Rick tossed the last stack of books into the bed of the old pickup. Dust puffed up with every move, and the heat was already getting to him.
The books were ancient — some with torn covers, others marked with strange symbols. His grandfather had asked him to deliver them to a professor in the next town. "He knows what to do with them," the old man had said.
Rick slammed the tailgate shut. It only latched on the fourth try.
"Close, damn it."
He was already in a bad mood. His head still spun from the breakup — or maybe the whiskey. He wasn't much of a drinker.
Sara had left without a word, leaving behind nothing but silence and questions.
He didn't know who he was more pissed at — her or himself. The ending had always been written. She was the mayor's daughter, granddaughter of Willas Ronald, the richest man around. And Rick? Just a nobody.
"Hey, Rick!"
Three guys walked up, laughing. Locals. Always looking to stir things up.
"You delivering books now?" one of them sneered.
"Books? Looks more like trash," another said, and the group burst out laughing.
Rick didn't answer. Just stared, jaw clenched. Not now. The last thing I need is to run into those three clowns.
"Nah, he's running from his ex," one of them added, grinning like an idiot.
Rick took a deep breath. Not worth it.
He climbed into the truck, started the engine, and drove off without a word.
By the time he hit the road, night had fallen. The truck groaned with every turn, and the headlights barely lit the way.
The radio was off. He preferred silence — even if it meant facing his own thoughts.
The wind picked up, and the darkness felt heavier than usual. Rick gripped the wheel tighter.
The road stretched on, lined with tall trees and shifting shadows.
Inside the truck, the dashboard glowed orange. Harsh shadows carved across Rick's face.
The silence was suffocating.
"Shitty life," he muttered, slapping the wheel. Always chasing something that never shows up. Always alone. Always screwed.
The radio hissed. He slapped it off, but it kept turning back on.
"Everyone's got a plan. A purpose. And here I am, driving in the dark, talking to the wind. What a joke…"
He glanced at the rearview mirror, half expecting to see someone — or something — behind him. Just darkness.
The static wouldn't stop. He hit the radio harder. "Go to hell." Still, it kept going. Like it was mocking him.
Then silence. But not the comforting kind. The heavy kind.
And then he saw her.
Standing in the middle of the road. Still. White dress fluttering in the wind. Long hair covering part of her face.
She didn't look scared. Or surprised. Just… there.
Rick slammed the brakes. Heart pounding.
This is a setup. A pretty girl alone on a dark road? I'm getting robbed for sure.
But then he looked closer. She was mesmerizing. Too calm, too perfect, too wrong.
He rolled down the window. "Ma'am, do you need help?" he asked, trying to sound calm, though his voice trembled.
She nodded, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Opened the door. Sat down.
"You're not much of a talker, huh?" he said, forcing a smile and checking the surroundings. At least it's not a robbery. Maybe my luck's turning.
She stared out the window. Silent. Waiting.
Rick swallowed hard, started the engine, and drove.
"Where are you headed?" he asked, mostly to break the silence.
She turned slowly. Her eyes were dark. Deep. Endless. "Home."
A chill ran down his spine. The road seemed darker. The radio hissed again.
He said nothing.
They drove in silence. She didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stared ahead.
Then Rick glanced at the rearview mirror.
The passenger seat was empty.
His blood turned to ice. No. No, no, no…
He blinked. Looked again. Still empty.
The bridge appeared ahead, wrapped in fog. Faster. Gotta get there. Just go.
The engine sputtered. Died.
"Come on!" He turned the key. Nothing.
She looked at him. "I can't go back."
And vanished.
Rick screamed. Cursed. Tried the door. Locked. Everything was locked.
The air turned cold. Time froze.
A soft sob echoed inside the truck. Rick turned slowly.
She was there.
But not like before.
Now she was a ghost — hollow eyes, wax-pale skin, dress floating like smoke.
Her face flickered.
For a blink, the skin vanished — a skull stared back at him, twisted in silent agony.
Then it was gone.
Rick couldn't scream. Couldn't move.
The darkness swallowed everything.
And then he saw himself — from above.
Cold.
Still.
In a morgue.
Dead.