I THOUGHT I WAS GOING HOME, THE RIDER CHANGED MY ROUTE AND DROPPED ME IN THE DARK – LADY SHARES SCARY STORY

I didn’t plan to be out late that night.

Work ran longer than expected. The buses were already packed, and I was too tired to start arguing with conductors over change. So I did what I’ve done many times before I booked a ride-hailing bike to take me home.

 

It was close to 10 p.m. The streets were quieter than usual. Shops were closing. The air had that late-night stillness that always makes small sounds feel louder than they should.

The rider arrived and greeted me politely. Helmet. Reflective vest. Normal. Nothing about him felt strange.

At first, the ride was smooth. We passed the usual junctions. I relaxed a little, scrolling through my phone and sending my friend a quick “I’m on my way home.”

Then he took a turn I didn’t recognise.

I thought maybe he was avoiding traffic. Some riders know shortcuts. I didn’t want to sound paranoid, so I didn’t say anything immediately. But when he took another unfamiliar turn, my chest tightened.

“Sorry,” I said, raising my voice over the engine. “This isn’t the way to my place.”

He didn’t answer.

We rode for about two more minutes into a quieter area. Fewer streetlights. Closed gates. The road became narrower. My phone screen suddenly felt too bright in the dark.

“Please, this isn’t where I’m going,” I said again, louder this time.

He slowed down and stopped near a compound gate. Then, without getting off the bike, he reached down and pushed the gate open. It creaked loudly in the silence.

My heart started pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

“Get down,” he said, not looking at me. “This is where I stop.”

I froze. This wasn’t my street. This wasn’t my house. I didn’t recognise anything around me.

“I said this isn’t my place,” I told him, my voice shaking. “Please take me back to the main road.”

He finally turned to look at me. His eyes were flat. No anger. No apology.

“You people think you can control where we go,” he said. “Just get down.”

I didn’t argue. Something in his tone told me not to.

As soon as my feet touched the ground, he sped off. The gate behind me slowly swung shut, leaving me standing in front of a compound I didn’t know, on a dark street I’d never seen before.

For a few seconds, I just stood there, breathing fast, trying not to cry.

Then I started walking.

I walked until I found a brighter road. I flagged down a passing bus. I called my friend and told her where I was. My hands were shaking so much I could barely hold my phone.

I made it home safely that night.

But since then, every time I book a late-night ride, my stomach knots up. I share my trip details. I call someone and stay on the line. I watch every turn the rider takes.

I know not every rider is dangerous.

But I also know now that “nothing has ever happened before” is not a safety plan.

Sometimes, being careful is the only protection you have.