In the heart of Bangladesh, where rickshaws rule the road and city life never sleeps, there’s a tale whispered among late-night drivers. A story so eerie, so consistent, that many rickshaw pullers refuse to work past midnight.
This is the story of The Midnight Passenger.
The Encounter
In 2021, Rafiq, a 43-year-old rickshaw driver from Dhaka, was finishing his shift late at night. It was around 1:00 AM, and he was pedaling home when a woman appeared at the corner of a narrow alley in Old Dhaka.
She wore a red saree. Her face was covered with a scarf. She lifted her hand and gently waved him over.
Rafiq hesitated—there was something unnatural about how still she stood—but eventually, he offered her a ride. She climbed in without saying a word and gave him directions to a location outside the city near an old cemetery.
The ride was silent. Unnervingly silent.
When they arrived, she stepped out. Rafiq turned to ask for his fare.
But the back seat was empty.
He had felt the weight shift when she climbed in. He had seen her reflection in the mirror. But now… there was no one.
Only the wind—and the graves.
Terrified, he pedaled back as fast as he could, heart pounding in his ears. When he reached his neighborhood, he told his wife everything. She didn’t laugh. Instead, she gasped.
She showed him an old newspaper article about a woman in a red saree who had died in a hit-and-run near that very cemetery. Late one night. Waving for a ride.
Still Waiting…
To this day, drivers near Old Dhaka report seeing her. Waving. Waiting. And vanishing just before sunrise.
Final Words
Sleep may come easy on most nights. But sometimes, when the air is still and the streets are quiet, the past slips back into the present.
If you see someone alone in the dark—don’t stop.