In the bustling city, where neon lights flickered and the streets whispered secrets, a legend passed through hushed voices - the tale of The Midnight Passenger. It was said that every night at exactly 12:00 AM, a lone figure would hail a taxi from an isolated corner of the city and request a ride to the graveyard. Those who heeded the call never spoke about it - because they never could.

Junaid, a struggling taxi driver, had heard the rumors but dismissed them as mere superstition. But one fateful night, he found himself driving down a deserted road when his headlights caught a shadowy figure raising a hand.

A man, clad in black, stood unnaturally still under the dim glow of the streetlight. His face was hidden beneath the hood of his long cloak.

"Take me to the graveyard," the man spoke, his voice cold and hollow.

A chill ran down Junaid's spine, but he forced a nervous nod and unlocked the door. The man slid into the backseat and immediately gave a warning:

"Do not speak to me. Do not look at me. Cover your mirror. And no matter what, do not turn around."

Junaid's heart pounded. He draped his scarf over the rearview mirror, his fingers trembling. The taxi rolled forward, the road stretching endlessly into the darkness. Silence weighed heavy in the air, broken only by the sound of the tires gliding over the asphalt.

Then, something strange happened.

A low whisper filled the car. It wasn't from the radio, nor from outside. It was from behind him.

Junaid swallowed hard, gripping the steering wheel tighter. He wanted to ask if the passenger had spoken, but he remembered the warning. Do not speak.

Then, a soft chuckle.

Junaid's breath hitched. The laughter grew louder, shifting from a whisper to a rasping cackle. His fingers went numb as an unnatural chill seeped into the car. His instincts screamed at him to run, to escape - but he was trapped in his own vehicle with something inhuman.

A sudden thud against the back of his seat made him flinch. Something was moving in the back.

The laughter stopped.

Then, a voice.

"You're curious, aren't you?"

Junaid shut his eyes, resisting the urge to respond. His pulse pounded against his skull.

A claw-like hand reached from behind and slowly dragged its cold fingers across his shoulder.

He couldn't help it. He turned.

The moment his eyes locked onto the figure's face, terror unlike anything he had ever known swallowed him whole. The passenger's skin was stretched too tight over its skull, its eyes hollow voids of darkness. A mouth, too wide, curled into an impossible grin.

Junaid tried to scream - but no sound came out. His body convulsed, his breath stolen by the abyss that was his passenger.

The taxi came to a halt in front of the graveyard, its engine still running. The door creaked open. The figure stepped out, adjusting his hood before turning to face the vehicle.

But it was no longer Junaid sitting in the driver's seat.

It was him.

The passenger.

And now, a new taxi drove away, searching for another driver at 12 AM.