Riya always took the 9:40 night bus home. It was predictable, safe, and mostly empty. But on Friday, something felt wrong the moment she stepped inside. The lights flickered twice, as if warning her. The bus was completely silent, except for one passenger sitting at the very back, head lowered, wearing a long black coat. She couldn’t see his face.
Riya chose a seat in the middle. The driver didn’t greet her like usual. He only shut the door quickly and pulled away from the stop with unusual speed. She frowned but stayed quiet.
A few minutes later, she felt eyes on her. Slowly, she turned.
The back passenger hadn’t moved, but she had the strange feeling that he was watching her from under his hood.
The bus passed a familiar intersection, but instead of turning left toward her neighborhood, it continued straight into an unfamiliar, darker route. Riya sat up. “This isn’t the way,” she whispered to herself. The driver didn’t seem to notice.
The lights flickered again, longer this time. When they stabilized, the back passenger was no longer sitting. He was standing—silent, tall, and still—one row closer to her.
Riya’s breath hitched. She hadn’t heard footsteps. Not even a shuffle. She swallowed and pressed the stop button. It didn’t light up. It didn’t beep. It was dead.
She leaned forward.
“Excuse me—this isn’t my route,” she said to the driver.
He didn’t respond. His shoulders were tense, gripping the wheel as if forcing himself to keep driving.
Riya turned back. The hooded man was now three rows away. Motionless. Head tilted. Watching.
Her heartbeat surged. She moved to stand up, but her legs trembled. She grabbed a pole, forcing herself to stay steady. The bus windows showed nothing outside—no shops, no lights, not even the highway. Only darkness, like ink pressed against the glass.
The bus slowed suddenly. Not like braking. More like something was dragging it.
The hooded man stepped closer. She still couldn’t hear any sound from him. Not breathing. Not footsteps. Nothing human.
Riya stumbled backward toward the driver. “Please stop the bus! Something is wrong!”
The driver finally spoke—voice cracked, weak.
“I can’t stop it. I’m not driving anymore.”
The bus lurched to a halt.
The hooded man stood directly behind Riya now. She felt cold against her spine, a whisper of air moving unnaturally. She didn’t turn. She couldn’t.
The doors opened by themselves.
Outside was not a road. It was a long, empty platform that looked like an abandoned station. No signs. No lights. Just a single bench and a shadow stretching across it.
The driver whispered shakily, “Get off. Don’t look back. Run.”
Riya stepped out slowly. The platform felt colder than winter. She walked forward, forcing her legs to move.
Behind her, the bus doors slammed shut. The engine roared—but not like a machine. More like an animal waking up.
When she finally turned around, the bus was gone.
The platform was gone.
She was standing alone on a road she didn’t recognize—
with fresh, long footprints behind her that did not belong to her.She took a long breath .She became too panicked.......she recognised her fate.
