Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S2 Ep93: Episode 93: Terrifying Bus Stop Horror

Episode Date: August 18, 2022

We start tonight’s podcast with ‘The Child at the bus stop’, a story by jak5467, shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and read here with the author’s express permission. https://www.reddit.com/user/jak5467/ Next up is ‘The Last Bus’ another story shared directly with me via my sub-reddit, by Flumeje, and also read here with the author’s express permission. https://www.reddit.com/user/Flumeje/ Our third tale this evening is the terrifying ‘The Bus’ by Fytoftora, shared with me via the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license:  https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:Fytoftora https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/The_Bus Our fourth story is ‘The Bus Stop’ another story shared directly with me via my sub-reddit, by sammmy134, and also read here with the author’s express permission. https://www.reddit.com/user/sammmy134/ Our penultimate tale is by Creepy Sensation and is titled ‘The Bus Stop Just Opposite of My House’, also from the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:CreepySensation https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/The_Bus_Stop_Just_Opposite_of_My_House We round of tonight’s podcast with Terror Mask’s ‘The Crazy Bus’ once again from the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:Terror_Mask https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Crazy_Bus

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please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepen's Dungeon. Well, it has been said that lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who'll take the bus with you when the limo breaks down. Well, tonight's stories will put that to the test, I'm sure. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's stories might contain strong language,

as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin. The child at the bus store. The car's engine revved as I sped down the road. Lost in thought, I hardly took notice of the rain crashing against the windsheet. The storm was rising. Nature seemed to sense my anger.

I took another sip from the bottle of vodka beside me. My eyes darted from the road to the shiny black handgun lying on the passenger seats. I brushed the cold metal with the tip of my throat. fingers. Involuntarily my mind flooded with images of my oldest daughter Mara. Her entire life played through my mind in mere seconds. My last memory of Mara was from when I had to identify her body in the morgue. My hands started shaking. An uncontrollable tremor spread across my body. I pulled the car over, unable to continue. Slam my fist against the steering room. The images of the Morg would not leave me. I close my eyes. There she was, lying on the metal table. A blanket

had been carefully draped over her body, only revealing her pale face. She'd just turned 16, yet death seemed to have aged her well beyond that. The pathologist had placed his hand on my shoulder. I hadn't been able to comprehend the words he said. The man's actions, it seemed so forced and well-practiced, it had only angered me more. I asked for a moment alone. After the doctor had left, I hesitantly placed my hand on my daughter's cheek. Almost instantly, I pulled it back. She felt so cold.

I stared at her lower abdomen where I knew the knife had pierced it. For a fraction of a second, I contemplated pulling away the blanket to expose the wound. Yet I couldn't muster the strength. She looked peaceful now, as if she was sleeping. I feared exposing the wound, which had killed. would somehow change that. That had been a little more than a month ago. The police had quickly caught the youth who'd committed the crime.

Some bum who'd attempted to rob her and had wielded his knife a little too over-enthusiastic. He had murdered her even though she'd given him her purse, punched the steering wheel again. It wasn't fair. The youth's trial had been yesterday. He'd been acquitted on account of procedural mistakes by the police. The man had smiled at me as they led him out of the courtroom. It wasn't fair.

That bummer destroyed my life at an astounding rate. My wife could barely stand to look at me anymore. A week ago she'd moved out of the house and had taken our youngest daughter with her. She'd told me I needed help. She'd said she couldn't watch me ruin my life. I can't blame her. The past month had led me to drown my sorrow with liquor. I couldn't let go of my pain.

It had fested into an uncontrollable rage. All I could think about was the injustice of it all. All I could see was the pale face of my dead daughter. All I wanted was to kill the man responsible. It had become an obsession. I'd been unable to console my wife. My youngest daughter had practically not spoken since the loss of her sister. I found her quietly curled up in Mara's bed most days,

unable to let go, unable to move on, and it broke my heart. I felt a strange sense of relief watching them both drive away. I didn't need them to see what happened next. Didn't want my youngest daughter to see her dad being taken away for murder. I preferred the soliditude and the warm embrace of alcohol. My eyes darted back at the gun and I sighed, I had to do this, otherwise I would never know peace. Determined, I turned the ignition key.

The car gently purred before reverting into stillness. I turned the key again. Nothing happened. I cursed loudly and tried again. Nothing. I got my frustration on the steering wheel until both my hands ached. I grabbed my phone ready to call the tow truck, but it wouldn't switch on. The wind was howling outside.

I checked the time when we watched, but the handles had stopped moving. Everything seemed in suspension. After a short internal debate, I decided. The thought of remaining in the car suddenly seemed unbearable. Feeling restless, I kicked open the door and got out of the car. I hastily stuffed the gun in my jacket pocket. The storm was livid. The rain poured down with such force.

It temporarily deafened the other thoughts, shooting. through my mind. I was drenched within seconds, but it didn't bother me. Started to walk down the road, crossing a little bridge over the river. Mumbled curses escape my lips as I realized I was lost. The cold mist of grey lazily spread around me. Not knowing what else to do, I continued walking until a light in the distance pierced through the mist's veil. Like a moth, I gravitated towards it. Its source was a small bus stop. Relieved to have found some cover, I fell back into one of the metal seats. My hands fell numb.

I rub them together for a couple of moments before reaching into my pocket from my packet of cigarettes. After taking a drag, I closed my eyes and leaned back against the bustle. The tremor subsided as I blew out a small cloud of smoke. Without instruction, my mind drifted back towards the youth that would kill my daughter. A familiar doubt swept home. I'd always valued human life. As a family man, I'd constantly tried to maximize everyone's happiness. Now here I was, committed to blowing a hole in the head of my daughter's murderer.

I turned around and looked at my reflection in the glass. I didn't recognise the pale, lion's face staring back at me. Droplets of rain were slowly sliding down the glass. It gave my reflection even more of a somber appearance. I looked back in front of me and took another drag of the clammy cigarette between my fingers. Closing my eyes, I exhale, expelling another cloud of smile. Rough day. And the voice startled me.

The cigarette slipped from between my lips and fell down my shirt. I jumped up swearing as I felt the ash scorched my chest. Jesus Christ, I muttered at the young boy before me. The boy grinned. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to start all you. I shrugged and sat back down. The boy took a seat next to me. It holds a strange beauty, doesn't it?

I looked over at him. Or does. He nodded at the storm outside. There was another silence. I broke it by standing and beginning to pace up and down, the little bus stop. When's the goddamn bus going to get here? The boy gave me an appraising look. I'm afraid no bus can take you to where you want to go, John.

He absently shrugged off his words and lit another cigarette. After the first drag, it hit me. I stared at the boy. He stared back. A latent intensity burning in his eyes. How do you know my name? I know a great many things. I snorted.

Yeah, sure. I know the pain you feel, John. I've seen it before, many times. I crushed the pack of cigarettes in my hands, feeling anger spread through me. You don't know me. Boy then gave me a sad smile. I've seen this before.

Someone loses someone close to them. As a result, you feel rage built deep inside of them. Fuled by guilt because you weren't able to prevent what happened. and able to see that it was beyond your control to begin with you could never have changed what happened that you cannot forgive yourself either the mind cruelly tortures the body till your heart is riddled with sorrow now your existence is anguish you wish you'd been the one to die because the thought of living on just seems too difficult living in this world does not seem bearable at the side of such a lot i remain speechless unable to comprehend the little boy beside me the boy sighed and scratched the back of his head

I've seen this before after a while it begins to look the same the faces may change but emotion remains constant your face is lined as so many were before you a canvas of hate and anger the boy sighed again and jumped up from the seat murder will not bring her bad. I spun towards the boy. What did you say? Mara is gone. Murder won't bring her back. The boy had spoken the word so casually it took me a moment to register. Then, before I could stop myself, I slammed the boy against the glass wall. The entire bus stop trembled. Don't you say that name? I shouted. Tears began streaming down my face. Don't say it. The boy stared at me with a completely blank expression.

He put his hand around mine and slowly pulled loose of my grip. His finger is hard as I am. I feel for you. I really do. Your daughter deserve better. Shut up. I know you think revenge will dull the pain, but somehow using that thing in your pocket will make you feel better.

I fished out the garden. The boy stared at it. For a moment I saw something dark sweep across his forehead. face. He briefly held his hand over the gun before suddenly retracting it, as if the gun had electrocuted him. That will not solve your problems. The man deserves to die. I spat out the words with as much bile as I could muster. Then I fell back onto the metal seats, suddenly exhausted. My heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. I took some deep breaths attempting to calm myself down. The boy stood motionless.

staring at the rain fall before us. You know, it never gets easier. He finally muttered. After all these years of helping people cross over, it still remains difficult to let go sometimes. Some deaths are so much more deserving than others. I shouldn't judge anyone, yet I can't help but feel for some of them. Occasionally the ones I meet radiate such light it pains me to extinguish it.

I don't always want to, but I have no choice. My existence is one of duty. The boy radiated an eerie calmness as he spoke. I felt my heartbeat returning to normal. Who are you? How do you know these things? The boy gave me a sad smile. I guess I'm a traveller.

Everyone will meet me at some point in their lives. Whether it's in the beginning or the end or somewhere in between. I don't understand. The boy shrug. I wouldn't expect you to. Don't worry about it. The boy looked at his watch. The bus should be here and he knew.

As soon as he said those words, I could see two lights cut through the storm in the distance. The bus stopped before us and the door slid open. The boy climbed up the little stairs. Once he got to the top, he spun around. I've never done this before, but will you take a short journey with me, John? Where are we going? The boy shrugged.

I'm not sure yet. All I know is that you should join me for this. I hesitantly looked at the boy. There was something about him. I felt compelled to join him. I took the boy's hand and climbed up the stairs as the door slid closed behind me. The bus driver was old, very old. A shroud of matted white hair draped around his shoulders.

Nice blue eyes stared at him. I instinctively took out my money and passed him some cash. The boy laughed and held back my hand. I'm afraid that won't work. I don't have anything else. The boy tapped my watch. Show him that. I stuck out my arm towards the driver.

He stared at it before also tapping the watch a couple of times and inspecting the unmoving dyes. Seemingly satisfied, he waved us into the bus. The boy hurried to the back of the deserted bus and waved me over. I sat quietly next to him. Where are we going? The boy grinned. This journey is not about a destination per se.

Then what is it about? It's about everything, the boy exclaimed, and also about nothing. Well, the boy must have seen the exasperation on my face. He cleared his throat You should consider yourself lucky John I laughed at that humorously I should consider myself lucky Lucky that my daughter's dead

Lucky that my wife can barely stand to look at me Lucky that my other child hasn't spoken to me in weeks The boy's eyes grew hard Having someone you loved ripped away before their time is difficult I understand that do you really i muttered sarcastic more than you could possibly imagine the boy answered cool i've guided many people before their time i've comforted both young and old held the hands of both murderers and the murder i've held newborn babies and taken children from their parents embrace i've walked the fields of countless battles i've waded through rivers of blood wherever i go the dead father like moths hovering before her life you could not comprehend the endless sorrow i must navigate

he wiped a single tear from his eye within them i saw only grief as if his words had opened an old wound i suddenly felt very sorry for him sometimes i feel so far away from everything the boy continued a worry i've become too indifferent i fulfill my duty without truly understanding what it is I should be doing. I feel like a spectator watching eternity unfold itself. I offer hope to those I meet whenever I can without knowing whether my words are true or not. I have no idea what comes after this, John. I wish I knew. I wish I understood my purpose. My life is a paradox. My existence is perennial and yet one of insufferable solitude. You must feel lonely. The boy nodded. after that we sat together in silence the boy stared out of the window he seemed deep in thought felt my eyelids get heavy and before long i'd fallen asleep when i woke up i felt disoriented i looked around the deserted bus momentarily believing i dreamed my encounter with the boy then the bus driver turned around in his seat his blue eyes pierced through mine as he pointed at the little hill we were part next to

He's waiting With a quick nod I jumped off the bus I was panting By the time I reached the top of the little hill The boy leaned against a tree As he observed the spectacle Unravel itself below

A small crowd had gathered Before a tiny grape A priest was reading from the Bible His action seemed almost mechanical In their repetition Why are we here The boy remained silent Whose funeral is this?

The boy nodded at the crowd below me. You know whose funeral this is. I quickly scanned the crowd below us, only recognizing familiar faces. Is this my funeral? Is that what this is all about? Are you showing me what will happen if I murder Mara's killer? You know, the boy repeated. His voice a mere whisper.

I looked at the people occupying the front row of chairs. my family was nowhere to be seen my youngest daughter's godparents sat before the pitiful hole in the ground They held each other as they cried My knees suddenly felt weak Slowly I slid to the floor as tears so the earth around me Where am I jail? A simple yet sobering reply Where is my wife?

The boy's eyes remain pricked on the little crowd below as he scratched the back of the back of the of his head. She's not here, John. Where is she? I was sobbing so hard now, the words left my mouth in a single slur. Your wife found her. After you were taken away, the little girl couldn't cope anymore and hung herself in Mara's room. Your wife was unable to handle the strain and had a breakdown. She's currently forcibly restrained in an asylum two hours away. Next week she'll suffer a stroke. The boy glanced at me. His eyes are riddled with pity. She'll never recover. Slowly her will to live will siphon away, until only the smallest amount lies dormant in her heart. She'll be trapped in her body, a mere husk of a former

cell, wanting to die yet unable to do so. I would not wish such an existence on anyone. My tears have now subsided for something worse, a feeling I can hardly put to words, a feeling of loneliness so immense I could hardly breathe. I felt like I was being crushed by infinite grief. Boy smiled sadly. You see how cruel destiny is John. By all accounts your actions will be directly to blame for this. One moment of rage will destroy everyone you care for the most.

What you seek is justice. What you offer is condemnation. A searing anger then took hold of me. Why are you doing this to me? Why are you torturing me like this? The boy shook his head but offered no reply. I wanted to leave. I wanted to run away and never look back,

but couldn't find the strength to get on my feet. I dropped my head in my hands. I thought I had more time. The boy smirmed. Everybody always thinks they have more time. I just wish I could have told her how proud I was. The boy gently placed his hand on my shoulder. She knew

I patted his hand Unable to respond Together we stood on the little hill in silence Minutes crept by Why did you really come to me The boy scratched the back of his head and looked at me He seemed to be deliberating with himself Well I've always believed myself to be bound by laws

I have no control over Laws I don't quite understand The boy suddenly chuckled However, lately I met someone so outrageous they dared to challenge my part. Can you imagine a speck of dust challenging the full might of the inevitable? The boy fell silent from my eyes. Then he continued. She made me wonder whether I too can challenge that which seems inevitable.

Maybe the constraints which by me are self-imposed. Maybe I fear the freedom, disobedience would grant me. The boy smart. I live for those moments, reminders of how exceptional life can be. She made me realize something, John. If she managed to find the strength to confront me, then maybe someone as lost as myself, bound by eternity, might possess the power to break free.

I don't understand. Sometimes when people die, their gaze manages to pierce through time, and they get a glimpse of what is to come. your daughter saw all of this he pointed at the crowd before him then he smiled more genuine marr was extremely stubborn when i met her she absolutely refused to come with me she refused to submit to her fate as few have done before her that thought brought a smile to my face do you know why she refused to come with me john out of anger The boy shook his head. Out of love.

Her love for you. For her mother. For her sister. Her love was strong enough to challenge forces. Even I dare not resist. I was in awe of her, John. That's why I promised her to show you this. She truly was a kind child.

Silent tears rolled down my face, but their sting was less painful. The boy grabbed my hands and gently pulled me back. onto my feet in time you'll see her again she'll be waiting for you for all of you but she hopes you to still be waiting a while longer do you understand I didn't have the strength to answer all I could do was give the boy a weak north together we walked back towards the bus and took our familiar seats in the back thank you I said after a moment thank you for taking care of Mara thank you for helping me the boy looked taken aback wherever i go people usually fear me they recoil at my touch even if i only mean to help i've always been hated because i'm a reminder of the inevitable never before there's someone thank you

his words carried so much emotion i tentatively put my arm around the child's shorn the boy gazed up of tears slowly forming in his eyes he leaned into me and crud I let him. Before long I felt myself falling into a deep sleep. When I woke up, we were back at the bus stop. The boy walked with me to the front as the door slid open. I walked down the little stairs. The moment my feet hit the pavement, the dials and my watch began to move once more. This is where we must park, the boy said from inside the bus. I looked back at him, she looked back at him, sheepishly. My mouth opened, but no words came out. I didn't know what to say. Where will you go from here? The boy shrugged. I don't know. Are you deaf? I suddenly blurted. The boy grinned as the door slowly slig closed. I sat at the bus stop long after the bus had pulled away. Then I walked back

over to my car. On the bridge, I took the gun from my pocket and swung it into the river. I was ready to go home. The last bus. 9.34. It was a short, sarcastic song an hour ago, but now it's more of a bitter mantra I whisper every time I shift my weight. It's been happening more and more between the time the bus was supposed to arrive, and what shows on my watch? 10.13. Well, I would have been irritated regardless, but the disgusting quality of the benches at stop means my feet is suffering just as much as my patience. I don't have a choice about whether or not I wait for this latest shit ass hands. I'm supposed to be his relief, the one driving the piece of crap during the graveyard shift. You'd think he'd have been at the stop even before the

915 shift change for his own sake. I wasn't too surprised that he was going to be late at first. It happens. Taking this long long. I touched my phone in my pocket as I finally see a twinkle in the distance. I forgot to charge it. Not a huge problem normally since I'd be able to communicate with the radio once I was driving. But damn if it hadn't been a frustrating lack of information, besides that one last indication of the so-called arrival time right before it died. Boring too, since it meant I just had to stand here with nothing to do. 9.34. I sing out at a final time. It's a growl that shifts to a size. I try to forget the at my co-worker while he pulls in.

The bus squeals slowly to a stop. Air blowing out as it then pneumatically kneels. He hasn't put on the inner lights. Odd, but I hardly care as long as he gets his ass off the bus so I can try and make up some of the time he's lost by being so late. There's a shadow of a passenger ready to leave in the window as the door creaks open. The inner lights flip on and I blink my eyes to adjust. A crooked woman stands before me, perched on the last step.

I'm not close enough to block her exit, but she still doesn't leave the bus. Instead she examines me with bruised eyes, one lidded and brown, the other fully closed and deflated. It's still carrying an uncanny sense of knowing behind the flesh that sends a shiver down my skin. Her clothes are tattered and dirty, smudged and stained, but looked like they were once the smart apparel of a white collar worker. If they were always hers, then their change has certainly matched pace with the pallid and sickly appearance of what wrinkled skin shows outside. If he truly is some fallen member of the upper class, then the faded burgundy beanie she scratches at seems an odd choice to place upon her frazzled grey hair. Perhaps she's finally beginning to accept her homeless

life. Well, well, it's my concern. Passenger is a passenger. Whoever creepy dirty, oh, I sniff the air, rotten smelling, well, hardly the worst I've had. She is blocking the way, though, and I glance up at my co-worker, obese and sweaty and still sitting in the fricking driver's seats, his eyes firmly forwards. I feel my irritation returning as I try to mentally will him out of it so I can take his place finally. Right, you look quicker, she says. her voice hoarse and scratching.

The woman turns around and steps back into the bus. Out of here, tubs, she rasps. Uh-huh, he answers quickly, fumbling to get out of the seat before he's even properly unbuckle the belt. Slow, she complains quietly, pulling out a long, jagged, rusty knife and roughly cutting him free. Some blood comes away with a blade as she slashes him in the process. Stunned by her action, I watch as he trips down the stairs, landing with a loud plop on the concrete.

Scratching the ground with fingers and toes, he raises himself to his feet and waddles off at a quick pace. I notice a broken nail left behind. Hey! Snapping my attention towards the utterance, the woman stands in the same place with an expectant expression. The knife now gone, both hands in her pockets. She glances at the driver's seat, then back to me. She doesn't blink, just stares, her half-open eye dull and dry. The closed socket empty, but still seeing.

The cloth at her pockets ripples with the movement of impatient fingers. I look over at the fat man attempting to escape a short distance away. His waddles have grown wider, more haphazard. They become slow stumbles, and he clasper. his body still it hadn't looked like she'd cut him deep yet there he lies the scattered red trail behind it lies wide I look back at the one and she cocks her head scratching at the beam the knife in her hand I step into the bus she moves out of the way but remains in the aisle where I adjust things as I normally do before driving strangely easy

despite the strong scent of iron that now penetrates her fetid odor. I tried to put on my seatbelt, but I remember it's been destroyed, a browning stain where it's torn. Looking up into the rearview mirror, I see bodies sprawled in the back below the windows, invisible to the outside. The hear us sit behind me, and the stench of rot overcomes blood as she moves closer.

You're behind schedule, she mutters. Not for long. I answer, swallowing down nervous bile as I press on the pedal. I don't intend for my relief to sing the time as he waits for me at the end of my ship. The bus. In 1975, my best friend disappeared. I'm going to tell you what happened. It won't take long, because the story is a short one.

But that's a necessity of the facts. Quite simply, there aren't many. Here they are. His name was James Wade. He was 13 years old. One night he went to bed and the next morning he wasn't there. The front door was open and James was gone. The house, as far as anyone could tell, hadn't been broken into.

and there were no signs of a disturbance. James wasn't a troubled child, and his parents were decent, loving and hard-working. They all lived together in a nice middle-class neighborhood in the suburbs. No one ever saw him again. The police had no leads, no clues and no suspects. The story pretty much starts and ends there, Pretty much, James disappeared on a Wednesday night.

I saw him in school earlier that day, and he told me that the previous night. Something had woken him up in the early hours of the morning. Exactly what he couldn't say. It was late November, and when he'd gone to bed, the wind had been shrieking with a vengeance. But when he woke up, everything was deathly still. Maybe the sudden quiet woke him. Sleep is strange like that. Whatever it was, when he did wake,

he woke the crawling sense of dread, like he'd just surfaced from a nightmare, and, as he lay there with his heart pounding in his chest, and the silence pounding in his ears, he heard something. faint at first. The low, heavy growl of a big diesel engine. Somewhere close and getting closer. Then, as it approached his house, he heard a second noise. It took him a moment to realize it was a horn, beeping gently, like someone taking care not to wake the whole street.

tapping out to friendly rhythm, a kind of to-toot-toot, tut-toot. But it was a horrible noise, James said, tortured and unnatural. Like the honking of a dying goose. He crept to the window and looked outside, crawling down the empty street, at the unhurried pace of an ice-cream van, was an old school bus, a battered yellow GMC. One of those things that looks like a cross between a tractor and a horsebox. It looked like it had been driven through a swamp. There were mud splatters radiating out from the rusted wheel arches,

and dead leaves rotting in the windscreen grill. The windows were streaked with grime. At least one of them was. cracked. Some of the body panels had been replaced and the body work was a patchwork of yellow shades, adorned with black lettering that was peeling away. Hanging off the sides of the bus like shreds of torn skin. James didn't switch on the bedroom light and he didn't open the curtains. He just kind of peered through a crack between the drapes. But when he did, he did, he did, the bus rolled to a stop.

It stood there for a few moments, idling in the centre of the road. Then its headlights flashed. By now, James' skin was crawling in terror. Seeing an old school bus on a quiet residential backstreet in the early hours of the morning was a strange sight. But it shouldn't have been. one that inspired blind terror. Nonetheless, it did. James could sense that something was very, very wrong.

He dived back into bed and pulled the sheets over his head. He lay there for a while with his heart beating and sometime later, not long, maybe five minutes. He crept back back. to the window. The bus was outside his house. When he inched the curtains open, the horn went, beep, beep, a friendly beep. Hey, come on, it's time to go, beep. James went back to bed, and this time he stayed there. The horn honked a few more times. Then, a few more times. Then, a minutes later. He heard the bus pull away. On Wednesday morning when I saw him in school, James had black bags under blood-shot eyes. He claimed he hadn't slept a wink. He claimed he hadn't slept a wink. He was clearly distressed. I made a mistake, he kept telling me. I shouldn't have

looked, he kept saying. It doesn't mean anything, I told him. It's just a bus. But nothing I said seemed to reassure him. I shouldn't have looked. He kept saying. And that's where my story ends. James and I went our separate ways at the end of the school day,

and I never saw him again. That's it. No big reveal. no explanation no twist no climax nothing unfortunately life is like that loose ends and unanswered questions i'm in my 50s now sometimes i get nightmares sometimes they're the same and sometimes they're different but even when they're different they're just variations on a theme Here's one. It's a late night.

My car has blown a tire. I'm fixing it by the side of the road. I hear an engine that gets closer and closer until I'm shielding my eyes from the glare of oncoming headlights. A school bus rolls by. As it passes me, I see a kid in the back window banging the glass and screaming something

that's lost in the roar of the GMC's huge diesel engine it's James he hasn't aged a day I'm not a superstitious man there's nothing in this story that can't be explained rationally maybe the bus had nothing to do with James's disappearing Hell, maybe there was no bus.

Maybe he dreamt the whole thing. Even so, I've got two children of my own, and when they were young, I told them an embellished version of this story. A story about an old school bus that cruises the streets at night. It moves very slowly, like a stalking cat. its horn honking gently. The siren song to curious children and, if any children, get out of bed, go over to the window and look outside.

The bus will roll to a stop. The next time they look out of the window, it will be parked outside their house. Soon after that, maybe even the same night, that child will disappear without a train. I told them that sometimes you can see the bus during the day. But during the day, it can't hurt you. During the day, it just travels from town to town.

Sometimes adults see it too. It can't hurt the adults. Or maybe it can. It just doesn't want to. Mostly, adults don't even notice it. But even when they do, they certainly don't notice anything strange. about it because although you can see through the windows you can't see inside the bus you can't see the children banging on the glass crying and screaming and wondering why the

hell you're just standing there looking at them and why the hell you don't do something you can't see the children who gave up hope long ago and now just sit there sit there, staring into space or sobbing into their laps. The children never get old. The bus never stops. My children cried and wouldn't sleep for a week. My wife was livid. I didn't care. I'm not saying that what I told my children is true. It's a bastardized version of what James told me. But the gaps filled in by my nightmare. Nevertheless, it seemed important to me that my children know that if ever they are lying in bed and if they ever hear the sound of an engine and a honking horn, they must ignoring. Failing that, they should run out of their rooms and come and climb into bed with me and their

mother. Anything. Just don't go to the window. The bus. I sit in the rain every day and a woman in a short red dress sits beside me with her hands neatly folded in our lap. It's always raining at this bus stop where Clark Street by Sex Woody. We just sit there, her clothes getting wet in her skin feeling no moisture. We don't talk. I can turn my head to look at her but she doesn't move at all. I'm dead and so is this woman. Where else would she be sitting here with me if she wasn't? One car after another drives past us.

Some cars stop and people get out of them. Most of the time they're teenagers. They shuffle around until they find the spot on the pavement where I die. And then they turn to look over at the bus stop through thick rain. If they see me, their image phased before I can see them scream. Like they've been washed away by the rain. I only get to see their eyes widened. in fear. It used to drive me mad, especially the blondes, but now it's just a dull annoyance.

My life ended while chasing one of my girls across Clark Street. I met her at this bus stop, but she must have recognized me from a police sketch on the news because she took one look at me and ran. I chased after her. The look on her face was just too delightful for me to let her go. There were headlights. The bouncing of her. brown hair just out of my reach and had delightful screams in my ear. Pain, no pain, and the bus stop. I can't believe I'd died for a brunette. I would have settled for a red hair, but blonde hair was the best. I loved to wrap my hand in blonde hair and pour the silky strands until they mowed. Loved how well blood showed up in it. Speaking of blonde, the woman beside me is a blonde.

her hair falls around her face in a golden halo she would have been one of my girls if I'd caught her alone on a dark night her only flaw is that she doesn't have red lipstick on I loved women with red lips I liked the way it looks on her mouth when it screamed I can't say I'm a fan of these new colours I see on some of these girls blue and purple lips just don't do it for me

used to drive me mad that I couldn't kill this woman But again, her lips aren't painted red, so today it just became another dull annoyance. Suddenly I see the woman move out of the corner of my eye. It's the first time I've seen her do something like this. I watch while she unfolds her hands, and I see she's been hiding a tube of lipstick this entire time. She uncaps it and applies it to her lips. She looks at me, and a wide smile spreads across her cherry mouth.

So, what around hell is? You like blondes with red lipstick. The bus stop, just opposite of my house. My name's Daniel. I'm 22 years old, and my story is yet to be told. I'm trying to write it down so you can read what I've been through. When I first turned 18, I got myself a car with all the money I'd saved up from my past birthdays. The car was nothing special, but it got me where I needed to go, with occasional minor issue.

applied for a job at a factory which I really regretted doing after my first day. My weekly payout was terrible. My boss was a terrible Japanese man who didn't speak a single word of English. My colleagues were all snitchies. This factory that I used to work for had cameras everywhere. Their excuse was that the cameras were there because they'd have something to show the police if there was ever a break in. Yeah, right. They were using the cameras to monitor our every movement.

After working there for what seemed like centuries, I finally got the money to rent a house in a shady neighbourhood in Los Angeles. Anything would be better than living with my abusive relatives. I only came out during the daytime because when nighttime would fall upon us, all the thugs pretty much came out to do their thing, drug deals, bothering innocent people and sometimes even shootings. I'd always got to bed early so I didn't have to listen to the conversations they'd be having, all the echo of police sirens in the distance.

These thugs did bother me when I'd sometimes be on my way back home from the supermarket on some evenings. They threatened me, called me white trash, telling me to get out of their neighborhood. The list just goes on and all. There was always an elderly woman standing in the bus stop just opposite of my house.

She told me not to worry about these people. I found her kind of unnerving. She always told me, I'll be there soon. I ignored her most of the time due to the fact she was creepy she always gave up a foul owner and had a crooked smile while this house I rented had some pretty weird things to it when I'd wake up some things would not be in their original place where I put them

things were disappearing the list goes on and on I'd always think it had been someone breaking into my home but that would have been ridiculous as there were never really signs of a breaking I remember waking one night to the sound of water coming from my bathroom faucet. Got out of bed, checked every corner of the house, and didn't find a single sign as to how this could have happened. Not one single sign. Things started to take a turn for the worse as the week progressed. I remember always locking my front and back door as well as the windows, which would be common sense to most of you.

It always closed every single door in the house. then finding some of them open the next morning I never really believed in the paranormal though so I didn't blame the scary ghosts I was pretty shocked as to how this kind of activity could occur I asked the owner of this house if he'd ever experienced crazy stuff like this of course he didn't give me a proper answer and just try to comfort me by telling me it's probably my mind playing tricks on me

and I'd sometimes forget to close a door when I'd go to bed shortly after he labelled me as a crazy individual the owner of the house was never nice to me strange disappearances of my items kept occurring so I decided I should get some cameras of course I didn't have the money for a fancy expensive surveillance camera service like the ones you see in paranormal activity

I was stupid enough to spend money on things that I didn't need and the money could have been better used on a few cheap cameras These things that I don't need luckily had cameras, talking about my iPhone, iPod and my iPad. So I plan was to make these devices record overnight while they be plugged into their charges so they wouldn't run out of battery line. As night approached, I grabbed these devices. We'll put them in the spots where most of my items would keep on disappearing. My iPad in the kitchen, iPod in the living room to see how many items could vanish, and my iPhone in the hallway to see what will get.

keep opening my doors. The option to place my cameras where I wanted were limited due to the fact I only have three of them. So I finally hit the big red dots on all of the screens to get them to record. I had a little struggle with placing them correctly to get a full view of every room, but after a while I got them all in the proper position, except for my iPad. I went to bed maybe a few minutes after I'd made the devices start recording. I've been lying in bed maybe five minutes, I heard a door opening downstairs. I was scared and excited at the same time, considering I finally had some footage to see of what or who had been doing this of late. Shortly after I heard a door opening downstairs, I heard something fall and shatter onto the floor.

Heart was racing. But shortly after, I fell asleep. The next morning I woke up and went to check on my devices to see if they were still recording. They were all still recording. Good. One thing caught my eye whilst I was picking them up. My iPad was lying with the screen aiming down at the floor. I picked it up and shook it off by just telling myself it had probably fallen down

and considering it was in a bad position. The screen was fine, it was still recording. I tapped the button to make it stop. I'd captured eight hours of footage on all the devices. After extracting every clip to my computer, I started reviewing them. And I saw something I did not want to see. Coming from the door that led into my garage was the creepy elderly woman

who was always standing at the bus stop just opposite of my hands. I noticed my clock read 10.25 p.m. She proceeded to go and sit on my sofa, talking some kind of gibberish to herself, pretty loudly. I was surprised I'd never woken up to this. After sitting on the couch for two long hours, she stood up and started making a way to the kitchen. And she noticed my iPad recording it. She approached the device and stared creepily into the camera lens.

After looking into the lens for five minutes, she then knocked over a glass at my iPad. Luckily, she didn't notice my iPod recording her, walking into the living room again and back into the garage. But after that, she no longer came out of the garage. I was in total shock. I didn't even dare set foot there. Oh, I immediately moved out of this house. I now knew how my items had been disappearing and how my doors kept open.

Well, I live with my girlfriend now. I've only just realized what she meant by, I'll be there soon. Crazy bus. For years, my parents told me about a crazy bus crash that happened near our house years ago. One morning, just days before I was. was born, my mother had been out in the garden, plucking weeds, when she heard a terrible

noise. It was a series of high-pitched screams, then screeching tires, followed by a tremendous crash. All of the people in the area rushed out of their houses to see what was going on. Down at the bottom of the old coach road, they found tire marks leading to a nearby cliff. They saw the wreckage of a bus down below. It had apparently driven straight off a cliff and crashed down the jagged rocks to the bottom. People ran down to where the smoking wreckage was lying strewn about, in an effort to help survivors. They were horrified when they discovered that it was the local school bus,

and all the passengers on board were their own children. The bodies of the dead kids lay tangled in the twisted metal. Some had been thrown out of the bus as it fell, and their bodies had smashed against the rocks, killing them on impact. Others have been decapitated by flying glass and shepherding. of metal inside the bus. Parents were screaming and crying as they found the mangled remains of their sons and daughters

in the charred wreckage. When the ambulance and fire department arrived, they found no survivors. Every single child on the bus had been killed in the crash. It was the most horrific disaster the area had ever experienced. In one horrible moment, the entire generation had been white towns. And the parents of the dead children were in English. inconsolable. A few days later a huge funeral was held for the kids who'd perished. People came from miles around to pay their respects and share in the grief.

Almost every family in the area had lost a child in the incident. Some had even lost two or three. Almost 40 small coffins were lowered into the ground that day. An inquest was held shortly afterwards and the police got to the bottom of what had happened and finally determined who was to blame for causing the terrible crash. It seemed that a mental patient from the local insane asylum had escaped the night before. He'd broken into the bus station and stolen a driver's uniform. That night he lay in wait until the doors of the bus station were unlocked. Then he crept aboard the school bus and drove out through the gates without alerting anyone.

That morning he drove the bus along the countryside, picking up unsuspecting children who were waiting by the roadside. He was dressed in a bus driver's uniform, so nobody suspected of this. Once he collected every kid on the route, the mental patient floored the accelerator and drove at high speed off the cliff. The people in that area never forgot the terrible accident that the escape mental patient had caused. When I was growing up, there weren't many kids to play with. Most of being killed by the crazy bus crash. The only kids who survived were too young to attend school at the time. The story I'm about to tell was when I was 13 years.

years old. My parents allowed me to go to the movie theatres in town. I met a bunch of friends there and we had a great time watching the movie. Afterwards we lost track of time and it was very late by the time we decided to go home. I must have been waiting at the bus stop for half an hour before I realised that I'd missed the last bus. Cursing myself for being so careless, I wondered how we'd managed to get home. It wasn't that far of a walk, perhaps a mile or two, but the roads were treacherous at night. In our area there were no streetlights along the way. A lot of people had been hit by cars as

they were walking in the darkness. I found a pay phone and called Mom. She answered and I told her that I'd missed the last bus home. She began to panic, telling me that my father was out and had taken the car with him. She wouldn't be able to pick me up. I told her I'd walk home, but she begged me not to, saying that the roads

were much too dangerous at night. Even worse, it was beginning to snow. which meant that even if a car did manage to see me in the night, it probably wouldn't be able to have time to hit the brake before it hit me. She said that she tried to contact our neighbours and see if they'd be able to drive into town and pick me out. After I hung up, I began to get impatient. Eventually I decided that it was best just to walk home, hoping for the best.

I was walking along the lonely, dirt country road, trying not to trip into a ditch or pothole. when I saw headlights behind me. Whether it was a car or a bus, it was coming very fast and quite noiselessly through the snow-covered road. As it drew nearer, I could make out the outlines of the vehicle. It appeared to be a bus,

and my only hope was that the driver would be able to see me and stop for me. It came around the bend of the road and bathed me in bright lights. The headlights blazed through the darkness like a pair of fiery meteors. I jumped to the side of the road, my hand but the bus passed me at full speed and for a moment I feared that it had missed me. Then I heard screeches and it had stopped for me a short distance away. I ran as fast as I could

to the bus and came up to it as the door swung open. As soon as I stepped in, the door shut behind me and the driver took off again at full speed. The bus was very dark inside but as my eyes began to adjust, I could see it was almost full, despite the fact it was late at night. I found a vacant seat and sat down, resting my weary legs. The atmosphere felt cold, colder, if possible, than outside. And there was a strange and disagreeable smell. I stopped and looked around at the other passengers. They seemed silent.

Well, they didn't seem to be asleep, but each of them just looked ahead. The deathly silence was unsettling, and the smell was quickly becoming unbearable. I felt much too ill to say anything at all, and the icy coldness inside the bus chilled me to the bone. The strange smell was making me really sick. Shivering from head to toe, I turned to the young boy next to me and asked if he could open the window. He didn't answer. He didn't even blink. I repeated the question more loudly, but still no answer.

When I could no longer take the stench, I reached across and tried to open the window, but the latch broke off in my hands. It was then I noticed the window was covered in cobwebs and melching. In fact, every part of the bus started to look in a terrible state of disrepair, almost decay. The leather seats were crusted with mould and the floor was literally breaking and rotting away from my feet. I turned to the boy next to me again and asked, What's wrong with this bus? Without saying a word, he turned his head slowly and looked at.

me in the face. I'll never forget that look as long as I'm alive. My heart turned cold and blood drained from my face. His eyes were so wide it was as if they were going to pop. His face was as leathery and pale as a corpse. His bloodless lips were drawn back, showing big yellow teeth. The word that I was about to utter died upon my lips and a dreadful feeling of horror came upon me. I became aware that everyone on the bus was staring at me with the same look on their faces. Their awful faces were rotting flesh, and their shirts were covered in dirt. Only their eyes, their terrible eyes, were living, and all their eyes were staring at me,

menacing me. A shriek of terror burst from my lips as I ran down the aisle. I threw myself against the door and tried to open it. in that single instant as the door swung open I heard a crash and the bus rocked back and forth like a ship then I heard many many children screams before it went black it seemed as if I'd been unconscious for days

as mum woke me up in the hospital you told me that I'd fallen over a cliff near the old coach road the only reason I didn't die was because I'd fallen in the snowdrift on some jagged rocks I had two broken legs, a broken arm and a deep scratch on my forehead. I've been found by a farmer who'd taken me to the local hospital. Some call me a liar. Some call me crazy, but you can think what you want.

But I was a passenger on the crazy bus. And so once again, we reached the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories, and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favour of you. Wherever you get your podcast from, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.