SHOCKING Story

True tales or not, this story is so scary that i broke out in a cold sweat!!!

''I have been driving a Bolt car in Lagos for six years, but what I saw on Third Mainland Bridge last night has made me return my keys to the owner.

I will neveř drive in this city again.

It was 11:45 PM. I was about to close the app and go home to Egbeda when a request came in.
Pickup: Victoria Island.
Drop off: Ikorodu.

The fare was N18,000. I was broke, and my wife needed money for antenataļ, so 1 greed!ly accepted.

The passenger was a young lady, extremely beautiful, dressed in a white flowing gown. She smelled like expensive jasmine and cold dust. She didn't say a word when she entered the back seat.
She only nodded.

We started the journey. The roads were free. I was playing Burna Boy on the radio, feeling lucky.
As we climbed the Third Mainland Bridge, the atmosphere in the car changed. The air conditioner was off, but the car became freezing cold. My windows started fogging up from the inside.

I looked in the rear view mirror to ask if she was okay.

She wasn't looking at her phone. She was staring directly at the back of my head. Her eyes were wide open, unblinking..

"Driver," she whispered. Her voice sounded like it was coming from the car speakers, not her mouth.
"Stop here. I want to buy Gala." I laughed nervously. "Madam, this is Third Mainland Bridge. Nobody sells Gala here by 12 midnight. It is dangerous to stop."

"I said ST0P!"

The scream didn't sound humañ. It sho0k the steering wheel. The car engine cut off instantly on its own. We were dead in the middle of the lagoon section.
I was shaking. "Madam, please, take it easy." She opened the door and stepped out.

There was no wind, even though we were high above the water.
She walked to the railing of the bridge. I watched her, paralyzeð with fear. I wanted to start the car and zoom off, but my hands refused to move.

Then, I saw them.

From beneath the bridge, wet, dark figures started climbing over the railing. One, two, three... seven of them. They looked like people who had dr0wneð, sw0llen, dr!pp!ng with blacķ water, their sk!n pale and peel!ng.
They didn't touch her. They bowed to her.

She turned to look at me one last time. Her face had changeð. She no longer had a n0se or a m0uth. Just a smooth páțch of skin where her features used to be.
"You are lucky you have a pregnanț wife at home," the voice echoed in my head, though she had no m0uth to speak. "Her prayer is what is covering you."

She climbed onto the railing and jùmþeð into the lag00n.
Splash.

The seven dř0weð f!gures followed her.
Splash. Splash. Splash.
Silence.

My car engine roared back to life on its own. The doors l0ckeð automaticallý.
1 drove like a m@d man. I didn't stop until I reached a filling station in Anthony. I was sweating, shiver!ng, cry!ng …

I checked my phone to end the trip and report the inc!dènț.
But when I opened the app, the trip history was empty. No record of the pickup. No record of the passenger.

Except for one thing.
On the back seat where she sat, there was no money. But there was a single wet 1000 Naira note.
It was drippinğ with salt water.
And written on the note in red ink was a date:
12 - 12 - 2025.

That is the exact due date the d0ct0r gave my wife for our baby.
I am currently burn!nğ the car seat. I don't know what to do. Is she coming for my ch!lð? Or did my wife's prayer really saved me? ''
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