Ghost Story

On a rainy night, I was driving my wife along a mountain road. She had just returned from the hospital, her face pale, clutching a cloth bundle tightly. "Is the baby asleep?" I asked. She didn't answer, just stared into the rearview mirror, her lips trembling slightly. Suddenly, a baby's cry came from the back seat. I slammed on the brakes and turned my head—the back seat was empty. "Did you hear that?" my voice trembled. My wife slowly opened the cloth bundle. Inside were stacks of joss paper. "Our baby... we lost her last month, don't you remember?" I froze. Yes, she was right. But in the rearview mirror, I clearly saw a little girl in a red dress sitting in the back seat, smiling at me. "Daddy," she said, "why didn't you come pick me up?" My wife's face contorted, and she screamed, "Don't look! It's here to take someone's place!" I floored the accelerator, and the car shot forward. The crying from the back seat grew louder and closer, finally reaching my ear— "Daddy, you're stepping on my foot." I looked down. On the accelerator, a pale, small foot was pressing down on my foot.