City nights have a way of making you feel invisible and omniscient at the same time. You're invisible to everyone on the street, but you see everything: the drunk stumbling into a puddle, the couple arguing over whether he said "I love you" or "I left you," the raccoon making a daring escape with someone's discarded hot dog. I've been driving these streets for twelve years, third-shift taxi driver in the neon veins of Greyhaven, and I like to think I know the rhythm of the city. It hums when it should hum. It screeches when it should screech. And most importantly, it doesn't do things it's not supposed to do.
Tonight, I'm about to discover the exception.
It started slow, the way all weird things start: unnoticed, unassuming, and politely disturbing.
I was parked outside Luigi's Pizza on Ash Street, waiting for a call, trying to choke down a leftover slice and a lukewarm coffee that could probably double as a chemical weapon. The radio squawked to life: "Cole, pick up at—oh, hang on, that's you." Static. Fine. Happens all the time. The city likes to talk in bursts of nothingness.
I flicked the meter on, slipped the gear into drive, and pulled out into the rain-slicked streets. That's when I saw her.
She was standing under a flickering streetlamp near the end of the block. Mid-30s, dark hair in a simple bun, coat buttoned tightly against the damp, looking at nothing and yet somehow seeing everything. When she glanced at me, she gave a polite nod, and I thought, "Great. Someone normal." Normal is a relative term in Greyhaven.
She got in, the door clicking shut behind her.
"Can you take me to—uh—" she hesitated, fumbling with a folded piece of paper. "47 Castleridge Alley, please."
I squinted at her. Castleridge Alley? Never heard of it. I'm a city rat. I've lived in this maze long enough to know every shortcut, dead end, and one-way street where cops hide to write tickets. I don't know this alley.
"Uh… that's… new, isn't it?" I asked.
She smiled faintly, the kind of smile that's polite and dismissive at the same time. "It's… an old route. Might not appear on the maps."
Maps, my ass. I've got more maps than a library. But hey, sometimes alleys slip under the radar. I shrugged. "Sure, hop in. Buckle up."
She did, quietly. The meter started ticking, the tires hissing against wet asphalt. I waited for her to say something. Nothing.
Then it happened.
A soft hum, delicate, almost musical. Not a song I recognized. Not a language I knew. The words—or whatever they were—curled around the car like smoke. I tried to focus on the road, on the glowing tail lights, on the neon blur of the city… but the hum kept threading through the interior, something beautiful and wrong at the same time.
I cleared my throat. "Uh… nice tune."
She tilted her head. "It's just a song I like." Her voice was calm, like she wasn't aware it made my hair stand on end.
"Right. Just… uh… a song. Okay."
I had a long night ahead of me. Twelve hours, maybe more. I needed coffee, pizza, and no weirdness. And yet here she was, humming something that sounded like it had crawled out of some old mythbook.
I tried small talk. "So… Castleridge Alley? What's out there? Shops? Apartments? A secret speakeasy?"
She shook her head. "Nothing much. Just… a place I visit." Her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, watching me. Not the way normal people watch when you're driving. The way you watch a creature you think is pretending to be human.
I laughed nervously. "Right, sure. Nothing much. Cool. I can deal with nothing much."
The streetlights blurred past, the hum continued softly, and I tried to shake it off. I blamed it on lack of sleep, on the pizza that had gone bad, on city life. Nothing in Greyhaven ever stays normal for long. I was getting used to it.
We turned off the main avenue onto a narrower street, rain puddling like mirrors along the curb. The alley appeared ahead, dark, narrow, lined with bricks older than the city's first neon sign. And then… nothing. No hum. She was just sitting there, hands folded neatly in her lap.
"Here we are," I said.
She nodded. Polite. Calm. I stopped the cab, flicked the meter to "off," and waited for her to hand me cash. She opened the door… and stepped out.
Nothing else.
I blinked. Wet pavement. Bricks. Flickering streetlamp. No passenger. Not even a sound of her heels on the asphalt. She was gone.
I leaned forward, heart hammering. "Uh… hello?"
Nothing.
I got out, flashlight from my visor clicking on. The alley was empty. No footprints, no umbrella left behind, no sign she had ever existed. Just rain, bricks, and the faint hum lingering in the back of my head.
I shook it off. Probably a trick of light. Maybe someone jumped out while I was distracted. My stomach told me otherwise, but my brain wanted a pizza slice logic. "Yeah. Fatigue. Totally fatigue. You're losing it, Cole."
I got back in the cab, muttering to myself, trying to calm the nerve-rattled brain. I drove off, trying to put the alley behind me. The city didn't care about one missing passenger. The night hummed around me—like it knew I was awake and alone.
Still, I couldn't shake the feeling. Something was off. The air in the cab felt heavier. The hum lingered faintly, teasing the edges of my hearing. I tried to focus on the radio. Carter's voice: "Cole? You there?"
"Yeah, yeah, just… picking up the next fare," I said, voice shaky but trying to be casual.
"You sound tired. Twelve-hour shift already?" Carter chuckled, static snapping in the background.
"Yeah… something like that." I avoided mentioning the alley. Avoided mentioning her. Avoided mentioning the humming that wouldn't leave.
I drove on. The city's neon lights smeared past like watercolor, people blurred into shadow shapes. Everything familiar was still familiar. Except… that alley. That empty alley.
I parked near the next call. Took a deep breath. Laughed to myself. "Okay, Cole. Weird night. Weird passenger. Nothing to see here. Just… tired brain and bad pizza."
But the unease stuck, clinging to my ribs like wet clothes. I kept glancing at the backseat, half-expecting her to appear, humming that impossible song. Half-expecting her to be staring at me with that calm, knowing smile.
I pulled out my little notebook. First entry of the night:
Passenger vanished in Castleridge Alley. Humming. Unknown language. No trace. Brain thinks pizza bad, maybe tired. Brain wrong? Possibly. Remain cautious.
I closed the notebook and started the engine. The next fare wouldn't wait, and neither could I.
Still, as I drove, I couldn't help glancing at the darkened alleys, shadows stretching unnaturally, streetlamps flickering like they knew. And somewhere, faintly, just at the edge of hearing, a hum threaded through the night.
I swear it said my name.
"Great," I muttered. "Just great. Another long night in Greyhaven. Just me, the city, and—oh, God, don't tell me—ghost passengers now."
The cab moved on, lights slicing through the rain. I gripped the wheel tight and laughed nervously. Yeah, that was fine. Totally fine. Nothing to worry about.
Except I was wrong.