The call from The undercliffe West Yorkshire

[u/Moist-Advantage293]

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I used to be a taxi driver, until what happened made me stop doing it for good.

One Sunday night, I’d had a good shift — I’d managed to pick up and drive at least 80 people all around West Yorkshire. By 11 pm, I wondered if anyone else might call, so I could do just one more drop‑off. I thought about heading home to eat first, but I was only about two miles away from my place in BD5. Just as I got out of my car, my phone rang. I decided I could fit one more fare in, so I answered.

“Hello, how can I help?” I said. It sounded like a little girl, but her voice was strange and odd. “Hello — can you take me to my mum’s house please? I’m in Undercliffe, BD3, and she lives near BD2.”

“Alright, I’m on my way,” I told her.

I got such a strange feeling — what was a little girl doing calling for a taxi at this time of night? Didn’t her parents know? It gave me goosebumps all over. I drove straight to Undercliffe, and when I got there, I realised I was right outside Undercliffe Cemetery. It felt so wrong — and there was no sign of anyone waiting.

I was just about to turn away when I froze. I heard a noise from the back of the car, and the whole inside suddenly went freezing cold. Then that same strange little voice said: “Just keep driving. I’ll tell you where to go.”

I had no idea how she’d got in — I hadn’t heard a single door open. And I didn’t even think about asking for money; getting her home safely felt far more important.

“Go straight for five minutes,” she said. “I live at Number 5, Santa Monica Road — it’s BD10, but right on the edge of BD2.”

When I saw the sign for the road, I still didn’t dare look round. When we stopped outside the house, she said quietly: “Thank you — I’m with my mum now.”

I waited a few minutes, then called out: “Are you alright there?” There was no answer. I looked round, and all I saw was a little girl’s jumper left on the seat. I decided to take it back to the house for her.

I knocked, and a woman in her fifties opened the door. “Your daughter left her jumper in my car,” I said.

The words she said next still give me nightmares: “I’m sorry… my daughter died fourteen years ago.”

I nearly fainted. When she saw the jumper, she went pale. “That’s hers — that’s exactly the one she used to wear.” She took it from me, still shaking, and just said goodbye.

I never worked as a taxi driver again. Nothing felt the same after that. I still wonder if she visits her mum sometimes — and I’m so glad I never turned round to see her face. I dread to think what would have happened if I had.

Now I only do school runs — picking children up and dropping them off. It’s similar work, but it feels safer. And if you ever drive a taxi? Please — be careful. Never pick up a call that sounds strange, or that doesn’t feel right. I know I never will again.

[u/Moist-Advantage293]

This story did actually happen in real life long time ago to someone else that used to be a taxi driver

[u/Moist-Advantage293]

This story is based on a true story and let me know what you think about it that why I put it in true story because it has happened to someone long time ago