Estimated reading time — 25 minutes

‘I need a cab, at Lexington square, Richmond, Virginia,’ the text reads.

“Where are you headed?”

The reply doesn’t come right away. This is nothing new–not in my job. Sometimes, my fares are not so forthcoming with their destinations–something quite perplexing to me, given that they are requesting my services.

I just climb out of my taxi, lighting up a cigarette. I have no doubt the reply will come soon enough. But I grow impatient with these trivial games. I’ll never fully understand why my clients are so cloak and dagger about their requests–I’ve spent many years building my reputation as a neutral party, just as my father taught me.

‘Pluckley, England,’ the reply finally arrives, some five minutes later.

“Could you be more specific,” I answer once more, though I’m fairly certain of the more precise destination this fare is seeking.

A few more minutes pass. My cigarette is nearing its end. But, I’m confident that I will receive my instructions, before I feel compelled to light another.

‘Dering Wood.’

“Yep,” I speak aloud, to the otherwise deserted parking lot, “there it is…”

‘This will be an expensive trip…’ I reply again, ‘Do you have the funds?’

Yes, it does feel somewhat crude, getting right down to business, as it were. But, I honestly do not always have the stomach for the steps which must be taken, when a fare is not paid.

‘I do. Ten thousand, mortal…American currency.’

There are many forms of payment we accept, given the…well…many places–many realms we may visit. One is as good as the next, all things considered.

‘I’ll be there in ten. Please be ready to depart upon my arrival.’

Blunt? Perhaps. Again, I have no patience for these silly games. Being a neutral party, I feel neither the need, nor desire to be understanding or welcoming. I’m simply doing my job. Given the destination of this client…well, I have to assume that small talk, or making friendly with the hired help is of as little interest to them, as it is to me.

I snuff out my cigarette, climbing back into my vehicle. Every action I make, as I punch in the necessary coordinates is nothing more than muscle memory, anymore. Yes, there are some locations for which I have no fondness, nor any desire to visit–Dering Wood being amongst this ever growing list. But, a job is a job.

My current location is a small, abandoned shopping mall in Tennessee. Not particularly far from Virginia, all things considered–not with the shortcuts available to those in my profession, anyway. The route from Richmond to jolly, old England; though. It can be a bit more…well, scenic.

I often return to this area, in between fares. Not only is it one of the few spots in this neck of the country, with easy access to the ‘bridge’, as we have come to call it. But, there is something about this deserted, and decomposing building that I find quite peaceful.

I pull out of my parking spot, gently easing my accelerator pedal down, until my speedometer reads seventy-two. It doesn’t take long, even in this fairly ancient cab, given the aftermarket improvements we have made, through the decades.

Yes, at this speed, I could easily drift right into the sporadic forest, running parallel to the parking lot. But, even one mile faster or slower, I would be unable to access the bridge.

The second that the ambient, turquoise hue streams from beneath the hood, one swift tap of the horn opens the gate. The ground suddenly declines before me, sending me speeding downward, the skeletal trees ahead, giving way to the vibrant aura of the overlapping, and zigzagging roads beneath this realm.

For this part, my journey is short. One left, onto the next junction, into the spiralling tunnel, a sudden right, as my headlights clear the darkened cavern, and I’m already gunning it up the incline, toward Virginia.

I have to stop, before clearing the plane beneath, in lieu of the one above. The amber rune at the intersection alerts me to the traffic cluttering the road, up top. Not only is it forbidden to be witnessed by those of the human realm, whilst merging with their reality. But, even with my cloaking precautions in place, a collision during the merging process can be…catastrophic, as I have been told.

Once the violet rune indicates the path is clear, the darkness and vibrant hues below give way to the descending sun of the over world, with the swift press of my pedal. The second I burst through, I find myself on a slender road, looking out onto the interstate.

Vehicles speed by before me, assuring that any attempt I may make to merge could be quite chaotic, at best. But, I am still many miles from Richmond, and the clock is ticking. I told my client that I would be there in ten, five of which have already passed. The interstate would not be my chosen route. My word is my bond, after all.

Quickly shifting into reverse, I speed back down the way I would have come, had I plotted this course in the mortal realm. Though the bridge is the fastest way to make it across the country, or the world, for that matter, it does not lead directly to any specific destination. The best it can do is get me close. Close enough, of course.

Though the bridge crosses beneath this realm, there are still many, many waypoints, to cut the trip short, right before noses which would never think to question them. This road is slim–only wide enough for one vehicle to conveniently fit. But, I wasn’t going far. Not far enough to even turn my cab around, even if there were a decent spot to switch my orientation.

I see the immense trunk of the colossal tree through my rearview mirror, long before I shall reach it. There is no telling how long it has stood in this very spot, perhaps since long before mortal feet stepped upon this plane. But, again, this is only one of many.

There are some who claim that these particular waypoints are the timeworn roots of Yggdrasil itself, breaching through reality, to guide the weary travellers to where they may be needed. Whether or not this is the case, is not for me to say. Superstition and myth are plentiful, throughout so many realms. Were I to seriously entertain the great many I have heard in my lifetime, I do believe I could go quite mad.

Whatever the case, the next tree of this nature was but a stone’s throw from Richmond. And, the next, perhaps a mile or three from Lexington. Yes, at this point, I almost wish that I had quoted my client fifteen minutes, rather than ten, just to provide a little wiggle room. But, I cannot deny that my arrogance can get the better of me, at times.

As I draw close to the gargantuan trunk, I see headlights in the distance beyond it. Another traveller is traversing this slender road, not unlike those who had temporarily halted my transition back to this realm. No worries. Be it man or beast who shares this path, my trail will be no more than dust, by the time they may reach the tree.

With the gateway only feet ahead, my pedal pressed to the floorboard, and the swiftly paced, approaching vehicle dangerously close–closer than I had anticipated, I snatch my emergency brake lever, spinning my steering wheel, my tires following suit.

I release the brake handle, as my front end spins to impact the tremendous trunk, large enough to swallow a small bus, in its entirety. The incoming lights are almost upon me, as I blink into the darkness, as the rough bark accepts me into its waiting maw.

I slam my brake pedal before I breach the next tree in line, pausing in place, with only the front half of my cab peering out. It is a risk, exposing myself like this, halfway between waypoints. But, a necessity. I have to be certain that the road is clear before I move on.

Seeing that the path is indeed open, I exit the tree, once more backing up, once I have cleared it completely. This time, I must enter from the opposite side to that through which I entered. I do not require as much speed as necessary to enter the bridge. But, if I move in too slowly, I will only hit the textured bark, like a wall, even with my vehicle outfitted with a ‘key’, so to speak.

The transition to the next waypoint is far less stressful, with no approaching obstacles, this time. Within moments, and still with a minute and a half to spare, I am swiftly approaching Lexington Square. I allow a heavy exhale to pass my lips, grateful that I need not explain any delayed arrival to my client, as I see his silhouetted form, alongside a streetlamp at the opening to the housing development.

Regardless of vehicles passing, pedestrians coming and going, I take solace in the fact that they would be incapable of perceiving this creature, as the haunting glow of the pure white eyes met my gaze. It also makes things easier, knowing what I know about its kind, that I will have no need to pull over, to allow this Wraith to enter my vehicle.

Though neutral, I cannot deny that I am not fond of Wraiths. I may not involve myself in the activities of my clients, nor those whom they may prey upon. But, that does not mean I condone them, by any means. These beings are pure evil, from what I have encountered, anyway.

Were any of my passengers to attempt any manner of attack against myself, or my property; however…well, I am prepared for such matters. Yes, I should not approach any customer with presumptions about their intent, as it is generally not my business. But, there are those with whom I would not so easily drop my guard.

I ease off my accelerator, as I draw close, muffling a chuckle, as I mentally question where this wispy figure may stash the device with which they summoned me here. As I feel the air shift, my rearview mirror reflecting the shadowy image of the one now occupying the backseat, my more immediate concern is where it may have my payment stowed away.

“You are late,” a whispered voice echoes across the cab, immediately inspiring my black blood to grow frigid.

“I am not,” I reply, bluntly, holding my phone over my shoulder, revealing my last message, not quite ten full minutes before the dashboard clock I gesture toward next.

“Oh…”

No comeback for that, huh? No, this wouldn’t be the first entity to attempt a discounted price, due to claims of my falsified tardiness. I already had my device in hand, with the evidence pulled up, in preparation for this ridiculous charade.

I’ve been doing this long enough to easily predict my clients attitude, based on a handful of words in text. It’s amazing to me that such creatures can be as fickle with their funds as those who walk this mortal realm. It would seem that even the supernatural are not so resistant to the allure of saving a buck or two.

“Payment up front,” I said, one eye upon the road before me, and the other on my rearview.

Normally, even with such nefarious passengers, I would use a more friendly tone. With those who already attempt to pull one over on me, from the second they enter; though, they have forsaken my efforts to be social.

Not unlike our initial interaction, there is no response from the backseat. I just let out another sigh, giving a subtle nod to my mirror, as I lift my foot from the accelerator pedal, easing my vehicle to the breakdown lane.

“Payment upfront, or we part ways now…”

I see the cool illumination of the eyes from behind me, flicker with a flame like orange, a scowl lining the otherwise shadowed features. Flipping on my hazard lights, as my cab comes to a stop, I gently tap the button, upon my center console, which opens the flap on the back of the front passenger seat.

Still no response.

The flames of its eyes flicker all the more violently, as a slender, withered hand reaches forward, recoiling the moment it attempts to cross the border between the front and rear of the cab. I just tilt my head, flipping the switch to unlock the back door–more of a sentiment of my resolve, rather than politely asking it to leave, given the fact it had no need of the open door to enter.

With a hiss from its blackened maw, I hear the thud of currency being dropped into the receptacle, on the back of the passenger seat. Tapping the button once more, retrieving the crimson stained, yet stacked and bound bills, I make a compulsory inspection, to ensure that the payment promised, matched the payment offered.

“This is only half,” I grunt, my voice stern and cold.

“Half now…”

“You offered ten…”

“Half, when we arrive…”

“Fair enough.”

As long as I don’t have to argue as much when we get there. Yes, I don’t have much to barter with, once we arrive. But, I suppose I’ll get creative, if it comes down to it.

I toss the bundle of cash into the center console, shifting back into drive, and press my accelerator pedal once more. My back grows tense with the knowledge that this may indeed be something of a ‘bumpy ride’. But, this was something I was not only used to, but expected, once I laid eyes on my client.

Again, my internal monologue wonders where it had been keeping this bundle of blood stained bills, given that I could still make out the backseat clearly, through the almost misty form of my client. But, this was only one of many questions I had about the many entities, creatures, and beings I had transported over the past century and a half.

I will not claim that my curiosities were satisfied by my understanding that many whimsies may never be answered, nor are they required to perform my duties. But, this was simply part of the job–one of the far less unsettling aspects, for that matter.

Nevertheless, my client, though resistant, had held up part of its side of our business. It was now in my hands to perform my end of the bargain. I did not look forward to what lay ahead. But, ten grand goes a long way, in this realm, and many others.

Honestly, I would have taken this fare for half of what was promised, in the first place–the very payment I had already received. But, this was what was offered. Therefore, this was what was expected.

“How long?” the whispered voice echoes from the back, its tone both defeated and agitated.

This, I suppose, brings us to our next matter of business. As it stands, given the many miles, and ocean between our current location, and our destination, there are multiple routes we can take. One, which would be almost absurdly swift and effortless, I was not prepared to offer this particular client.

Having over a century worth of experience behind the wheel of this very cab, I have accumulated not only vast knowledge of the many passages and roads both beneath, and beyond this realm. But, I have gathered quite a number of artifacts.

Some can only be used once, while others…well, I can’t honestly predict how long they may last. But, they haven’t run out just yet. I really need to do more research on certain things…

Regardless of both my knowledge, and possessions, I was only prepared to offer the former to passengers such as the one who now scowled at me from the backseat. This, unfortunately, left only two options, one of which I was most certain my fare would not select.

Granted, though this choice would be far less stressful, it would take time–a few hours, at least. While some hours of discomfort was a fair trade for the easy, yet tedious journey of descending back to the bridge, traversing the extended road toward the United Kingdom, few summoned my services for such a boring journey.

The only remaining option was exactly what I had grown to dread more, since my fare informed me of its destination–to brave the Nether-road. This is a dark realm, one belonging to the lost souls who traveled too far from even the most beaten path.

Though this route would most certainly carve hours from our trip, potentially lasting no more than twenty minutes, or so, according to the mortal realms passage of time. There were such dangers which could render us lost, amongst the forsaken.

Not only would my vehicle be of great interest to those who so desperately desire to leave their infernal purgatory. But, my fare may be of even greater interest to those who have nothing more than their vengeance to guide them onward.

A Wraith, being the embodiment of rage, bitterness, and its own manner of a vengeful spirit…well, it could attract these pathetic souls like a moth to flame. Yes, were it to come to it, I could so easily throw open the rear door, to allow these hate-filled wisps to claim a prize, valuable enough to perhaps permit me to continue onward. But, the damage to my reputation would be irreparable.

“My quarry will not linger,” the Wraith replies, after I inform it of the two potential routes I am willing to offer, “You shall take the swifter path…”

Predictable…yes.

Blunt, and lacking any concern with my well-being…naturally.

The shorter path, it is.

“You do understand the risks?”

Again, I knew what the reply would concern. But, I am obligated to ensure that my passenger is aware of any danger.

“I am not concerned…”

Of course you aren’t. Fucking prick…

With a nod, I continue onward, pressing the accelerator pedal to the floor, once more. The Nether-road isn’t difficult to access, nor to depart, once reaching the chosen destination. Not unlike the supposed roots of Yggdrasil, connecting one point to the next, the darker path has its own landmarks.

In this case, we need to locate a cemetery–not just any burial ground, of course. But, those which house no less than a hundred dead. A hundred, at least, who have not fully decomposed. There must be the lingering remains of this many, whether a fresh, sticky corpse, or only a fingernail, or tooth, which has not yet crumbled to the passage of time.

Fortunately, given that this is my livelihood, after all, I make an effort to keep updated on the state of the many boneyards this world may hold. Okay, not all of them, of course. I would rarely have the time to enjoy a leisurely piss, were I to remain appraised of all of them. But, at least one, per city, is enough.

Yes, I rarely resort to the Nether-road, unless my options are slim. This would be one of such times. In this case, after quickly leafing through my journal of such sights, Oakwood Cemetery–home to many fallen souls, some graves housing those who fell during this country’s Civil War, would be our destination.

It wasn’t far. Though, to hasten our journey all the more, I would make use of a few more waypoints. I had already grown exhausted by the company I shared. Once refreshed on the boneyard I sought, I could easily plot the course blindfolded, were that a necessity.

Within mere moments, still shorter than my commute from the abandoned shopping center in Tennessee, my headlights shone upon the stones of more graves than the eyes could so casually count. Again, we appeared to be the lone travellers at this hour, but I could not afford to take chances of discovery, once the transition to the road below began.

After making certain that no eyes were upon us, I again activate my cloaking measures, my headlights succumbing to the darkness, along with any semblance of a solitary cab, alongside the scattering of headstones.

My eyes shut, as I recite the words–a phrase which, I hope you shall understand that I do not share, at this time.

Now…Now, we just wait.

It doesn’t take long for it to begin, though it felt like an eternity, awaiting it. It’s subtle, at first–the sinking. We do not simply sink into the ground, of course, but through the surface of this reality, down into another.

Yes, in many ways, it is not indifferent from the descent to the bridge. And yet, it is very, very different. The roads which breach through and across the bridge are as safe as any interstate or highway upon this plane. As long as you do not stray from the path, there is no significant danger.

This sensation; however–slowly sinking, as though having parked upon concrete, giving way to quicksand. This always fills me with dread.

The temperature rapidly plummets, as we bleed down into the earth. While this is not uncommon, given where it is we are soon to fall into, it is not only our shifting location which inspires the increasingly frigid chill, breaching the cab. But, the fear now gripping my otherworldly client.

I notice the flicker in its glowing eyes trembling, the illumination lessening significantly. You’re not so certain about your chosen route now, are you, my passenger? Oh yes. This road could very well be Hell, for the Hellspawn, were it not currently protected by this vessel–a condition which I could only hope to maintain.

As our transition completes, the darkness lifts from around us–lifts, but does not fully dissipate. This forsaken underbelly of reality could be defined by the bleak, and muted tones which encompass it.

The sky (if one can even call it that) is a dull, dark rust–not indifferent from stains of long dried blood. There are neither stars, nor celestial objects of any kind. Only a haunting array of what could easily be compared to the decomposing roots of the realm above, though the planes do not quite connect in any physical manner.

The road itself could be likened to flattened, and weathered cobblestones. While not completely unpleasing to the eye, amidst such otherwise dismal surroundings, this does not provide for a particularly smooth, nor quiet journey.

As for the landscape on either side of the wavy, winding path ahead, there is little one could compare to anything inviting or lively. There are barren structures, similar to those I would imagine to stand up on the mortal realm, in the wake of a world ending catastrophe.

In between each split and down falling building, is the shadow of an old boneyard–a haunting, yet barely tangible mirror image of each of the many which dwell upon the mortal realm. Each has its own connection to the plane we left behind, though not every one would guide us to anywhere we would wish to visit.

There are sporadic, and scattered forests, lined with trees which could very well have been charred by the cinders of the deepest pits of Hell. The persistent mist which surrounds these lands as well, both rendering the road ahead a danger to traverse with too much haste, while adding yet another aura of sheer misery.

One final aspect of this bitter realm–that which serves as the most intolerable to my senses, is the ambient soundtrack, inescapable, across every inch of it. The moaning wail of the many souls, forever lost here.

Even when they cannot be seen, whether they wander elsewhere, seek sanctuary within the crumbling structures, or are simply hidden within the fog–even then, their howling chorus is unyielding and constant.

I hear a trembling, whispered exhale from the back seat, as I gently ease my pedal down, once more, taking one final glance at the haunting shadow, mimicking the cemetery which led us here, aside the section of road we leave behind.

I guide us onward at a quicker pace than I would normally risk, in any other realm, were they suffering these bleak conditions. Yes, the view ahead is difficult to decipher, with only feet before my headlights visible through the persistent haze. But, I am familiar enough with this road to be able to effectively react to any twists and turns.

There is only an equivalent to twenty miles we must breach, before reaching a convenient enough spot, within the vicinity of our destination, to reconnect to the realm above–five of which we have already successfully traversed.

As that unyielding wail, of so many desperate voices intensifies; though, I grow more certain that our trip will not remain so uneventful for much longer. I consider turning on my radio, hopeful to overwhelm the echoing howls. But, I need to hear them. To hear when they would be close enough for concern.

Oh yes…They know that there is uninvited company amongst them. They understand that there could be a path to freedom from their torment, though such broken and tortured souls as these must never be granted access to the real world above. Even one of them could infect humanity with their inherent misery.

But, it is not escape alone which draws them closer. As I previously mentioned–a fact which I could clearly see was beginning to truly dawn on my passenger…they sought something to satisfy their inherent rage. My client could sense their thirst, just as much as they could sense its presence.

“Faster…” a trembled word whispers from the back.

“Too dangerous…too risky…”

“I care not! Drive…faster…”

“Not happening. My cab. My rules…”

“FASTER!”

“My rules…or you’re walking…I’m not risking my cab for…”

The sudden jarring sensation causes my steering wheel to jerk. The tires skid as they attempt to grip the weathered cobblestones. But, I adjust quickly.

Caving to my clients request, forsaking my own sacred rules for survival, I press the pedal harder. I can’t be sure what we hit…or what may have hit us. But, I have an idea.

The tires spin, for a moment, struggling to grab hold of the cobblestones. I shouldn’t have been so hasty…letting my own anxiety get the better of me. Yes, the stones are rough and bumpy. But, they’re also lined with sand, or dust, or whatever the hell this place has scattered across every inch of it.

The tires finally grip the surface, launching the vehicle forward. Though it takes me a moment to regulate, with the transition between skidding, and finally adhering to the road, leaving us fishtailing for a moment, I’m finally back on course.

Progress is still not smooth, though. I hesitate to glance at my side mirrors, not yet ready to accept what appears to have added extra weight to my cab. They shouldn’t be on us already–we should be much further along, by the time they close the gap. But, when my eyes reluctantly cut to my passenger side mirror, the sight of those skeletal fingers gripping onto the wheel well assure me that it will be necessary to take action, before we reach the shadowed graveyard.

The temperature inside has dropped all the more, the visible tension of my passenger dramatically affecting the air around us. Fucking Wraiths…What right does this abomination have to feel fear!? Neutral or not, I will not pretend that I enjoy my current company.

The car has doubled in weight, within only another mile of progress. I can’t even count how many of these lost souls are hanging onto the frame of my struggling car, right now. I push the engine harder, forcing my foot down, as far as it can go, without pushing through the goddamn floor board.

Shit!

The engine is howling. Is it the car struggling to maintain any sort of speed, or is the constant wailing of my uninvited passengers blending with the squealing beneath the hood?

“f…faster…” my fare squeaks out, barely resonating above the haunting soundtrack of agony outside.

“I’m trying,” I reply, my gritted teeth barely allowing the word to escape my mouth.

Fuck! The temperature gauge is swiftly approaching red. We can’t keep up like this! If we overheat…if the engine stalls…nope…not letting those thoughts in…

An ear piercing scream, echoes through the cab, as the volume of that unyielding moaning escalates dramatically, reaching maybe tenfold its previous pitch. It takes me a moment to realize what’s happening.

How did they get the door open!? Damnit! Did I forget to relock the door, after attempting to make my point earlier!?

The tires skid, as the overburdened weight, added to my cab, over these last several miles suddenly releases. Again, I don’t understand what’s going on, battling to prevent the tires from skidding off of the road, careening us swiftly toward certain defeat.

I slam the brakes down, when my eyes meet the vacant backseat, the silhouetted mob, attacking my client only barely visible through the windshield, when my car finally comes to a halt, facing the direction from which we had come.

Decisions…too many decisions to comprehend over the fragmented moments I have. If I wait too much longer, they’ll have stripped the Wraith down to nothing but dust. I know the bastard deserves it! I know that I would feel no guilt in just letting it happen, using this distraction to haul ass to freedom from this hellish dimension.

Can’t risk it. Can’t risk this sort of damage to my reputation. Yes, I would survive–I would reach the over world, and never have to return to this godforsaken realm. Granted, that would be due to the fact that I would be out of a job, I had performed for over a century now. Not only that…my father would kill me…or worse…

I stomp my accelerator again, once more fishtailing, before the tires grip the surface beneath. Can’t get too close–they’ll hijack my cab, for certain, if the Wraith falls before I make it. I hear its screams of horror blending with the near deafening wails, as I throw open my door.

I feel the hopelessness of this place attempting to consume me, as I run around the vehicle, popping open the trunk. I make quick work of locating the item I seek, having committed my stock to memory, with every new trinket I add.

I only have one use on this–something which only makes my face flush all the more. This was an offering, in place of payment, from a regular customer, some years back. She had no funds, at the time, but was desperate to escape the realm she had been damned to–a curse from a demonic entity, with whom I have crossed paths myself.

It definitely didn’t hurt my feelings to do something to piss that prick off. I likely would have given her that ride for free, but I am not one to turn down a useful knickknack. I swore I would save it for a rainy day. Well, it sure as hell is coming down right now!

I run toward the huddled group, as they lash out against the one who begs for mercy, with every shriek. While I’m tempted to allow it to suffer this hell, just a little longer, I cannot predict how much life force it has left.

The moment I arrive on the scene…well, close enough to not get pulled into this stomach churning mess of ragged bone and flesh, I flip open the small, velvet lined box, producing the tarnished, brass bell within.

I can barely make out the Wraith, amongst the ongoing carnage. But, I must make contact with it, to allow it to escape with me.

“REACH OUT!” I scream out, pleading to anything which may be considered holy in this realm, for none of the tormented souls to pay attention to my words, while begging my client to hear my words.

I see the violently trembling, near translucent fingers, weaving out from between the huddled mass of hollow spirits. I bound forward, my hand outstretched, keeping my other arm as still as possible, to prevent my artifact from discharging too early.

The moment I make contact with the frigid, skeletal fingers reaching for mine, as a chill caresses my entire being, frozen like stone in a blizzard from its touch, I flick my left wrist, allowing the bell to release its haunting pitch.

The near ear piercing tone echoes across the mist blanketed landscape around us, the frenzied mob surrounding my fare falling still–locked in this single moment. Even the constantly shifting fog relents, frozen in time, like every occupant of this pitiful realm.

It takes some effort to pull the Wraith free, the way he is bound between these temporary statues. I curse aloud, as I yank at his arm, the inescapable, and dire melancholy of this fucking place, attempting to force me to fall to its bitter will.

When my charge finally slips free, I practically drag it away from its would-be executioners, as it stumbles its bony feet against the cobbled ground. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure this creature was anything actually tangible, until this experience.

Within a few strides, it secures its stature, gliding up beside me. But, I will not release my grip–not until we are back to the safety of my cab. I help it into the backseat, the fog beginning to gradually shift, ever so slightly, reminding me that the bells’ magic will not last much longer.

By the time I take my place, back behind the steering wheel, I know that I’m only moments from giving into the overwhelming misery of the world outside. My head spins, as my equilibrium begins to regulate again, while my passenger still whines from the back.

“Move…” it grumbles.

Ungrateful sod! Not even the slightest hint of gratitude, for me risking everything to save the prick!

I cannot disagree with my asshole client, of course. The bell has already begun to crumble, as I gently lay it back in its box, setting both upon the seat to my right. We may only have moments, until time resumes, and the mob charges forth.

I slam my foot back on the pedal, the tires once more spinning in place, before grasping the stones beneath. With the dense fog regaining its momentum–regaining, but still a fraction of its previous movement, the landscape is a little more clear than before.

I take no apprehension in pushing the engine of my ancient cab back to its limit, the considerably lighter weight preventing the temperature gauge from skyrocketing toward the red line. The rear view is almost mesmerizing, as the cloud left in the wake of my wheels staggers back to a far slower pace, after its initial blast from the road.

I check my intruments–my mileage marker, my…well, let’s call it a GPS, rather than getting into the bells and whistles of what actually powers it. I see that seven more miles have passed us by, as the bell completely falls to dust, the lid of the box closing around it, and the fog resuming its previous haste.

Though the ambient moans have been ramping in volume for the last few minutes, that doesn’t make it any less nauseating, when it reaches its full pitch, once more. I still hear them drawing closer, with every yard we traverse–how are these bastards so damn fast!?

We’re close now–not even a mile from the more desired transfer point. But, we need time! We need time to make the transition, before risking inadvertently bringing even one of those pathetic entities with us.

I see the blurred and unfocused shadow of possibly hundreds of pitiful, lost souls in our wake, as I ease my brake pedal to the floor. I make one final, yet hasty check of my instruments, to ensure that this ghost of a cemetery we have parked alongside is indeed the one I seek.

Again, I speak the words, my haste causing my tongue to trip across the syllables, at first. I take a deep breath, ignoring the now agitated Wraith to my back, before softly muttering the words through trembling breath.

It is a much stranger sensation–the transference, back to the realm above. We do not sink, this time. But, we feel something of a lifting, as though rising to the silhouetted roots, delving through the dismal sky above. The upper plane cascades down upon us, before accepting us into its far warmer embrace.

Once the reality of the realm we had left behind, what feels to be days ago, and moments simultaneously, comes into focus, the air breathing into the shabby, old vehicle, a most welcome sensation, to my still reeling senses. I waste little time in practically leaping from my cab, to make sure that no hitchhikers had reached us, before the transfer began.

After a full inspection of both my taxi, and its surroundings, I drop back to my seat, allowing my spinning head to calm, before resuming my course to Dering Wood. There are no complaints from the backseat, even after sitting in place for some ten minutes or so.

I can tell that my client is as rattled as I–likely more so, given the circumstances it was forced to endure, by selecting this route. After a time, I resume my course, my heavy breathing still shuddering, as I inhale the far sweeter oxygen of this world.

Our current location–Brookwood Cemetery, in Surrey, England, is still a little over sixty miles from Pluckley. For a moment, I’m halfway tempted to recommend just sticking to the highway, this time around. But, given that this would add at least another hour to our journey, I highly doubt that my client would be alright with this.

I don’t know why I’m so shaken, in all honesty–this isn’t the first time a trip has taken some less than pleasant turns along the way. I suspect that the inherent misery of this particular plane, we only narrowly escaped, has left something of a stain on me.

Judging by what I am inclined to describe as an expression of the face of my passenger, reflected in my rear view mirror, I do not seem to be alone in this state. With the temperature inside my cab still somewhat chilled by the mood of my travelling companion, it may be more open to the prospect of avoiding any otherworldly shortcuts, at this point.

Still. Regardless of my own discomfort, I am a man of my word. And, my emotions have not taken precedence over my responsibilities, since my early days on the job. The extended time below already bloated this trip, far longer than either of us had hoped. Time waits for neither man, nor Wraith, after all.

The nearest waypoint is only a few miles from Brookwood. As I reignite my engine, inspiring a slight gasp from the otherwise lost in thought occupant of the backseat, I resume my efforts to reach our destination.

Being early morning, on this side of the world, the traffic is slim. I see the glow from the horizon, indicating that the sun will begin its ascent soon. As we transition from one waypoint to the next, repeating the process, not unlike before, it doesn’t take much more than a handful of minutes to close the gap between Brookwood and Pluckley.

It is almost ironic, as the Wraith grows more content, yielding its frigid energy, which consumed the cab, that my spine now feels stabbed by an intense chill. I feel the tendrils of Dering Wood, as though they reach out to me, over these few remaining miles we have left in our quest.

While this is only one of so many haunted forests upon this realm, there’s something about Dering which has always turned my blood to ice. I’ve had more fares out this way than I can so easily count, given the nature of much of my clientele.

With the rumors and myths of these woods–some of which have far more truth to them, than so many of this world’s occupants could ever truly accept. There are just as many curious mortals drawn to it, as those who would send them to a premature end.

I have witnessed the darkness of many realities, and can only imagine, in my most tormented nightmares, what else I have been fortunate enough to avoid. As I make out the silver of a grin upon the shadowed face of my passenger, I would rather not know which manner of darkness I am delivering to this forest.

As my tires come to a halt, alongside the ominous trees, the tension in my neck will not allow the near grateful sigh from escaping my mouth. Not only had I succeeded in making it here. But, I would be rid of this stain upon my back seat, very soon.

I don’t speak, as I tap the button, once more unlocking the rear door. Yes, this creature does not require the door to be a jar, to exit the vehicle. I suppose it’s more of a hollow gesture, letting it know that we have arrived, while avoiding the need to speak.

I feel its eyes upon me, my gaze meeting its piercing glare in the mirror again.

“The remainder of your payment,” it says, its tone alarmingly warm.

“Oh,” I reply, nearly dumbfounded, having completely forgotten that only half had been paid upfront.

I release the flap upon the back of the passenger seat once more, still oddly puzzled when a considerably thicker wad of cash greets me. I turn in my seat, giving a puzzled look at the bizarrely friendly expression awaiting me.

“For the artifact you spent,” it says, before phasing through the backdoor, being swallowed by the darkened trees, moments later.

Though momentarily perplexed by not only the surprising tip, nor the remaining fee for which I didn’t have to barter, with the infuriating Wraith. But, just the entire demeanor of the thing, almost friendly in both its words and manner.

I just shake my head, tossing the bundle of funds alongside its predecessor, in my center console, before I began to ease back onto the road. Feeling absolutely no desire to linger in this wretched place, brushing aside the bewildering exchange with my client, I plan my descent back to the bridge below.

I’m almost distracted enough–plotting my course back home, while attempting to force this entire encounter, back into the darkness of my memories. But, when the screams echo across the ominous forest I have yet to escape, I am suddenly, and exhaustedly reminded of the foul nature of the one I brought here.

I will not linger on these momentary flashes of guilt, over the role I have played in the many atrocities I have aided in coming to fruition. I never do. I will assure myself, soon enough, that these events would play out as they may, with or without my involvement.

Occasionally, I actually believe this–that I am simply a means of transportation. That I am an innocent bystander, more so than the one who guarantees that these monsters may reach their prey in time.

Perhaps my next fare will be on a far more trivial journey, with no malicious intent awaiting them at their chosen destination. If I can convince myself of that, I suppose, I can convince myself of anything.

Credit: William Rayne

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