Rain poured again that night. The same kind of rain that had fallen two nights before—when the wail of a siren echoed faintly across the sleeping city of Bandung. A sound not loud, but enough to make the skin crawl.
The old ambulance from Sasmita Hospital was on the road again. Unit 03. What made it strange was that the ambulance wasn’t supposed to run anymore. Its former driver, Deni, had been found dead inside that very vehicle. But tonight, someone else had decided to drive it again.
His name was Raka. A new paramedic—young, pale, exhausted after three consecutive night shifts. He didn’t believe the rumors: the whispers that said the ambulance was never empty, even after the patient had been dropped off.
“If I don’t take this trip, the patient in Cibiru won’t make it,” he muttered as he turned the key. The engine coughed, rattling to life with a hoarse growl, like someone choking.
The clock on the dashboard read 00:11. The streets were slick and foggy. The wipers moved back and forth with a steady rhythm that sounded almost like breathing. Krek… krek… krek…
Raka checked the rearview mirror. Empty. Only the dark outline of the passenger seats.
Half an hour later, the radio flicked on by itself. Static crackled—then a woman’s whisper emerged, distant but clear enough to raise the hairs on his neck:
“The patient… is already in the back…”
Raka’s heart jumped. He almost hit the curb. “Who turned that on?” he hissed, tapping the radio. The buttons didn’t respond.
“Turn left… now…”
The voice came again, closer this time. For reasons he couldn’t explain, Raka followed the command. The ambulance veered into a narrow road, muddy and unmarked on the GPS. Thick mist wrapped the vehicle, muffling every sound.
At the end of the road, someone stood beneath a dead streetlamp. A woman. She wore a hospital gown, soaked by the rain. Her face was hidden by strands of long black hair.
Raka rolled down the window slightly. “Miss, do you need help?”
The woman didn’t answer. Slowly, she lifted one hand—pale and trembling—and pointed to the back of the ambulance.
Raka frowned and turned toward the rearview mirror. The back door was open. It had been locked before.
The interior light flickered on. And there—on the middle seat—sat a figure. A woman, back turned, long hair spilling over her shoulders. Her body swayed gently, as if she were laughing without sound.
Raka’s breath caught in his throat. He stumbled out of the vehicle, rain splashing around his feet. But when he turned back—the door was closed again. No one was outside.
Heart pounding, he climbed back in. The air inside the ambulance was freezing cold, though the AC was off. Then the radio came alive once more.
“Keep driving, Mr. Raka. The hospital is waiting…”
The voice knew his name. He had never said it over the radio. His fingers trembled on the steering wheel, but he obeyed.
Thirty minutes later, the ambulance arrived at Sasmita Hospital—the same place where Deni had been found dead.
A security guard approached, flashlight in hand. “Bringing a patient, sir?”
Raka nodded. But when he opened the back door—it was empty.
The guard frowned. “Didn’t you say there was a patient inside?”
“There was,” Raka stammered. “She was sitting right there…”
The guard climbed in, sweeping his light across the floor. Something glistened: a trail of blood—still fresh—leading to the inner wall of the ambulance, as if the blood had soaked through the metal from within.
“Sir… this blood—it’s going into the wall,” the guard whispered.
Raka backed away, chest tight, vision spinning. The radio came on again.
“Thank you… for taking me home…”
Suddenly, every light in the hospital went out.
By morning, the cleaning staff found Unit 03 parked behind the hospital’s abandoned wing. Its back doors were wide open. Inside, there was only an old rusted stethoscope and an ID card belonging to Raka. No body. No struggle. Just the faint metallic scent of dried blood, and two smeared finger marks on the back of the driver’s seat.
The other story: Ambulance Horror Story: The Last Call
When the hospital reviewed CCTV footage, what they saw made no sense. The ambulance had never entered the gate. No headlights. No engine sound. No Raka.
Yet, on the camera facing the rear parking lot, a faint outline appeared through the fog: the shape of an ambulance slowly rolling into view. Its lights were off. The engine was running, but no one was behind the wheel. It parked itself. Then idled for two full hours before falling silent.
Since that night, the staff sometimes hear sirens at exactly 00:11. Sometimes the hospital radio crackles to life on its own, whispering that same woman’s voice:
“The patient… is already in the back…”
To be continued.
