spoke again, voice smooth as oil. “You’re a good man, I can tell. Just do what I say, and you’ll be fine. I’m not looking for trouble, but I can make sure you don’t leave this car if I need to.”
Ryan’s mind raced. He wanted to scream, to fight, but fear held him in place. He couldn’t act. He couldn’t think straight. Every time he glanced at the rearview mirror, the man’s eyes were locked on him, unblinking, calculating. A predator waiting to strike.
The car crept through the dark streets, the rain still hammering against the windshield as the night seemed to swallow them whole. The old mill loomed ahead, its silhouette dark and menacing against the night sky. It was a place full of shadows, of forgotten things, a place where nothing good happened.
Ryan’s stomach churned.
The passenger spoke again, his voice softer this time, almost like a whisper meant only for Ryan’s ears. “This is where you turn around. Drop me off. Let me handle the rest. Don’t look back.”
The car rolled to a stop in front of the mill. Ryan’s breath caught in his throat as he glanced at the building—dilapidated, cracked windows, dark inside. There were no lights, no sounds. Only the silence.
The passenger reached into his jacket, pulling out something—a phone, a small device. He tapped a few buttons, and Ryan felt his heart skip. His own phone, sitting in his pocket, vibrated with a strange, foreign sensation.
Suddenly, he realized. He wasn’t just a driver anymore. He was part of something bigger than he understood. Something dark, something criminal. He was complicit.
A soft click from the backseat. Ryan’s hands were still frozen to the wheel, his chest tight, but he could hear the footsteps approaching, the sound of a man, or men, coming from the shadows. The passenger’s voice—no longer soft—rang clear in his ear.
“Now, you drive. But don’t follow us. Don’t ask questions.”
Ryan looked ahead, his breath shallow. The night had taken everything from him, and now, it was taking him too.
And as the first figure appeared from the shadows, his hand gripping the handle of a knife, Ryan’s grip on the steering wheel finally loosened.
He had no choice but to drive.
If you enjoyed this short story you will probably like our latest release available now:
Rideshare: Dark Tales from the Driver’s Seat
$3.99
Rideshare: Dark Tales from the Driver’s Seat is a spine-chilling collection of short stories that takes readers on a journey through the darkest, most terrifying corners of the rideshare world.
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