Chapter 96: Ch 96: CreepyPasta: Hellfare Taxi
The ghost story taxi calls for us.
Beyond the shop’s front door.
Honk, honk—
If we board it and follow the manual properly, we can definitely get to
Seoul Station...
The problem is figuring out how to get into that taxi.
’It’s parked outside the shop’s main door.’
That’s precisely why I sought out a shop with a front door—because the
alleys of Death Lane are too narrow for a taxi to stop.
’So, to hail and board the taxi, we need to step beyond the front door...’
But there’s no telling what kind of scenery will unfold outside that door, nor
whether Lee Jaheon and I will make it out unscathed.
That’s why I prepared a countermeasure.
Using a product from this shop.
’I planned to stop by here anyway, and since this shop has a front door, it’s
killing two birds with one stone.’
I swallowed hard.
"Squad Leader, let’s proceed as planned."
"Yes."
Lee Jaheon reached into the paper bag he was holding and quickly ripped
the packaging open.
Along with the cozy socks, a small ball of yarn was revealed.
It seemed the handmade shop included it as a freebie, likely for patching up
the socks. But now, it would serve a different purpose.
"Let’s begin."
Avoiding the shopkeeper’s gaze, I unwound one end of the red yarn and tied
it firmly to the leg of a display case.
Then, I halved the yarn ball, handing one half to Lee Jaheon while holding
the other myself.
Though it would restrict our movements, it was safer for both of us to hold
the yarn directly.
"Let’s go."
"Yes."
Slowly unraveling the yarn, I stood with my back to the opaque glass door
and walked backward...
As soon as my back touched the glass, I groped for the handle below.
Click.
The door swung open, letting in a sudden gust of wind.
And a raw blast of horn sounds.
Honk, honk—
Don’t look back.
Matching steps with Lee Jaheon, I carefully continued walking backward.
Thankfully, I had a reliable guide to act as my eyes.
– Keep walking backward in that direction, Friend! It’s nighttime, so there
aren’t many pedestrians.
...Pedestrians? No, don’t dwell on it.
Fixing my gaze on the shop interior, I kept walking backward without
glancing at the dark surroundings.
The yarn connecting me to the shop served as my lifeline, keeping me
tethered to Death Lane.
’As long as I hold onto this, I’m not considered missing!’
Slowly, steadily, without rushing, I retreated...
Thud.
I bumped into something.
Honk, honk—
...The taxi.
The blaring horn reverberated through the car, making my body tremble.
Cautiously, I reached back, my hand brushing against the smooth surface of
the car.
– Just a little to the left.
I adjusted my hand and felt a sleek groove.
’The handle.’
I grabbed it, pulled the door open, and slipped into the taxi.
There wasn’t even time to take in the clean, modern interior. I moved over
to the seat on the other side and immediately made room for Lee Jaheon,
who entered right after me.
As soon as he was in, he tossed the remaining yarn out and slammed the
door shut.
The sheer force made the entire sequence happen in an instant.
BANG—
"..."
I finally lifted my head.
In the driver’s seat sat a man in an impeccably pressed, eerie uniform,
wearing a peaked cap.
"Please take us to Seoul Station."
...
[The estimated arrival time is 43 minutes.]
The taxi glided forward smoothly.
’Phew.’
Leaning back into the seat, I let out a deep sigh of relief.
We made it, for now!
’Transitioned into a new ghost story... success.’
Of course, since this taxi was itself a ghost story, I couldn’t afford to relax.
I quickly recalled the relevant wiki entry.
The infamous ghost story called ’Hellfare Taxi’, a name that suggests
nothing but trouble when it comes to the fare.
The taxi is typically described as a black luxury sedan of German make.
While the model varies with each call, it can be identified by its scarlet taxi
sign and the golden inverted cross ornament hanging from the rearview
mirror.
I glanced at the driver’s mirror.
...There it was, the ominous golden inverted cross, swaying lightly.
Confirmed.
’Huu.’
Even though everything was going according to plan, tension crawled up
my spine.
Was it because I was trapped in the confined space of the taxi? The
suffocating realization that I was now inside a ghost story where escape was
impossible added to the pressure...
Tick, tick.
The meter climbed.
[10,000]
[10,100]
[10,200]
Fast.
"Mr. Driver."
I had to start talking quickly.
The less interested the driver became in the passenger, the faster the vehicle
would move, and the meter would climb rapidly.
And as the meter increased...
Taxi passengers are cursed with a curse equivalent to the amount displayed
on the meter when they disembark.
That’s right.
This taxi didn’t charge money as a fare—it assigned curses instead.
Strictly speaking, it wasn’t exactly a curse but more akin to ’supernaturally
induced misfortune’, which made it even more chilling.
However, if the driver maintained steady interest in the passenger and drove
slowly, the meter would rise gradually, and the resulting ’misfortune’ would
be manageable for the passenger.
In the opposite case...
’The moment you step out of a wildly speeding taxi, you’re hit with an
unbearable curse.’
And no matter how fast the taxi went, it wouldn’t reach the destination
early.
All taxis arrive precisely on time, unaffected by the vehicle’s speed.
My allocated time was 43 minutes.
For that duration, I had to consistently hold the driver’s interest.
’If the vehicle speeds up, there’s a higher chance of strange phenomena
occurring inside, like the windows shattering... or so the records say.’
I had no intention of experiencing that.
Fortunately, I’d read the records and knew what kind of conversations could
pique the driver’s interest.
The problem?
The taxi is operated by a team of four drivers who work in shifts and refer
to one another by numbers.
While their appearances are completely identical, subtle differences can be
observed in their interactions with passengers. Each driver also displays a
unique preference for specific topics of conversation, adding a distinctive
flair to their service.
Since they looked the same, you couldn’t tell who was who. And if you
asked directly, ’Which number are you?’ they would take offense and eject
you from the taxi.
’And anyone ejected becomes a missing person...’
Thus, the only way to figure it out was through conversation.
In exploration records, the following keywords were identified as subjects of
interest for each driver :
Number 1 / Olympics, elections, pets, games, social media.
Number 2 / War, mafia, action movies, vampire legends, firearms.
Number 3 / Fine dining, farming, economic recessions, slum tourism, luxury
goods.
Number 4 / The afterlife, religious experiences, pandemics, mass murders,
■■■.
The standard strategy was to determine which driver you were dealing with
as quickly as possible through the first few exchanges.
But if you have as much information as I do from the records, there’s
another option.
A conversation method to exit the taxi in the best possible condition.
[Mr. Passenger.]
"..."
The first question was here.
From the front seat, a low, slightly mocking voice flowed from the driver,
who was steering the car...
[How was your day?]
"It was a regular workday."
[Aha.]
The driver never explicitly stated their preferred topics, only asking
questions.
But the meter answered for him.
[10,500]
[10,700]
[10,900]
[11,200]
Out of control.
– Goodness, does this driver not understand the concept of small talk?
Friend, if you’d like, I could step in as a skilled broadcaster to spice things
up...
’No need.’
This was expected. I quickly and nonchalantly responded with my next line.
"But I almost died on the job today."
Thunk.
"Nearly became fresh produce myself while trying to buy some meat at a
butcher shop."
The meter stopped.
[11,300]
"Fortunately, the shop owner turned out to be a vegetarian. I bartered some
produce and got out. Even won the haggling match and got some cash."
[...]
The driver’s fingers tapping on the steering wheel slowed.
The vehicle’s speed decreased.
[And what happened next?]
Phew.
"I headed for the back alley."
It worked.
What am I doing?
’Weaving as many correct keywords into my answers as possible.’
The goal was to say something that interested any of the four drivers.
A strategy I called ’You’re bound to like at least one of these topics’.
And luckily, my current situation naturally allowed me to bring up all kinds
of sensational material.
’The last six months have been full of ridiculous adventures, after all.’
[What kind of work will you have tomorrow?]
The conversation topics seemed endless.
"I plan to take a break and reflect on everything that’s happened. It’s been
quite eventful."
I kept steering the conversation toward stimulating, talk-worthy topics, no
matter what the taxi driver asked.
I kept weaving in nightmares, food, blood, violence, survival of the fittest,
mascots, cooking, fortune-telling, ghosts...
All seamlessly blended into casual conversation.
Eventually, the car moved forward as slowly as a bicycle.
I kept talking non-stop, enough for Braun to marvel a few times at my
ability to fill the air.
By the time my voice was nearly hoarse...
[...We’ve arrived.]
The taxi came to a stop.
[We’ve reached your destination, ’Seoul Station’.]
Click.
The lock on the back door released, and the tinted window rolled down,
revealing a familiar view...
It was the nightscape of Seoul Station.
’Hah...!’
I was so relieved I could cry.
Though I wanted to leap out immediately, I first needed to settle the fare.
I looked at the meter.
[29,700]
[29,800]
Click.
The driver stopped the meter.
[29,800]
’I did it...!’
Going under 30,000 was usually only possible for short, 10-minute trips.
This level of fare meant there would be no permanent damage.
[Time to settle the fare.]
The taxi driver extended a hand behind him.
In that hand was a cheque.
-29,900 / Code 1
I carefully took the old-fashioned paper cheque, stamped with a wax seal in
the shape of a snake...
The back of the cheque had a description of the curse the passenger would
receive.
Fare Code 1 : Illness
– Three days of high fever, headache, hemoptysis, and chills.
Good.
’This is totally manageable.’
Far better than disastrous bankruptcy or the death of those around me.
"Thank you."
I clutched the cheque and gave the driver a deep bow before finally
escaping the taxi.
’Ha.’
The winter air felt unbelievably refreshing...
Knock, knock.
"...!"
The driver’s side window rolled halfway down.
[Mr. Passenger.]
I nearly passed out right then and there.
"Yes?"
[That was an enjoyable conversation. I think my colleagues would also be
interested in your stories...]
In the darkness, the driver’s gloved hand tapped rhythmically on the
steering wheel...
[Let’s meet again after retiring. I’ll buy you a drink then.]
I swallowed hard.
...Had he caught on?
The taxi drivers were inspired by a well-known and terrifying motif.
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
Conquest, War, Famine, and Death—serving as literal doomsday taxi
drivers in this eerie wordplay ghost story.
Given this context, that comment was enough to send chills down my spine.
Still, I nodded calmly.
"Yes."
But the Horsemen of the Apocalypse wouldn’t retire until the end of the
world!
I’d be long gone by then.
"I’d look forward to it. Best of luck on your shift."
[Hahaha... Indeed. Tiresome work.]
The taxi window rolled up again, and the black vehicle ghosted away from
Seoul Station in an instant, leaving only the crimson afterimage of its taxi
sign behind.
"..."
I glanced down at the negative cheque in my hand.
At that moment, the cheque burst into flames, and I began coughing up
blood.
"Keugh—"
The high fever and pounding headache scorched through my skull, but it
was bearable.
And there, watching me, was the lizard.
He, too, was dripping blood from his snout.
’Uuuuugh.’
Not exactly a pleasant sight, but I couldn’t help swallowing my bloody
saliva as I spoke.
"Um, this should clear up in three days. That seems to be... how the rule
works."
"Yes."
"And thank you for not prying or questioning me back in the taxi. It meant
a lot— cough—"
The lizard watched me, his expression unchanged, even as he coughed up
blood.
"Kim Soleum-ssi."
"Yes?"
"Take a sick leave."
"...Yes."
A little while later.
After waiting for the hemoptysis to subside, we called another taxi to return
to the company dorms.
Though the thought of another taxi ride was unsettling, there were no
further incidents.
Aside from our raging fevers, both the section chief and I safely made it
home.
’I didn’t expect Squad Leader Lee Jaheon to be living in the same dorm
building.’
We parted ways in front of the building.
"Take a sick leave."
"Yes... Thank you."
We’d save the detailed discussions for later at the office.
’Phew.’
And so...
I made it back safely.
’Even a company dorm could feel like home.’
When I opened the door, the warm indoor air greeted me like a comforting
embrace. It was almost euphoric.
Feeling this ill, I just wanted to jump into a hot shower and crash in bed,
but...
There was one more thing I had to do.
’Huh.’
I noticed a pair of shoes in the entryway that weren’t mine.
Baek Saheon’s dress shoes.