Snook - Frightening Stories From Reddit

Episode Date: August 20, 2025

These are some Frightening Stories From Reddit, from a crazy dinner date gone wrong to a scary game of hide and seek, these are some disturbing and interesting stories! Thank you guys for watching, let me know if you would like to see more content like this in the future! The 2nd story in this video was by far my favorite, so make sure you watch to at least that part! Thanks for watching, like and subscribe. These are all the credits for who wrote the stories!u/BadandyTheRed - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1km2s1j/someone_keeps_texting_me_hide_and_seek_i_wish_i/u/mythic_melon - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1mmi9a8/ive_been_a_cab_driver_for_over_a_decade_there_are/u/PortalXMike - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1mjnev3/my_moms_been_acting_weird_lately/u/ItzSundae - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1m0kszt/i_was_paid_50k_to_dine_with_a_stranger/I was granted permission to use all of these stories. Make sure to check out all of the original authors.Yes, my voice is human. The channels subscriber goal is 1 million, so subscribe! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hey, what's up guys and welcome back to another Reddit stories video. And today we're getting into some frightening stories from Reddit. Today's stories are so good. They are frightening, they're interesting, they're crazy, and you'll just want to make sure to stick around. I appreciate you stopping by. Please like the video and subscribe to the channel. It helps more than you know. And make sure to sit back and relax, grab a drink, grab a snack, stay hydrated.

And yeah, please like and subscribe, like I said. and without further ado, let's get into some frightening stories from Reddit. Someone keeps texting me, hide and seek. I wish I hadn't ignored it by Bad Andy the Red. I received the first message three days ago. I was on my break at work and I got a text notification. It was odd. It was from an unknown number. Normally I ignored those sort of messages.

Spammers and the like usually showed up with those types of auto texts. But this one was different. It was so strange because no number showed up at all, just the message. Hide and seek? I thought someone might have the wrong number for a friend they were trying to get in touch with to play a game apparently, so I responded, think you have the wrong number. Not sure who you're trying to reach, but they're not here. I went about the rest of my workday and was just wrapping things up.

When I pulled my phone from my bag, I saw I had another text waiting for me. Same number, or lack of a number, it was just another blank line where a number should display in the message, hide and seek. I was confused and slightly annoyed, so I responded, again. Like I said before, I think you of the wrong number. Who is this? Who are you trying to get a hold of to play hide and seek? I waited.

staring at the screen for a minute, and I was about to put it away when I saw a response. You. Hide and seek? My patience had reached his limit, and I figured if they would not answer, then I would just block the non-existent number and hope it would work.

Despite the lack of a visible number, the option on the message thread still presented itself, so I was relieved when the weird conversation vanished. I got on my car and started to drive home. I got another notification as I got on the road and used my car's text of speech to read it to me. It was Mike, my roommate. He was asking me to pick up more beer from the store since he had apparently finished off what we had left. I groaned at the message and the fact that I was always the one to buy it for us. It was getting old, but I needed a drink after the night I had.

so I sent him a message back saying, I can this time, but if you're going to keep drinking everything we have, then you better start paying for it. I stopped by a nearby gas station close to our apartment and grabbed the case in Miller and continued home. As soon as I got back in the car, I received another text. I was getting annoyed already since I figured it was Mike complaining about being out of something else, but instead, as the text to speech read out the message,

I knew it was something else. Seek. Drink? It made sense now, and I immediately called Mike. He answered after several rings and sounded stoned. Hey man, what's up? Did you grab the beer? Yeah, I did.

Are you messing with me? How are you sending those messages? When I call you, I can see your number, but not when you send that weird text. What kind of app are you using? Also, what is the point? I'm not home yet. I can't play hide and seek. Never mind that.

I'm not five years old. The Sikh drink thing was a bit of a giveaway for whatever weird game you were playing. There was a brief point. pause, and he responded, Not sure what you mean, man, I didn't send anything like that. Weird. Who wants to play hide and seek? Anyway, get home, man.

My buzz is fading. He hung up on me, and I was even more confused. If he had not sent the message, who did? I drove home, feeling a little on edge. When I got back inside, Mike greeted me at the door. Of course, I greeted. I mean he took the case of beer and walked to the fridge, removed two and sat back down on the couch.

Nice to see you too, I mumbled under my breath. I wanted to ask again about the weird message, but I just shrugged and grabbed the drink for myself and lumbered to my room. I was so tired, so I decided to call it an early night. When I stepped into my room, my phone buzzed, and I saw another text from No Number. Almost, time, hide, or seek. I was getting creeped out at that point. I did not know how the messages kept getting through after blocking it.

I decided to respond again. Stop messaging me. I do not know who this is. And I do not want to play. Leave me alone. I hit send and tried blocking it again. This time, I turned my phone off for good. I tried to settle down and just go to sleep.

I managed to not off for a bit, but after a while, I heard a knock at my door. I jolted up and heard the slurring voice of Mike. Hey man, uh, I don't know what the hell, but I think someone is trying to get a hold of you. I just got a trippy message and it sounded like, what you were talking about earlier. Check it out. I rushed at the door and saw Mike looking at his phone and a confused stupper. I grabbed it from him and looked at the message. Last chance, hide or seek. My heart sank and I felt a wave of panic rising to my chest. I asked Mike, when did you get this? He shrugged his shoulders. A while ago, man, I don't remember exactly.

I was not looking at my phone. What's going on? I step back into my room and turned my own phone back on. Sure enough, I had missed a message. Okay, you hide. I stared at the words in mounting fear. I had no idea what to do, but I felt suddenly exposed. I considered calling the police, but I did not know what I would tell them. Nothing had happened, only a creepy text thread. Yet something felt wrong, like something bad was about to happen.

I looked over at Mike, and he looked confused and a bit paranoid as well. Before I could try and explain things, the lights went out. At first, I thought it might be a power outage. Then I heard the slow creaking sound of the front door opening. Despite being sure, I'd locked it when I got home. Terror gripped me, and I knew something was very wrong. I crouched down in the dark and whispered to Mike the only thing I could think to say. Hide.

I crawled on my floor and under my bed. I was about to call 911, when my phone suddenly died as well. It was on one moment and then just lost power, despite having over half a charge left. I put the useless device in my pocket and tried to see if there was anything I'd use as a light source. I froze and thought better about moving when I heard a strange shuffling sound. Then heavy footsteps.

Much heavier than mics. I noticed the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped and it felt like it was freezing. As the footsteps resounded and moves closer, I smelled a fetid tinge in the air as well, like something rotten. I crawled as far back and huddled up as small as I could under the bed and held my breath.

I heard my closet door gently shutting and thought it might be Mike hiding in there. Then the heavy footsteps picked up the pace. I suddenly realized if I could hear the door closing, whatever the hell was in here, with us, could hear it too. I considered calling out to Mike to move, but fear froze my voice. The heavy footsteps were in the room now. Despite my efforts to try and see what stalked us,

I could not make anything out. I sat there, silent and immobile. holding my breath and waiting. After several long moments, I thought we might be safe. Then I heard the door to the closet break and shatter. Then Mike screamed, a haunting and nightmare-inducing shriek. Something had found him. The cry of terror was suddenly silenced.

I did not hear anything violent. Just the scream and then utter silence. I had no idea what the hell had had just happened. For a long while, I sat there paralyzed with fear, until finally the light came back on. When I summoned the courage to creep out from under my bed and see what had happened, I was shocked when lying on the floor, which the shattered remains of my closet door. Despite the ruin of the door, there were no traces of anyone or anything else.

Mike had vanished. I slowly called out, louder and more emboldened as I moved into the hall where the light was on again. No one responded. No one else was there. I stumbled through the apartment searching for my roommate. but he was gone. Worse, still, I had no idea just where the hell he had gone. No trace of Mike had shown up in the last couple of days since it happened.

I don't know if anything will. I think he can finally be declared missing, but I don't know if it will do any good. It was impossible, but whatever had broken into our place had found him, and now he was missing. He had lost hiding seek and that thing. Whatever it was, took him away. The entire nightmare is unbelievable,

yet even now as I write about my friend's impossible, appearance, I am shocked when I received another text. Hide and seek. I don't know what to do. I don't know what this is. Maybe I should respond again, a different way this time. Maybe it might help might keep me safe from whatever or whoever is doing this. Perhaps I can find out.

My reply is one word. Seek. I was paid $50,000 to dine with a stranger. Buy It Sunday. I was broke as shit. Flatline financially, emotionally, existentially, whether by poor choices in my youth or plain old shit luck. Life spat me out straight from high school and onto the streets. Drugs followed. Rehab. Then relapse. I drifted from couches to shelters to squatting and abandoned homes. S steady income? Never heard of it. So when I saw the email, I almost just deleted it without

reading. I figured it was just another rejection for one of my poorly written job applications until the header caught my attention. Dinner with me for $50,000. I'm not exactly attractive, even before addiction wrecked the few good features I had. I didn't have much going for me. My eyes had sunk into my skull like they wanted to disappear. My skin had forgotten what hydration felt like. So this email? Ridiculous. I had no looks, no resume, no justification for being chosen. but I just left the shelter, and 50 grand was a dream bigger than anything I'd ever held. So I read on. It was from a domain I'd seen before.

The message read, Dear recipient, I trust this message finds you well. I invite you to join me for dinner at Blank. This is not a romantic offer. You'll be compensated handsomely for your time, provided you adhere to the following terms. Remain for the full meal until I pay the bill and escort you out. Do not pay for anything yourself. wear formal attire. If you don't own a suit, one will be provided at the entrance. It will fit.

Any breach will void all compensation. To accept, reply. A time and date will be sent. To decline, disregard this message. Did it seem insane? Absolutely. But desperation makes fools of us all. The kind of fool that doesn't ask for explanation, just a fork and a seat. So I replied, Hello, Shepherd. Thank you for your generous offer. I accept your terms and will be there. May I ask a few questions about this proposition? Again, thank you. I didn't expect a response. Maybe a fishing scam. Maybe nothing. But seconds later, a reply came. Monday at 6 p.m. at blank. Questions may be asked at dinner. Thank you for your cooperation. More cryptic bullshit. That's when I gained the smallest amount of common sense and decided to, look into whoever this guy was. This was clearly his business email, so I googled the domain, S-N-K-compunctuation firm. I was expecting some big group of lawyers off this name alone, but nope, no law firm, just a single office tucked in a small strip mall. No products, no services, just a photo of the branch manager. Despite the fact that the office barely looked big enough

for two people, in the title implied multiple locations, yet I couldn't find even a second and one, what did they do? Solutions? No specifics, just that one word. I thought about backing out. Probably should have. But when you've got nothing left, hesitant starts looking like a luxury. I had nothing to lose, so I took the chance. Between drug-fueled stuppers and getting my ass kicked once or twice, Monday crept up on me like bruises do. Slow, unseen, then sudden. I didn't have anything formal, so I threw on the only white button-up shirt I owned and some gray slacks. Both had stains I couldn't explain, and no iron had grazed their surface in years. Still, they were the fanciest clothes I had. None of it mattered. The second I hobbled into the restaurant,

the greeter, if you could even call them that, handed me a dry, clean suit without a word and pointed the bathrooms. I took the hint. This suit seems expensive, real men's warehouse type shit. It fit perfectly, just like the email said. Too perfectly, actually. The cuffs landed exactly at my wristbone, the collar rested like it knew my neck shape already, I didn't have the time or money to question it, I walked back out. The place had a strange charm. Soft lighting, spilled across tablecloths and smooth pools of warmth, ornate picture frames lined the walls, filled with abstract paintings that felt a bit too familiar. Wood trim hugged every surface. Big, glittery curtains hung heavy like a wedding reception. It smelled like artificial plants and faded fabric,

soft jazz floated through the air and brushed against my ears. As I scanned the room, I realized something unsettling. When I first walked in, there were at least four tables of people laughing and enjoying themselves. It had been noisy and lively, but now silent, empty like a bell had rung that only I hadn't heard. Just a few bartenders, the mute's greeter, and one bald man in a suit eerily similar to mine. I already knew who he was. His photo was the only thing of note I'd found when looking up the domain, the branch manager. I approached his table, and before I could even ask if he was expecting me, he gestured to the chair across from him.

He was an older man, maybe 50, with sad, droopy eyes. His nose was so thin and pointy, it looked like a shark's fin. He seemed to have no nostrils at all. His jowls fluttered slightly as he spoke in a soft, low tone. Thank you for calming young man. It's good to finally see you, he said, extending an arm for a handshake. I tried my best to sound steady and firm, despite my rise in anxiety. Thank you, sir.

The conversation that followed was surprisingly pleasant. The food was better than almost anything I had ever had, decadent and strangely nostalgic, as if it had been made just for me. He asked about my childhood, my current working conditions, and my family life. Most of these memories weren't pleasant, but it felt good to have someone simply listen. I reached a point where I started letting my guard down. He never interrupted, never judged, just watched.

Then he got serious. He grabbed my wrist just as I lifted my fork. His grip was ice cold but steady, and his tone dropped. What is something you wish you had never done? What? I was shocked by a sudden seriousness. He didn't respond. He just stared.

Still and waiting. I swallowed. Um, I stole from my mom when she was. was dying. I was supposed to take care of her and protect her, but I spent her money on the stuff she told me to quit. A waitress appeared silently, depositing in a small porcelain bowl before me. Inside sat a single seared scallop resting on a streak of bright red pepper callus, its color straining the white plate like the shame I carried. The scallop's tender flesh gave way to a flash of heat, a reminder that some wounds never fully heal. A whisper of lemon zest lifted the flavors,

He nodded, no judgment in his eyes, only something quietly accepting, then stood and excused himself to the restroom. As he left, I took a breath and tried to shake off the moment. Then I noticed it. The chandelier above us had one more bulb. Just one. The lighted cast bent slightly at the edges, stretching the shadows under our plates. I blinked. Run my eyes, back to normal, mostly. The jazz had slowed by a fraction, notes. now lingered a second longer than they should. He returned, looking subtly altered. His right side appeared younger and tighter. The left side remained unchanged. A crease near his mouth had vanished, and his smile felt less weighted. He asked again gently, what's the kindest thing you've ever done?

I told him about a homeless kid I had let sleep in my car in a freezing night. I didn't know his name and I didn't want anything from him. I just locked the doors and stayed up until morning in case someone tried anything. While his gaze lingered, another course arrived. A hollowed apple cradled in a warm butternut squash soup, its sweetness tempered by sage oil. The apple's crisp rim framed the velvety broth, echoing the way I had sheltered that boy from the cold. Each spoonful felt like a soft promise of safety in a world so devoid of it. This time, as he listened, something in his face responded. His left eye seemed brighter. In the left

side, softened. He looked younger somehow. Maybe the light was playing tricks, or maybe the room had grown darker. He asked another question. What's the worst lie you've ever told? I hesitated. I promised myself I would never recall this memory.

Yet I felt compelled to the tell old man. When someone close to me overdosed, I could have saved them. I saw them, but was frozen in fear. thinking I could be just like them. When the police came, I told them he was already dead when I got there. He nodded again.

Still, no judgment. Just listening. I'm not sure how, but as I spoke, a new course appeared. A translucent, steamed dumpling sat alone, his skin almost too delicate to touch. The moment I pierced it, a smoky, chilly broth gushed out, scorching my tongue with the stink of my lies.

The gentle wrapper dissolved into nothing, leaving only the burn of a secret I thought I buried permanently. Then he stood and walked away, slower this time. His chair creaked slightly as he rose, in the floor beneath it curved outward in a way that made no physical sense. As I waited, I saw the wallpaper behind the bar begin to bubble faintly, like he was pressing against it from inside. The curtain seemed heavier. The picture frames on the wall had begun to tilt, each at a different angle. Not much, but enough to notice. Enough to make you wonder.

The waitstaff didn't change plates. The glasses refilled themselves, and I started noticing something impossible. Everyone in the room had his face. Not exactly, but similar. Like a family of clones degraded with each repetition. The bartender blinked with one bulging eye, and the hostess's smile sagged like melting wax.

When he came back, the distortion had grown wider. His jaw was uneven, one side shriveled, the other taut as barbed wire. The contrast of his face was more than physical now. It radiated something deeper, like halves of a personality that couldn't agree. He sat. Eyes scanning me as if measuring the weight behind my silence. I wasn't sure if he was evaluated my soul, or just admiring the way panic settled into the corners of my posture. His voice arrived softly, almost reverent.

What memories you miss the most? It took me a moment, not because I didn't know, but because I was afraid to admit how fragile the truth had become. I used to swim in Lake Michigan every summer, I said slowly. With friends, we'd throw ourselves off docks and scream about sea monsters and cold sandwiches. It was stupid, but I felt safe, like I didn't owe anything to anyone. Shepherd's good eye glistened. A tear formed and trailed down the brighter side of his face. It lingered at his chin and disappeared into the folds.

The darker side remained unflinching. Its socket almost hollow now. I stared at him, unsure whether to thank him or run. He didn't speak. He just stood. His movements slower than time. Calculated. Weightly.

The chair creaked like it hated being left alone. This bathroom break felt longer. The silence thickened, and the music was barely unaudible. The overhead lights dimmed again, and this time they pulsed faintly. One of the picture frames fell sideways. The bartender wiped the same spot over and over, faced a void of motion, eye bulging slightly. The wallpaper near the entrance was peeling, tiny tendrils reaching outward, the roots. A fly circled the wine glass beside my plate but never landed, looping endlessly.

I felt my chest tighten. Shepherd returned. This time he didn't sit. he loomed. His face was wrong. The cemetery had given up. One eye bulged fully, twitching in quick spasms. The other was practically sunken. His mouth hung slightly open, but no breath escaped. He said nothing for several seconds. Just watched me. Then finally, would you like dessert? I stood, almost instinctively. I think I need the bathroom, I said. He nodded slowly. Take your time.

The restroom was too quiet. The mirror too clean. I leaned forward, expecting to see my own room and reflected, but instead behind me in the mirror, Shepard waited. Not in the room, but in the reflection. His body was stretched, taller than before, suit shimmering like the surface of a pond. He smiled, both eyes twitching violently.

I didn't scream or move. I'd just step back out. No. The dining room was nearly gone. The walls had peeled upward towards the ceiling. Tables melted into spiraled masses of dark wood and cloth. The floor rippled like liquid stone. The curtains had vanished entirely, leaving a strange static haze where windows had once been.

The shepherd stood at the center. Calm. He's done well, young man, he said. Repentance is never easy. The hardest part is accepting that you were no longer part of the world you knew. My knees threatened to give out. I wanted to argue, to scream, to. run, but nothing in my body responded the way it used to. Everything had slowed except him.

What do you mean, I managed to ask? He smiled gently, like a father comforting a child who had just asked the final faded question. This meal, he said, is not payment, it's passage. No, I whispered. I walked here. I remember the shelter, the email. You remember the drug, he said. cutting gently across my denial, in the stall, in the diner. You remember how cold the towel was? You remember how long it took for someone to find you? I shook my head as if it might rattle the truth loose, but it didn't help. My legs would move.

All we offer, he continued, is a moment. One last conversation. One last taste. One last confession. The last of the room flaked away like ash in the wind. The table in front of us dissolved into nothing. steam hissed upwards from cracks in the floor that hadn't been there seconds before. Shepherd extended his hand again.

The suit he wore shimmered strangely, colors shifting like moonlight on ocean's currents, patterns swirled across the threads, faces, maybe, or shadows. I couldn't be sure. You did well, he said quietly. You were honest. That's all we ask. I felt tears on my cheek, though I didn't know how they got there. What happens now?

Shepherd looked over his shoulder. Behind him, the restaurant was gone. In its place, a hallway of shifting doors. Some open, some pulsing with warm light, others dimmed and sealed. Now he said, you choose. My mom has been acting weird lately by Portal X Mike. For the past week, something's been off with my mom. She's still doing all the usual things, making her black coffee first.

thing in the morning, tending the roses in the backyard that she refuses to let die, even though it's August and the heat's brutal. She still calls me sweetheart, still leaves post-its with gentle reminders to eat, hydrate sleep, but she won't look me in the eyes anymore, not for more than a second or two. I caught her watching me last night from the hallway mirror. I was sitting on the couch, scrolling on my phone, and I just felt it. That kind of prickling heat behind your neck like someone's watching. I looked up. And there she said. she was standing stiffly behind the corner, peering in like she was studying something, or someone. When our eyes met, she froze. Then she forced a smile. You okay, honey? I nodded. She disappeared

down the hallway like nothing happened, but I know she was watching. This morning she left a slice of toast on the kitchen table for me. Same as always, but there was no butter, no jelly, not even a napkin. It was just dry. I asked her if everything was all right. She hesitated. of course why wouldn't it be i shrugged you just seem distant lately she looked at me for a long time her fingers were tied around the coffee mug then she said slowly sometimes people change and sometimes they think no one will notice i tried to laugh it off but my chest felt hollow i didn't eat the toast it's not just the weird glances or the strange things she says she started locking her bedroom door at night she never ever used to do that. And I swear, one night I heard her whispering behind it, like prayers or

warnings. This morning, I woke up and found her in the living room, going through old photo albums. She didn't even flinch when I walked in. Looking for something? I asked. She stared down at a photo of us from years ago, me at least. I think it's me smiling in front of a birthday cake, frosting on my chin. Her eyes flicked up to my face, then back to the photo. Her hands were trembling. You used to have a mole, she whispered. I blinked. What? On your left cheeks, he said, tapping the photo. Where is it? I touched my cheek. I, I guess it faded. Her lips pressed into a tight line. Moles don't fade. I couldn't think of anything to say, just stood there like an idiot. Tonight, she left a knife under her pillow. I saw it when I walked past her room. The door was

cracked open and she was pretending to sleep. But I saw her fingers cold tight around the blanket, like she was bracing for something. I think she's afraid of me. And the thing is, I've been having dreams, dreams of things that don't make sense. I hear echoes. I see a forest, wet leaves, I even smell smoke. In the face, my face staring at me with wide, terrified eyes as I reached out for him as I stepped into my skin. I started to question myself, what am I? Am I really who I am? Then one night, I go to the bathroom and look in the mirror and see all the imperfections, all the mistakes, then I see it. I see what my mom sees. I'm not her son, and my mom knows it. I've been a cab driver for over a decade. There are rules when driving

passengers at night by Mythic Mellon. There's a reason we're scared of the dark, that familiar discomfort when you're driving alone in a night. Even if you don't see anyone on the road around you. It's instinct. A warning built into your bones. Because there are things out there. Beans we can't explain. They don't show up on camera.

They don't care about your pepper spray. But they follow rules. Ancient ones. Rituals, maybe. I don't know where they come from or who made them, but I've learned this much. If you follow the rules, they'll leave you alone. I just never thought I experienced something like.

that behind the wheel of a damn cab. People think being in a rideshare driver is simple, and they're right for the most part. You drive, you talk if they want to talk, you drop them off, you get paid, no real boss breathing down your neck, no office politics, no deadlines, just the road, your car, and a playlist long enough to keep you entertained between rides. That's why I started doing it in the first place. After I left my old job, I don't want to deal with people anymore. Not really. I've been a mechanic for 20 years, ran my own shop until my knees gave out and my business went to shit. The ride share apps came at the right time. I didn't have to smile if I didn't want to. I didn't have to fix anybody's problems. Just get them where they were going. During the day, it's easy. College kids heading to class, nurses pulling doubles, grocery stores runs for people without cars, honest, quiet work. Sometimes I'd even enjoy the small tack. I liked hearing about their lives. Felt like I was doing something good. even if it was just five stars and a quiet thanks. But at night, things change.

The air gets heavy. The people get strange. I remember when I first heard about the rules of the road after sundown. Not guidelines. Not suggestions. Rules. They show up on the app the second the sun begins to set. And if you break one, well, let's just say you don't want to find out what happens.

I'm sure this is very confusing to hear for the first time. So let me explain. Every night shift starts the same. Right after sunset, the app buzzes and emits a strange sound. Not a standard chirp a notification makes, something dull and stringy, like a warning siren before a storm. On a much smaller scale, of course. The screen goes black just before a message appears in blocking text. Night shift protocol, active between sunset and sunrise.

Number one, do not look at passengers directly. Use the rear view mirror if you must. Two, do not accept payments greater than the same. than the cab fare, never take gifts. Three, only process one right at a time. Never allow multiple passengers in your car. Four, make sure your final passenger is dropped off before sunrise. I review them every time, even though I've got them memorized. I don't know if the app updates them or if something darker is watching to make sure I read them. Either way, I never skip that screen. At least, I don't anymore. I made the mistake of ignoring the rules once.

And that was one time too many. I never really was a superstitious man. Back when I started doing nights, I laughed. Rules like these felt like a joke. Some edgy tech campaign or something. The kind of stuff that gets passed around on Halloween to show they're being hip and festive. But the thing is,

these rules, they're the real deal. The consequences are even more real. I learned that the hard way. It started with something small, just a guy who insisted on paying double. He said he appreciated my surrogate. service, said I looked tired and wanted to bless me. He pulled out a crisp hundred and set it gently on the center console. I told him no. He insisted. I told him again. He smiled and slipped

into the cup holder. It's yours either way, man. I didn't touch it. Just left it there until he was gone. I mean, what's the harm? The guy looked unremarkable after all. A middle-aged gentleman was slicked back salt and pepper hair, reading glasses, t-shirt and a vest. gave me easy-going surfer vibes. Then I looked up in the mirror. He was still there. I heard him leave. Heard the door shut behind him and saw him disappear in the dark.

But he was there. Grinning. His eyes were all black. He mouthed something, but the words didn't match to the movement. Like a broken puppet trying to whisper a prayer. I couldn't believe what I was seen. I reached back, heart pounding. The sea was empty.

He was nowhere to be found except for the mirror. He stayed there for the rest of the drive, just smiling, chadden away. I parked my cab in the farthest corner of my apartment's lot, locked the doors, and went inside. That $100 bill stayed exactly where it was, untouched, humming with some quiet, invisible pressure. I could feel its presence everywhere I went. Something was trying to make me go back for it. Spend it maybe? I wasn't sure, but I needed help to make it go away.

I contacted support through the app. There's no helpline, no human name, just a form with one question. Describe your incident. I typed away everything. The passenger, the tip, the mirror. I waited. I felt so silly. 24 hours later, I got a reply.

Protocol breach acknowledged. Remedial steps required before shift may resume. Burn the foreign currency. Avoid seafood for two full days. Thanks for contacting technical support. That was it. No apology, no explanation, just instructions. I picked up the $100 bill like it was a loaded firearm

and was surprised by the weight of it. I went out to the alley behind my complex and set out on fire in a soup can. The flames hissed green for a moment, then evaporated. It didn't smell like money burning. It smelled like salt and old fish. I skipped sushi that week. Thankfully, I'm not much of a fish guy.

By the third night, the app let me log in again, and like nothing ever happened, the rides returned. It has been pretty smooth sailing ever since. Not every shift is terrifying. Some are just weird. Like the woman in the bright yellow dress who got in without saying a word and only whispered her destination. The bog. Or the man who didn't blink, stared straight ahead and screamed every time we passed a fire hydrant. The weirdest ride I ever gave was from last November.

It was around 3.12 a.m. That dead stretch of time where the world feels empty, I was parked near the outskirts of town, engine idling, watching a moth dive repeatedly into the windshield. A ping came through. There was no address, just coordinates. I almost declined. Nobody lives away out there.

It's all farmland and old sheds. But I was behind on rent, and I was pretty good at following the rules at this point. The profile picture was blank. Name just said M. Fine, I accepted. As I approached the pickup spot, my headlights hit something standing in the middle of the road. A man.

No, a figure. Very still, dressed in old-fashioned clothes, black hat, long coat, hands folded in front of him like he was at a funeral. I stopped. He didn't move. I glanced at the app. The pin was directly on him. Against my better judgment, I rolled down the window a few inches. Hey, uh, uh, you am?

The figure nodded once. I unlocked the doors and pulled up the rule of panels on my app and my phone. Same rules as always. No change. I read over the first one for good measure. Do not look at passengers directly. Use the rear view mirror if you must. Right.

He opened the back door and slid in. Didn't speak. Just sat there. The seat creaking under his weight. I pulled away from the shoulder and merged back onto the main road. The silence was suffocating. I snuck a glance into the rearview mirror. At first I saw nothing.

Then the mirror fogged up, as if someone had breathed on it from the inside. I wiped away the condensation with my thumb and nearly jumped in my seat at what was the real behind. The figure in the back seat wasn't looking at me. It was holding something. A large postcard pressed flat against its face like a mask. Long fingers curled around the edges. fingers with nails so long in yellow, they looked rotted. Just the sight of them, since a cold wave down my spine.

I leaned forward just slightly, enough to make out the writing. Two words scrawled across the card in what looked like red ink, or blood. I couldn't tell. Just drive it, said. I didn't ask questions. I drove. For 40 minutes, we cruised past silent fields, dead gas stations, and stretches of road. I swear I'd never seen it on any map.

I didn't get a destination update, no timer, just me, the road, and whatever was sitting behind me. The silence felt thicker than usual. The only sound was the low hum of the engine and the occasional creak of the frame, like the car itself felt uneasy. I kept checking the rear view, but the mirror kept fogging up over and over. I wiped it clean with the side of my hand, each time revealing the same thing. He was closer. At first he was sitting upright, stiff. almost mannequin-like.

Next time he was leaning slightly forward. Then his knees were nearly touching the back of my seat. His hat was old and stained. The brim tipped just low enough to hide most of his face, torn in one corner, frayed like it had been dragged through gravel. I couldn't see his eyes, but I could feel them, like heat on the back of my neck.

A cold sweat was forming along my forehead. I didn't know what to do. No name, no timer, no destination. That had never happened before. I gripped the wheel tighter and kept driving, heart pounding louder than the tires on the asphalt. What do I do if he doesn't leave? What if he just sits there until the sun comes up? Something bad would happen. I didn't know what exactly, but I knew the rules. This wasn't just another creepy fare. At exactly 4 a.m., he tapped the window twice. I pulled over. Before I could say a word, the door creaked open and slammed shut.

I checked the mirror. Fog gone. Seat empty. except for something left behind. There was a small envelope with one of those fancy wax seals. Inside was a bunch of tattered cash wrapped in a classy red bow, not a scent over the fair. Thank God. I set it aside and sat there for a while, just breathing. The car was finally quiet.

Still, that night feels like it happened ages ago. I'm more season now. Passengers without destinations, common occurrence these days. It took me a while to realize they're not chasing a place. They're chasing a feeling, a reaction. They're insatiable like that. But I've learned a lot since then. I know better than to feed their desires.

You give them the cold shoulder long enough and eventually they leave. These days I'm more composed. Like a prison warden ferrying rowdy inmates. I haven't bought a pistol. It sits in the glove compartment, mostly idle. But if someone in the back gets bold, starts creeping too close, a little flash of the barrel is usually enough. They growl, they curse, slam the door behind them.

Cab fare left on the seat. Not a cent overpaid. I don't bother being gentle. It's not like they can tip me, but tonight I'm feeling a bit more anxious than usual. It isn't because of the job. Nope. Supernatural cab passengers are a walk in the park compared to what I have in store tomorrow.

My son's getting married. I haven't been part of his life. Not really. That was my fault. I kept my distance after the divorce, told myself he'd be better off of him. without me hovering around. No awkward visits, no clumsy father-son talks, just space. But when the invitation came, I cried. I just sat on the couch clutching the envelope and cried like I hadn't

in years. There was no way I was missing it. I've missed too much already. I should be resting by now, getting ready for the big day. But I needed to calm my nerves. For some odd reason, this job does it to me. Midnight hits. The app dings, first ride of the night. I see. take a deep breath and swipe to accept. Gotta focus. Just get through this shift. Then straight to the hotel. Change into the suit and head to the ceremony.

The guy who gets in looks normal. Collard shirt, dark jeans, clean cut. He slides into the backseat without a word at first. I start driving. A few blocks in. He speaks up. Big night? I nod.

Yeah, my son's getting married tomorrow. Oh, that's great. What's his name? I hesitate. James? He repeats it's slow. Real slow. James. Strong name. What times the wedding? Two, I say. Eyes fixed on the road. He grins. That's wonderful. You must be proud. I give a tight smile, but don't answer. Something about the way he's asking all of this makes me uneasy. It's not the questions. People make small talk all the time. It's the way he leans in when he speaks. Like he already knows the answers, like he's confirming something. We pull up to his drop off. He thanks me, steps out, and just stands there on the curb, staring through the rear window. I look straight ahead and pretend not to notice. After a few seconds, he disappears into the dark. I sit there in silence,

hands still on the wheel. That was strange, even strange with unusual. Then it hits me. The rules. I forgot to check the rules tonight. I pulled up the app and swip to the rule section. Crap, there's a new rule. Don't talk to the passengers about your personal life. I stare at the screen like maybe I'm reading it wrong. Like maybe it's always been there and I just never noticed. But I know better. That rule wasn't there yesterday.

My heart starts pounding. I pull over, open the app and send a message to support. Something simple. There's a new rule. I broke it. How bad is this? What should I do? No reply.

Silence ensued. Last time I broke the rules, it took 24 hours to respond, and I don't have 24 hours. Eventually, I pull back onto the road. I figure I'll do a couple more drops off, keeps things simple. Maybe if I don't mess up again, everything will smooth over. The next few passengers seem normal enough. Quiet, but there's this weird vibe. They kind of smugness.

A few of them chuckle under their breath. One guy keeps stealing glances at me in the rear view like I'm the punchline of some inside joke. Another girl won't stop smiling, just this too wide grin like she knows some deep dark secret about me. It starts to wear on me. By the third ride like that, my stomach's turning. And then it gets worse. My next pickup is a woman standing alone on the corner in full wedding attire. A long white dress, veil, bouquet. It looks new, clean, not like a Halloween thing. This looks real, expensive. She doesn't speak when she gets in, just hums softly. Then she starts singing.

Here comes the bride. Over and over again. Whispered. Off key. Like she's only half remembering the melody. The hair on my arm stands up. I drive in silence. Try not to react.

She keeps singing all the way to her destination. And just before she opens the door, she leans forward and whispers. So, when's the wedding? I say nothing. She tilts her head like a confused bird. Then she gets out. and drifts off into the dark dragging the bottom of the dress behind her i'm breathing hard now knuckles white on the

wheel next ride a guy in a wrinkled button-up shirt tie hanging loose he climbs in and already shouting he was a goddamn mechanic and you know what he was useless signed in his ass for 20 years and expects me to be grateful i keep driving he doesn't stop my fiancee wants me to invite him can you believe that to my own wedding she doesn't know the guy hell i don't even know the guy he starts banging his fist on the seat and rhythm, like he's working himself up to something. I glance in the rear view. Big mistake. His eyes are wide, wild, red around the edges. There's something shiny in his lap. For a second, I think it's a phone. It's not. Without warning, he raises a pistol, sticks it under his chin, and pulls the trigger. A deafening pop. The windshield doesn't shatter, but I hear the spray hit the back window. He slumped

sideways. The door opens on its own, like someone is helping him out. I hear his body land on the sidewalk with a thump, and the door slammed shut behind him. I don't stop. I don't check. I just keep driving. Like I said, I'm a seasoned driver now. Sad to say, this isn't the first time one of these loons pop themselves in the back seat to try and get me to turn around. I have bigger issues to worry about. The rule break hung heavy in my head, and I still haven't heard back from support. The next passenger looked relatively normal. Clean cut, mid-20s, buttoned-down shirt, tucked into dark jeans. He smiled as he climbed to the back seat.

Polite nod, no words. The last few rides had been unsettling, to say the least. But this guy felt different. Not better. Just different. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. Something in his silence felt smug, like he already knew me,

like we'd done this before. We drove for 15 minutes without a word. then I pulled up to the hotel. He didn't move. I shifted into park and turned slightly, still not looking directly at him, just using the mirror. This is the address, you're good to go.

He stared at me. No change in expression, no acknowledgement. And then I heard it. A knock on the driver's side window. Dad? I nearly jumped out of my skin. I turned and there he was, James,

my son and his dress shirt in slacks, standing outside the hotel, looking confused and a little nervous. The same hotel he and the groomsman were staying at tonight. How could I forget? I forced a smile. Oh, hey son, uh, just dropping someone off. You nervous for tomorrow?

He squinted at me like something was off. Yeah, can we talk? My stomach tightened. I had to get this guy out of the car. Sure, just let me finish this ride. I'll come inside after, okay? His eyes drifted past me to the back seat. Troy? he said.

I froze. The figure in the back seat leaned forward, resting his elbows casually on the front headrest. His smile widened. Hey man, can you believe this? I ran into your pops and figured we'd do a quick beer run before the big day. Hop in. My blood went cold. No, no, no, that isn't Troy, I thought to myself.

But I couldn't tell James that. I don't know what would happen if I did. This was bad, really bad. No, James said shaking his head in disbelief. Troy, you were just inside. you were with the guys. How did he get out here so fast? The figure didn't break character. He laughed like it was a shared joke between friends. James looked between us, clearly unnerved. Dad? Who is that? I didn't wait for the thing in the back to answer. This couldn't go on for any longer.

I slammed the car into drive and tore out of the parking lot. Tire screeching, engine roaring. In the mirror, James was yelling something. Running after us. I couldn't hear him. You're going to miss the wedding, the thing said. voice perfectly calm. That's not very fatherly of you. Shut up, I snapped. You're not getting in my head. Oh, come on, it, cooed. Don't be like that.

Your son talks about you all the time, to me, to everyone. I kept my eyes on the road. Jaw clenched so tight I could feel it in my temples. Although, he doesn't say good things. You're not a good father, Ben. Shut up, I hissed. Tears bubbling in the corner of my eyes. You miss birthdays, missed milestones.

What are you even doing now? I'm trying to show up at the last second and pretend it means something. I gripped the wheel even harder. I wanted to slam the brakes, throw open the door, and drag this thing out by whatever skin it had stolen. Oh, don't be like that, Ben. I have something that will cheer you up, it whispered. Just keep driving, all the way until the sun comes up.

I have something to show you. I didn't respond. I didn't need to. My phone buzzed on the seat beside me. James, again, I didn't answer. The only sound in the car was the hum of the tires and that thing breathing behind me, waiting. I wasn't sure what to do now.

The passenger gave me a drop off and refused to get out. That hasn't really happened before. There's no way for me to force it out either, not without looking directly at it. If I couldn't get this guy to leave before the sun came up, I was screwed. It was useless. I pull over hard, tires kicking up dust on the shoulder of the road. The thing in the back doesn't flinch, just smiles like it's been waiting for this moment all night. I opened the glove box and take out my Glock 45.

Oh, it says. That didn't take long. You're already getting tired of me, Ben? I don't answer. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. Oh, Ben, you don't have to do this. You're going to miss out on all the fun I have in store. I don't even turn around.

I raise the gun behind me, steady my breathing, and pull the trigger. The shot is deafening in the confined space. I don't look. I just sit there, ears ringing, heart thudding. I wait for a moment, for another voice, but there's nothing. I finally peek into the rearview mirror once again. It slumped over in the seat, still smiling but quiet now, unmoving. I knew that wasn't going to kill this thing, but it still felt good.

I just needed to shut it up for a minute. If it wasn't going to leave, so be it. I had to come to terms with that fact. I wasn't going to make it to the wedding. I was going to abandon my son again. This time for good. The least I could do was say sorry. Tell him I loved him.

I just wish I could have done it sooner. Damn it. I wish I had more time. I pull out my phone, handshaking. I try to call James back, but it goes straight to voicemail. I speak through the lump in my throat. Hey, it's dad. I just, I just wanted to say I'm sorry for everything.

I should have been there for you. I should have, I should have been better. The thing in the back seat was sitting up right now, dusting off its blood-soaked shirt and slicking back the loose hair where the bullet exited. I started to sobbing to the phone. But I'm proud of you, James. I really am. Despite all my mistakes,

mistakes, you've done everything right, and I'm really, really happy I get to be at your wedding. The mimic was coughing now, pounding his chest with a closed fist. I heard a loud metallic clang as the bullet bounced off its one of its teeth on the way out of its throat, a stifle of sob and take a deep breath before continuing. I love you so much, James. I'll see you soon, buddy. I hang up. Here's running down my face, fogging up the screen. I sat there in silence for a few minutes. I watched as an orange glow began to rise from the horizon. It was almost sunrise. I closed my eyes and gripped the steering wheel in grim anticipation. This was it. I wasn't sure what happened if I broke a rule, but I knew there was no coming back from it. Tech support wouldn't be

able to help me out of this one. Then I hear clapping, soft, slow. I look up. In the rear view, I see this thing clapping and wearing a wide smile, only this time it doesn't look as smug. It appears sincere, genuine. Nice job, Ben, it says. Really touching. It drops a handful of bills into the seat beside it and steps out of the vehicle. It ducks its head inside to give one final farewell. Congrats on your son's wedding. Then it was gone. Just before the sunrise. I'm not sure why I decided to leave. All the night passengers want something, a reaction, a release. Most of the time, it is something mean-spirited? They crave anger, heartbreak, desperation. Maybe this one was benevolent. Maybe it needed to experience something heartfelt, something real. God knows I needed it too. I'm just glad it's all

over. I didn't take any more rides for the rest of the night. I went home, scrubbed the blood off the backseat even though there wasn't any, changed the air freshener even though it still smelled new, took a long hot shower, put on the suit and had a warning years. When I looked in the mirror, I almost didn't recognize myself. I didn't look any different. but I felt different. I wasn't ashamed of the man that looked back at me. I was going to be a new person. I knew it was too late to be a good dad.

I've been way too long to fix that, but he would always be my son, and he needed to know that I was never going to abandon him again. I got in the car, not for work, just to drive to the wedding. And for the first time and a long time, I felt something that almost scared me more than a lifetime of ferry, super natural passengers. And all right, guys, that wraps up some frightening Reddit stories.

I hope you enjoyed this video. I love all these stories. I thought all these stories were super unique, creepy, and super engaging as well. Would you like to see shorter videos, longer videos like this, or a completely different series? Or would you like to see the series continue just like this? Comment down below. I read every single comment, so please leave your thoughts. And like the video and subscribe to the channel.

It helps more than you know. And I just really appreciate watching at the end of the video. It means the world. And if you enjoyed this video, I'm sure you'll enjoy other videos on this channel. So check out some other videos on the channel. I'm sure you love it. Welcome.

And this was Snook, and I'll see you next time. Bye.