Saturday, 26 March 2016

Taxi Driver
It was a cold night; air was thick and dense. The train was late. It should have reached by half past eleven. But it was past one when it reached his destination.
Very few passengers got down from the train. He rushed out of the station. But not even one taxi was available. He was getting desperate; he had to reach his office before eight in the morning. It was five hours drive to his home.
Out of nowhere a man, with a large scar on his face, confronted him, ‘Taxi?’
He was unnerved and was tempted to say no but said, ‘Yes.’
‘Double the fare.’
‘Not safe to drive at this hour.’
‘Goons……wild animals………even ghosts.’
He was about to decline the offer but the urgency of reaching office compelled him to agree.
They would have driven for about thirty minutes when a police jeep overtook them. Driver stopped and abruptly left the taxi and vanished.
‘It’s a stolen Taxi,’ the police officer barked. He looked brutal.
‘No, I hired it.’
‘I don’t see the taxi driver.’
‘He left just now.’
‘What did he look like?’ asked the accompanying constable.
‘He had a scar on his……..’ He felt a clammy hand on his arm. He turned around. It was the taxi driver; the driver whispered, ‘Run, they are not men.’  
He was too terrified to react. He heard the constable telling his inspector, ‘It’s the person who was murdered last month and his taxi was stolen.’
He opened the door but was unable to run; his feet had got rooted to the ground.

A post for Three Word Wednesday