Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep323: Episode 323: Bus Stop Horror Stories

Episode Date: March 14, 2026

We start tonight’s podcast collection 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 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:Fytoftorahttps://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/The_BusOur 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 nexttale 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:CreepySensationhttps://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/The_Bus_Stop_Just_Opposite_of_My_HouseOur terrifying tale of the macabre is 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_Maskhttps://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Crazy_BusToday’s brilliant penultimate story is ‘The Bus Ride Down Foulcroft Row’ by The Vesper’s Bell, AKA A. Vespertine, either shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and read here with the express permission of the author, or available at the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license: https://www.reddit.com/u/A_Vespertine/https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/ws32tb/the_bus_ride_down_foulcroft_row/We round of tonight’s collection with ‘The Last Bus’ by the wonderfully talented Woundlicker1, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all: https://www.reddit.com/user/Woundlicker1/

The Bell Air Direct app includes crash assist, which detects an accident the moment it happens, and even offers you emergency assistance at the tap of a button. Okay, but what if I don't have an accident? Well, just keep on, keeping on. Bell Air Direct, insurance, simplified. Conditions apply. Welcome to Dr. Creepin'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. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin. The child at the bus stop. 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 coal metal with the tip of my fingers. And voluntarily 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 mall. 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 wheel. The images of the morgue would not leave me. I closed 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 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 had 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 her. 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 her 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-enthusiastically.

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 festered 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. was to kill the man responsible it had become an obsession i've 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 solitude 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 took out 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 floor 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 while 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 mumble curses escaped my lips as I

realized I was lost. A 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 buster. 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 over me. 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, lined 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 smoke. Rough day! The voice startled me. A 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 startle you. I shrugged and sat back down. The boy took a seat next to me. It holds a strange beauty. he 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 gonna get here the boy gave me an appraising look i'm afraid no bus can take you to where you want to go john I absentmindedly 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 build deep inside of you. Filled by guilt because you weren't able to prevent what happened. I'm 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 back. I spun towards a boy.

What did you say? Mara is gone. Murder won't bring her back. The boy had spoken the words so casually it took me a moment to register me. Then, before I could stop myself, I slammed the boy against the glass wall. The entire bus stop tremble. 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 fingers hard as I know. 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 gun. The boy stared at it. For a moment I saw something dark sweep across his 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 on to 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 radiates 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 heart be 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 shrugged. I wouldn't expect you to. Don't worry about it. The boy looked at his watch. the bus should be here any minute. 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've been. 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 ice blue eyes stared at us 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 dials. 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. 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 aren't so cool. I've guided many people before. their time. I've comforted both young and old. He held the hands of both murderers and the murderers. 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 follow. Like moths hovering before her lines. 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 fulfil 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. Oh, 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. I felt my eyelids get heavy, and before long, 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 observe the spectacle unravel itself below. A small crowd had gathered before a tiny grave. A priest was reading from the Bible. His actions 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 them. You know whose funeral this is. I quickly scanned the crowd below us, only recognising 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 them where am i jail a simple yet sobering reply where is my wife the boy's eyes remained pricked on the little crowd below as he scratched the back 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 slough. 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 riddled with pity. She'll never recover. Slowly her will to live will siphon away until only the smallest amount of dormant in her heart should be trapped in her body a mere husk of her former cell wanting to die yet unable to do so i would not wish such an existence on anyone my tears had 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 sad 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 looked 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 smart 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 boy scratched the back of his head and looked to 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 pen can you imagine a speck of dust challenging the full might of the The boy fell silent for a moment. 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. Mara was extremely stubborn when I met her. She absolutely refused to come with me. She refused to submit to her face 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, and for all of you.

But she hoped she'd still be waiting a while longer. Do you understand? didn't have the strength to answer. All I could do was give the boy a weak knock. Together we walked back towards the bus and took our familiar seats in the bat. Thank you, I said after a moment. Thank you for taking care of Mara. Thank you for helping me. The boy looked taken abat. 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 was someone

thanked his words carried so much emotion I tentatively put my arm around the child shone the boy gazed up tears slowly forming in his eyes he leaned into me

and cried 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 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 Bell Air Direct app includes crash assist, which detects an accident the moment it happens, and even offers you emergency assistance at the tap of a button. Okay, but what does it? if I don't have an accident? Well, just keep on, keeping on. Bel Air Direct, insurance, simplified.

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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. What shows on my watch? 10.13. I would have been irritated regardless But the disgusting quality of the benches at this 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 has I'm supposed to be his relief the one driving the piece of crap during the graveyard shift

You 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 happened It's taken this 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 a final time. It's a growl that shifts to a size. I try to forget the irritation 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, smushed 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 of it. If you 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, it's my concern. Passenger is a passenger, however 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 freaking driver's seat, 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 scratchy.

The one 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 bells. 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 clothes 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 a slow stumbles and he collapses his body still it hadn't looked like she'd cut him deep yet there he lies a scattered red trail behind him eyes wide i look back at the one she cocks her head scratching at the beanie 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 It's strangely easy, despite the strong scent of iron that now penetrates her fetid odour. 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. I hear us sit behind me, and the stench of rot overcomes blood as she moves closer. You're behind schedule, she muttered. 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 fact. 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 hardworking. They all lived together in a nice middle-class neighbourhood 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, but not quite. 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 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 on my moment. It took him on my went to realize it was a horn, beeping gently, like someone taking care not to wake the whole street, tapping out a friendly rhythm, a kind of to 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 horse box. 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,

the bus rolled to a stop. It stood there for a few moments, idling in the center of the road. Then its headlights flashed. By now, James' skin was crawling in town. 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'd dive 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 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 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. Shouldn't have looked. 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. Lose 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. It 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 disappearance 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. A 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.

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 trace. 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. 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 staring into space or sobbing into their laps the

children never get old the bus never stopped my children cried I 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, with the gaps filled in by my nightmares. 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 ignore it. 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 Bell Air Direct app includes crash assist, which detects an accident the moment it happens, and even offers you emergency assistance at the tap of a button. Okay, but what if I don't have an accident? Well, just keep on keeping on.

Bell Air Direct, insurance, simplified, conditions apply. The bus stop. I sit in the rain every day, and a woman in a short red dress sits beside me, with her hands neatly folded in her lap. It's always raining at this bus stop. We're Clark Street by Sex Woody. We just sit there,

our clothes getting wet in our 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 have been washed away by the rain. I only get to see their eyes widening 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 recognised 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 brown hair just out of my reach and her 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 redhead.

But blonde hair was the best. I loved to wrap my hand in blonde hair and pour the silky strands until they moaned. laughed 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 hailer she would have been one of my girls if i 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 like the way it looks on her mouth when it screamed i can't say i'm a fan of these new colors 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 for my past birthdays. The car was nothing special, but it got me where I needed to go, with occasional minor issues.

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 move.

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 other thugs pretty much came out to do their relatives. thing, drug deals, bothering innocent people and sometimes even shootings. I'd always go 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'd threaten me, caught me white trash, telling me to get out of their neighborhood, and the list just goes on and old. There was always an elderly woman standing in the bus stop just opposite 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 odor 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 break-in. I remember waking one night to the sound of water coming from my bathroom faucets. 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 you label 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'd be plugged into their charges so they wouldn't run out of battery line. As night approached, I grabbed these devices or put them in the spots where most of my items would keep on disappearing. My iPad in the kitchen, I put in the living room, to see how many items could vanish, and my iPhone in the hallway to see what would keep opening my doors. The option to place my cameras where I wanted were limited due to the fact I only had 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. My heart was racing. 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. Well, one thing caught my eye whilst I was picking them up. My iPad was lying with a 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 house. I noticed my clock read 10.25 p.m. Well, 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 away to the kitchen. Then she noticed my iPad recording her. 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 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 immediately moved out of this house

I now knew how my items had been disappearing and how my doors kept opening well I live with my girlfriend now and 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 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 had been decapitated by flying glass and shards 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 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 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 a thing.

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. took cause. When I was growing up, there weren't many kids to play with. Most have been 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 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 realized 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 being into 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 break 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, and eventually I decided that it was best just to walk home, hoping for the best. I was walking along the lonely, dirt country rope, 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 rope. 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 snow-covered. 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 and waved my hand, but the bus passed me at full speed, and for a moment I feared that it had missed me. But 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 doors 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 melchew.

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 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 little. a corpse. His bloodless lips were drawn back, showing big yellow teeth. The word that I was about to utter and 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 menacingly. 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 screamed before it went black. It seemed as if I'd been unconscious for days as mum woke me up in the hospital. She 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. Well, I was a passenger on the crazy bus. The Bell Air Direct app includes crash assist, which detects an accident the moment it happened. and even offers you emergency assistance at the tap of a button. Okay, but what if I don't have an accident? Well, just keep on keeping on.

Bell Air Direct, insurance, simplified. Conditions apply. The bus ride down Falcroft Row by Vespers Bell. It was just after dark, and I was standing by myself at an abandoned bus stop on an almost equally abandoned street, waiting in near-pitched black conditions for a bus that logically would never come.

Most of the streetlights didn't work anymore, and the derelict industrial buildings now house nothing but the desperate and the depraved. The only points of light that reached my eyes from wholesome windows or bustling vehicles seemed a world away. I was terrified that at any moment some creep would come slinking out of the shadows to do unthinkable things to me, but I resisted the urge to flee back to the relative safety of downtown, just a little bit longer, and I'd know if the Falcroft bus route was real. For longer than anyone care to remember, people in my city have claimed to see an old bus puttering along the streets of the industrial district at night, traveling a route that's been discontinued for decades, and after all the buses have stopped running.

Somber Mori is not that big of a city. It only has seven bus routes, none of them run after 10pm, and none of them go any closer to the industrial district than Alchemy Street anymore. An occasional sighting of a bus out after hours and off-root wouldn't be all that weird, but it's always in the same area, and its marquee reads Route 9, Falcroft, Fable. Well, allegedly, anyway, no one's ever been able to get a clear enough photo of it for its marquee to be legible. There used to be a street called Faircroft, when people actually lived in the industrial district, but as manufacturing jobs dried up and became automated, Faircroft was left to fester until people started calling it Falcroft.

Eventually it was demolished and that whole section of land became part of Avalon Cemetery. People who claim they've seen the Falcroft bus say it drives straight under and overpass towards where Faircroft used to be and then vanishes. Aside from only showing up after hours, it doesn't seem to be any real pattern in when the Falcroft bus had been. years, months, even years can pass between sightings. I wouldn't actually have been that intriguing of an urban legend to me, if not for one final detail. The passengers. At least several people have claimed that the Falcroft bus not only carries passengers,

but also accepts and discharges them at abandoned bus stops. Since it only runs at night, no one's ever gotten a good look at them. So, I decided that I was going to be the first. The idea occurred to me when I was buying bus tickets and automated kiosk. This may or may not be relevant, but they're all made by a local company called Thorne Tech that owns property in the industrial district. I don't know if it was a glitch or something more sinister, but when the kiosk recognized me, I got a pop-up saying I was pre-approved for an exclusive bus route and asked if I wanted to buy a ticket.

I almost clicked no, thinking it was nothing but spam. but the idea of an exclusive bus road piqued my curiosity. I would have liked more information, of course, but the kiosk refused to provide any. My only options were to buy or not buy, so I clicked buy, hoping I'd be debited some ungodly amount. The pop-up vanished, and I heard the ticket dispenser start whirring as it printed out the little hexagonal QR code voucher that the Avalon Transit Commission uses. With a quick yank, I ripped it off and held it up to see what the hell I'd just bought. The ticket read, adult single, no charge, limited time promotion.

Redeemable only at stop A, route 9. Falcroft Fable. 10 p.m. to 3 a.m. A. Adibetrium. Ticket is non-transferable. I was flabbergasted. The Kiersk had, completely at random, given me a ticket for the ticket. the Falcroft bus. I figured it had to be a prank

or a publicity stunt or something. I immediately started playing around on the kiosk to try and find out more. There was nothing else about Falcroft or an exclusive bus route. Looking it up online didn't yield any results either. So that left

just one option. That's why I was standing alone at an abandoned bus stop on the wrong side of the tracks at 10 o'clock at night. I had a bitrium means at will or at your pleasure and i had to assume that meant the will of the ticket holder since i didn't see how anyone could catch a ride that only came when it felt like it there was no expiry date on the tickets nor any date at all for that matter but for all i knew that information

was in the QR code so i decided to use it immediately rather than risk it becoming invalid i promised myself that it was only going to do this once if the bus didn't come then it was just a dumb joke, and I was an idiot for falling for it. Could have been worse than a joke, of course. I realized that. Could have been a trap to lure me out into the middle of nowhere and sell me to human traffickers or something. I really should have just torn that ticket up and forgotten all about it.

But I knew that, if I did, a little voice in my head would always have wondered. Hey, what if that had been for real? That was a thought racing through my mind when I saw a bus turn the corner. and started ahead in my direction. There's nothing unusual about it at first, just one of those bright blue electric buses that the city had been making a big fuss about rolling out to keep on target for their carbon neutral goals.

I was a little disappointed. I'd expected a phantom bus to be a little more antiquated. I glanced up at its marquee, certainly it would only say out of service. But instead, he said Route 9, Falcroft, Fable. Ominously, it began slowing down and pulling over towards the bus stop. I fought off an instinct to flee, and instead held my ground with my ticket in hand.

Rolled to a gentle stop with its front door precisely aligned with me, a pneumatic snake-like hiss escaping as they folded open. Sitting in the driver's seat was an old black man with closely cropped white hair and thin glasses. He looked friendly and professional enough, wearing the same royal blue tie and sweater vest combo that I'd seen other bus drivers wearing before. But considering how few bus drivers we had, it was a little concerning that I didn't recognize him. Evening. He greeted me with a smile and a nodded back, taking a tentative step on board.

I started to move the ticket towards a scanner, but then hesitated. he um where's the end of the line i asked abel street just like it says on the sign i'll get you there don't worry the trip might get a little bumpy but i'll get you there he assured me nodding my gratitude i scanned the ticket and the door snapped shut behind me the driver was already taking the bus back out onto the road before I'd even sat down, apparently in a hurry to get underway. I appeared at my reflection in the window, struggling to see anything past it, and wondering if there was anyone outside watching me ride away in the mythical Fowlcroft bus. I took a good look around the inside to confirm if I was truly the only passenger on the bus,

and it seemed like I was. Nothing inside seemed to be out of the ordinary either. I leaned out of my seats a bit to see where we were going. I saw that the driver was taking her straight to the overpass where other witnesses had alleged the bus vanished into thin air. With a nervous swallow, I grabbed the nearest rod and brace myself or whatever was about to come. The driver glanced into his rear-view mirror and seemed to notice my apprehension. Sea-bells, everyone, he said with a reassuring smile, just as we entered the overpass. Have you ever driven under an overpass in the pouring rain, and for a fleeting instant the downpour vanishes, and you're immersed in a sudden and disorienting silence.

That's what it felt like, going under that overpass. The lights flickered, and in the space between light and dark the outside world was swapped for a surreal landscape of hundred-meter-tall dead trees with pale, peeling bark and naked branches. though no leaves to be seen at all, either in the canopy or on the forest floor. The barren ground was a charred black, and even the fungi blooming out of the dead wood looked to be crumbling into dust. Everything outside the bus looked to be dead, and the unpainted asphalt road was in a severe state of disrepair as well. I looked up to see if I could steal a glance at the sky through the dense skeletal branches, but what bare patches I could see were only a sullen gregers.

gray. Beautiful desolation, isn't it? The driver asked, slowing down to accommodate the winding forest road we now found ourselves on. Yeah, it really is, I said softly. Not what I expected, though. I read that Faircroft Row used to be housing for factory workers back in the day. Housing, oh, that's a generous term. Slum's more like it.

Those places were falling apart. before they were even abandoned. The driver commented. You know who their original landlord was? Yeah, the official Samba Mori website says that Faircroft Row was donated to the city by Crowley and Chamberlain. That old bank on Druid Street, I replied.

It says it was generously donated, which, if you ask me, is a sickeningly sycophantic choice of words for trading an eyesore and class action lawsuit waiting to happen, for a tax ride off and getting the city council off your back. The driver retorted. But they weren't the original owners, though.

Chamberlains many things, but he's not a slum lord. He evicted the whole street the instant he repossessed it. Or his grandfather did, if that's the sorry-ass excuse that immortal son of a bitch is peddling these days. Faircroft Row was originally owned by its namesake, Felix Faircrood. You may not have heard of him. He's not as prominent in local folklore as say Seneca Chamberlain or Thaddeus Fawn, but he used to own a good deal of property around town.

He fancied himself as a gentleman, venture of sorts, went off on over a dozen expeditions to exotic parts over the years. It was those expeditions, not to mention his cavalier attitude regarding his own investments, that caused his fortune to dwindle and his properties to deteriorate. I was a proud man though Didn't take it kindly when he got wind That people were calling this place Falcroft Row So you're saying he's responsible for this place

I asked confused Turning my head towards the window Just in time to catch a glimpse of a silhouette Ducking behind one of the distant trees Hey there's something out there Yeah Yeah there is He said with a tinge of melancholy to his voice

Well, back to Felix. He'd originally used the land right between the cemetery and the industrial district as a slum because it was the cheapest real estate in town. But when his fortune started taking a turn for the worst, he realized this presented an opportunity of sorts. He hop-knob with Chamberlain and his buddies, even enough to know that they were into some occult shenanigans, some of which they used to have a long cemetery for. Organic king, the witch who was supposed to have found,

of the town is buried out there or some nonsense like that well i don't know but felix he got it into his head to expand faircroft row further out into the cemetery the opposite of what ended up happening ironically enough his thinking was that if the richest men in town wanted to keep it intact he just went through the rigmarole of making it look like he was serious about buying some of the cemetery from the city then chamberlain would simply make him a counteroff fairly naive of him in retrospect as he spoke more of the silhouettes started peeking out from behind the trees they were still distant so i couldn't make out much of them in detail but they looked like shrouded humanoid forms composed of deep purple storm clouds the only feature i could make out was a pair of pure white eyes blinking curiously at the bus as we drove by i took out my phone to try and take a video of them but found that either the battery was dead or that the phone was broken altogether Oh, no flash photography, please. Wouldn't want to spook him.

The driver chided playfully. So, Felix goes to the city council with his proposal of buying some of the Avalon Cemetery land to expand Faircroft Row, made insured to offer just enough money that they can't just turn him down on the spot. They hum and whore a bit, saying they'll need to survey the area, investigate what sort of impact it'll have on the community, that kind of thing. but they'll get bad to him what they actually do

is run straight to Chamberlain to see how he like the matter dealt with being the vindictive and conniving little weasel that he is he pretends to go along with the idea invites Felix to meet him there one evening so they can discuss exactly what parts of the cemetery gets sold and how Felix

will develop it well Felix didn't suspect a thing still seem to think that if he could sell Chamberlain on the idea even harder he could take fair aircraft row off his hands all together and do it himself. They were getting closer now. The forms lurking behind the trees.

They were on either side of the road, both ahead and behind us. The nearer they got, the more likely they were to duck behind a tree the instant I looked directly at them. They appeared to becoming more emboldened, however, and it felt like their numbers had risen exponentially. A few moments ago, they had been just one, but now it seemed like nearly every other tree hit one of these strange beings. I became aware of a soft, rapid whispering sound. I realized it must have been the creatures conversing with one another in their native tongue. Are we in danger? I asked the

bus driver as I shifted my gaze between the bus's doors, wondering if they were strong enough to keep the things out. Well, danger or not, I'm going to finish my story. He replied adamantly. Felix gets to the cemetery. He finds the chivalry. He finds the chival. Chamberlain's had a brand new mausoleum built right on the border between the graveyard and Faircroft Row. Enraged and bewildered, he demands to know the meaning of it, but Chamberlain assures him that it will be made clear once he steps inside. Seeing no harm in humoring him, Felix obliges. And that's technically the last anyone ever saw of him,

so the story gets a bit more anecdotal from here. Thirdhand accounts of people who heard it from people who heard it from Chamberlain, that sort of thing. Chamberlain leads Felix into the mausoleum and tells him that while he's awful his idea of expanding the occupancy of the cemetery, not a big fan of the current impoverished residence of Faircraft Row. Not to worry, though,

as he has an alternative demographic already lined up. So, as dark as it was in that mausoleum, Felix was just able to make out the wide eyes staring. and back at him. I screamed then as the creatures rushed out of the forest en masse and threw themselves up against the windows, peering in from both sides with ravenous eyes. I still couldn't make out any other facial features, but could see a faint outline delineating their heads from the hoods. The wind had picked up, and the dead trees started creaking and cracking in its gusts. One broke clean and half and fell in front of us, blocking our path. What are they? I screamed.

frantically searching for anything I could possibly use as a weapon against such a massive and ethereal horde. The driver put the bus into Park and folded his hands into his lap, apparently resigned to our face. It's all right. Really, it is. He tried to assuage me. Their remnants, or at least that's what I like to call them. The whole place is a remnant of a world that's just been slowly fading away. it would probably have faded into nothing already if it weren't for Chamberlain. He used Felix as a sacrifice to pair this world with ours, stabilizing its decay. Don't ask me what he got out of it, but rest assured he didn't do it out of pure benevolence. At first, this created an issue with the remnants occasionally phasing over into the immediate area at night,

a problem Chamberlain solved by seizing all of Felix's assets and donating Faircroft Road to the city council. or to merge with Avalon. The cemetery's closed at night, and occasional ghost sighting in a cemetery is nothing to worry about. This road we're on now needs to be traveled now and then by someone from our world to maintain the connection and keep this world from fading away. That same damn tree tries to block the path every time, though,

and it's pretty heavy for an old man to move on his own. My eyes went wide with horror, as I saw him methodically place his hand on the door lever. What are you doing? I demanded. They're not going to hurt us. They want us to make it through. Otherwise, they risk their world fading again, the driver explains. They're just here to protect us from environmental hazards, let's say.

Yeah, they're probably a bit curious, too. If you want, you can open a window and you'll see they're harmless. but we have to go out there and move that trunk before the weather gets even worse. I looked out at the dozens of remnants surrounding the bus and the hundreds, if not thousands, in the forest just beyond. They were definitely inquisitive, but nothing they were doing was explicitly hostile. They had enough numbers that they could easily have overturned the bus if they wanted to. I really had no reason to believe or disbelieved the bus driver's explanation for what was happening,

but he was right that the fallen trunk needed to be moved if we wanted to get out of there. Reluctantly, I reached for the nearest window and slowly pulled it open. The remnants nearest at the window winced at the sudden movement, taking a step back in surprise. Their frenzied whispers to one another were still utterly unintelligible to me, but at the very least they carried some connotation of wary excitement. One of them was brave enough to take a step back towards me, gently reaching up its nebulous hand in a gesture of congeniality. Hesidently I reached my hand out of the window and placed my palm against its.

I went right through, my hand feeling nothing but heavy mist and static electricity. The remnant's eyes turned to smiling half-moons, while the rest of its kind gibbered hurriedly amongst themselves. My head reflexively whipped around sharply at the sound of the bus door opening. Well, let's get to it then, the driver said, as his tired, arthritic legs carried him slowly down the short staircase. Taking one last cautious glance at the horde of remnants waiting outside, I chased after him. The remnants cleared a path for the driver as he hobbled towards the fallen tree. I'm sure if they would extend the same courtesy to me, I made sure to stay close to him.

The remnant with the smiling eyes came closest to us and seemed to be watching us with the greatest interest. interest. Don't you wander off the road, and especially don't lose sight of it, he warned me. These woods are disoriented. If you lose the road, the odds are slim, you'll find it again. What was this place? What were these people? I asked, gulking at the desolate world around me in a mix of pity, confusion and terror.

I don't know what they were, just what they are, and that's in need of our help. He replied, as we came to a stop by the tree trunk. Don't try to lift it. Just roll it enough for us to get by. Bending down with him, I helped roll the tree over, letting out a gasp with shock when I saw a startling human-like face twisted in rage and agony emerging from its decaying bark. Oh God, is that? I began to ask.

Felix, yeah. A bit of hymns in everything here now, but, For some reason this tree in particular is easiest for him to topple over, the driver replied, I don't pay him any mind. He's not too happy about having to be the one to keep this world from fading away. The cost of his freedom would mean letting everyone else here perish. He nodded towards the horde of remnants, who were now all staring at me in anxious anticipation, waiting to see what I do.

Pausing for only a moment, I bent back down and resumed pushing the tree off the road. as its face grew more and more grotesque and outraged with each role. When the road was clear, they helped the driver hobble back into the bus, and we were off. The horde of remnants escorted us the rest of the way, but now their overall mood seemed much more jubilant. The wind howled and the trees groaned under the strain, but no more of them succeeded in blocking our path. Before long I spotted another overpass up ahead. The first man-made structure other than than the road that I'd seen in this place. The remnants all fell behind us now,

the one with smiling eyes leading the way and waving goodbye. Not wanting to be rude, I gave a little wave back. When we went under the overpass, the lights flickered again, and when they came back on, we were in sombermory, somewhere between downtown and the suburbs.

Well, here we are, fogs and fable, last stop. The bus driver announced, as he pulled up to the bus stop, looking up into the rearview mirror, giving me an appreciative smile. Thanks for your help. The first time doesn't always go this smoothly. Do you know why I was offered the tickets? I asked, holding it up in the air for him to see. I don't.

I'm just the bus driver, he said with a shake of his head. I don't know who assigns the tickets or what their reasoning is. Just that I need at least one passenger with. me and that passenger is yet to let me down. He then reached into his pocket, pulling out a small blue and white car. Here you are. One commissary bus pass for your trouble. He said with some embarrassment.

I know it's not much, but I appreciate the help. If you ever want to go on another ride down Falkcroft Row, just wait at a defunct bus stop after hours with that car. I'll be there. Things go easier for me when my passenger or even over and over. what's going on and the remnants seem better nature too i can't offer you much in return other than what else i know i bit my lip nervously for a moment before gingerly accepting the bus pass i'll i'll think about it was my non-committal response the driver nodded understandably opening the door to let me off as the bus drove away i noticed that

its marquee now read, out of service, and there was nothing to distinguish it from any other bus in the fleet. I reached my phone and found that not only was it working, but at the time was only a little past ten, as if the ride through the remnant realm had barely taken any time at all. Well, I was relieved at first, but that revelation gave me an uneasy feeling that took a moment to coalesce into a conscious thought. If my short bus ride in the remnant realm, I would have been a moment, I was arm accounted for nothing in my reality. And how long had Felix's imprisonment, which had lasted over a century on the outside, felt like to him?

The last bus. By wound liquor. The first time I called the night bus was pure chance. I'd heard the legends, of course, we all had. Urban legends are a big thing where I live. I suspect it's partly because I hail from an unremarkable and frankly dull provincial city and has little else going for it. Kids growing up around here don't have much to do,

and so their imaginations tend to run wild, with escapism being all the rage. My friends and I were obsessed with urban legends during our formative years, gobbling up the tales, whispered in the playgrounds, and later posted by anonymous posters on online forums. We found the legends both frightening and exhilarating, bringing excitement to our otherwise boring lives. and it would be fair to say that I was quite naive back then

some of my friends were more cynical but I truly believed them all the vanishing hitchhiker of Spencer Street the south side trawman and the white lady of Croft Manor were a few of my favourites my friends and I took on the role of amateur sleuths investigating every sight

and searching for any evidence of these legendary cryptids and otherworldly entities and to my extreme disappoints appointments, we found nothing. No ghosts or ghouls, no monsters and no signs of anything out of the ordinary. Eventually I too became cynical, including that all such legends were just childish nonsense, and I was wasting my time pursuing them. The last bus was another of the local myths that we'd heard growing up, and I assumed it was bullshit like the others. Well, now I know better. officially the last bus out of the city centre leaves at a quarter to midnight from the bus depot on high street

that's the bus which sensible people catch if they want to get home safely after a night out on the town the pubs and clubs close at one a.m and the crowds of drunken revellers pile onto the streets fighting over taxis queuing up for late-night kebabs attempting a last-minute hookup or calling up friends in search of all night house parties Well, it's the same chaotic scene every Friday and Saturday night. Usually there are a couple of punch-ups and a few people who will injure themselves by falling over drunk on the pavement. It's all depressingly predictable. The police will be called out, as will the ambulance crews, and eventually the crowds will disperse as an eerie silence returns to the darkened streets.

Then we enter the twilight hours when all sensible and law-abiding citizens are at home, safely tucked up in their beds. After hours, the streets are left to the vulnerable, like the homeless with nowhere else to go, forced to seek sheltering, shop doorfronts, wrapping their cold bodies in old sleeping bags and praying that they make it through the night. And then, there are the predators,

the ones that your mother warned you about. The gangs of thugs who patrol the streets, they're blood up as they search for a victim to violently attack. and the predatory men who lurk in the shadows, watching for vulnerable women who they can pray upon. On a Monday morning, you'll read the stories in the local newspapers. A homeless man beaten to a pulp. The young girl sexually assaulted in a back alley.

Police will open investigations and appeal for witnesses. Sometimes they'll catch the perpetrators, other times they won't. You'll have sympathy for the victims, but secretly feel relieved that it didn't happen. to you or somebody you know. But in these cases, the culprits are human monsters, made of flesh and bone, and not the otherworldly fiends I tried to chase. During my cynical years, I believe these human predators were the worst thing out there,

that they owned the twilight hours before the dawn. But I was wrong, and now I know the truth. There are far worse things that lurk in the shadows. The first occasion I caught the night bus came during a difficult time for me. I just turned 21 and had split up with my partner of two years. Looking back, I now see that the breakup was the best thing for both of us, but at the time I was devastated and so angry. My friends had taken me out for a night on the town in the hope it would cheer me up.

Nice idea, but unfortunately it didn't quite work out that way. I drank way too much, starting on the beard, and moving on to shots of hard liquor. We went to a club where I made several embarrassing and unsuccessful attempts to hook up. As if that wasn't bad enough, I then started to fight with my best friend, throwing a punch at him before I got thrown out of the club by the doorman and foolishly decided to walk the streets alone in a drunken stupor. Somehow I managed to avoid getting beaten up or falling on my face and cracking my head

open on the pavement. Instead, I managed to stagger to a bit of a bit of. bus shelter, not realizing in my inebriated state that the official bus service had finished for the night, and there wouldn't be another one due till morning. I remember laying down to rest on the bench, and I must have passed out, because I woke up several hours later and saw the streets were empty. I was all alone. Well, so I thought. My heart almost jumped out of my chest when I saw the old bus driving down the street towards me, emitting black smoke from its exhaust pipe, it came, its noisy engine interrupting the previous quiet.

The vehicle was partially illuminated by the streetlights, although I noted with some concern how the lamps flickered as the bus drove by them. The vehicle looked like a throwback from the 1960s, a kind of ancient tin can on wheels you'd expect to see at a classic car show. Unlike the modern vehicles we're used to, those that glide along the street quietly. This old rust bucket grattle, long, noisily looking as if it could break down at any moment. But instead it kept coming,

driving down the empty road and coming ever closer to my shelter. I noted how there were no emblems or motifs painted on the side of the bus, and no destination name was shown above its front windscreen. The vehicle's exterior was painted all in black, and even the windows were tinted, meaning I couldn't see who or what was inside. I've heard a cold chill run down my spine as I record the details I'd heard about the last bus legend, one of those I'd read and studied during my youth. The vehicle I was seen before me matched the description of the coach in the stories, the phantom bus that appears on an abandoned street in the early hours,

offering lifts to the weary and needy. I came close to panic in that moment, wondering whether I was dreaming or suffering from a paranoid delusion, I spent so much of my youth chasing these legends, searching for any evidence that could prove the existence of something outside of our own reality. But now that the truth was staring me in the face, a big part of we wanted to up sticks and run.

But I didn't. I don't know whether I was frozen to the spot with fear, or if my curiosity got the better of me, but I held my ground and waited for the bus to come to me. I stood up on my shaking feet, as the coach poured in beside my shelter, and despite the amount of alcohol I'd consumed, I suddenly felt quite sober. It seemed to take forever for the vehicle to park up and for the creaking old door to swing open.

When it did, I was confronted by a friendly middle-aged man wearing a neat blue uniform while he sat behind the wheel, driving his bus to an unspercified location. He smiled down at me, his eyes twinkling in an amicable and welcoming fashion. and then he opened his mouth and spoke in a soft, almost fatherly tone, saying, Ah, good evening, my friend. You're coming on board. I'd heard about the enigmatic driver before, but nevertheless his appearance and whole demeanor took me off guard. I struggled to find the words to respond, stuttering my way through my reply.

Where will you take me? I inquired nervously. "'Home,' the driver responded with a reassuring smile. "'I'll take you home eventually. "'But life isn't about the destination. "'It's about the journey. "'Sometimes you need to take a leap of faith. "'So what do you say, my young friend?

"'What do you ride with us?' "'I'll admit to being scared in that moment, "'terrified, in fact. "'Somehow I realized how important this was how the decision I made right then could shape the rest of my life. I didn't know what exactly would await me if I got on board, but I had a good idea, and it was terrifying. But if I walked away, I would never discover the truth. And so, I took a deep breath, plucked up my courage, and stepped onto the bus, seeing the driver's smile as the door finally shut behind me. When I saw the

bus driver up close. I sensed something sinister about him and instantly started regretting my decision, but by then it was too late. That was the first time I rode the night bus. Over the years, I've been on it three times in total, living to tell my tale on each occasion. Catching the Phantom Bus isn't as easy as you'd imagine. There's no set of rules that you can follow, no set time or location. I don't know whether it's sheer chance or if the bus itself chooses its passengers. I have, however, been able to piece together common threads

using both my own experiences and those of others who've made the journey. We have an online forum which we use to tell our stories and exchange information. It's an issue of safety as much as anything else. The nightbuzz can be lethal if you don't keep your wits about you. Now, having accumulated this knowledge over the last number of years, I'll now share it with you here.

Part two, once you step on board the bus, you'll see the rows of hard-back seats stretching back to the rear of the vehicle's interior. And there's nothing unusual about this, at least not at first glance. You'll see other passengers, too, but you mustn't engage with them at this point. Oh, and don't look them in the eye. Take a seat and empty bench somewhere towards the front of the bus It doesn't really matter where exactly They'll come to you in their own time And the journey itself can last for hours

Or at least that's what it will seem like when you're on board You can see out of the windows from inside And look upon the scenery such as it is Initially you'll see familiar sights City Centre streets, buildings and businesses that you'll recognise Nevertheless, you'll soon realize that something isn't quite right with the scene. The streets will be totally abandoned, with no traffic or pedestrians anywhere to be seen. There won't be any businesses open or lights emanating from anywhere along the road.

But the further you drive out from the city centre, the more bizarre the sights you'll encounter. Soon the tidy streets and well-maintained buildings will give way to urban decay, crumbling structures and ruins like those of a lost city forgotten. gotten by time. Eventually the bus will leave the city behind and enter what appears to be a dense forest. The narrow road you'll follow will be shrouded in darkness, with the only illumination coming from the vehicle's bright headlights. If you glance into the woods on either side of the road, you'll occasionally catch a

glimpse of shadows moving behind the tree line, strange figures and unidentified animals with glowing red eyes glaring through the darkness. You'll see these unnerving creatures for only the briefest of seconds as the bus drives through, and then they'll be gone. At first you'll think it's just your fertile imagination playing tricks on you, but deep down you'll know that there is something evil lurking in those woods. By this point in the journey, it should become clear that you're no longer in the realm of the living. I don't know where the bus takes you, but I do know it's not wise to stare out the windows for too long. What lurks out there can drive you mad.

And besides, your focus should be on those inside the bus, as they pose the more immediate threat. My fellow online sleuths, and I think of the passengers as lost souls. It seems certain that they are no longer part of the world of the living. There's something lacking in them, an important piece that's missing. Once you talk to them, they will engage with you, whether you want them to or not, you'll see the sadness in their empty, dead eyes.

They want to latch onto you because you have what they want, life. That's why it's so important that you follow the rules. Don't let them get inside your head whatever you do. There are six entities you're likely to encounter once you set foot upon the bus, all of whom have their own unique traits and tricks which they'll attempt to use against you.

Based on the shared existence, experiences of our forum members, I've pieced together a description of what each one of these other worldly entities is like. Firstly, there's the driver, whose physical description I've already covered. The driver's first job is to get you on board. That's why he'll appear to be so friendly and welcoming, enticing you to take a ride on his bus. However, once the door shuts behind you and the bus starts moving. You'll see the driver's smile falter ever so slightly as he breaks eye contact

and focuses on the road. Despite this, the driver is a benign figure who plays a small but important role in the events which follow. His job from this point onwards is simply to drive. And he does keep his promise to you. He will bring you home eventually,

assuming you don't fall foul of any of the spirits during the drive. Like I said, the journey will see seem to last for hours, but when he drops you off on your home street back in our realm, no time will have passed whatsoever. He lets you off, smiling once again and saying, Have a nice evening. Hope to see you again soon.

You'll be left standing on the pavement outside of your home, bewildered and still in a state of shock disbelief, as you watch the Phantom bus drive down the road, before it inexplicably vanishes at the end of your house. street. After the driver, the first passenger you're likely to notice is the party girl. This is an attractive young woman who appears to be in her early to mid-20s. A physical appearance will change on each occasion. Sometimes her hair will be brunette and other times blonde. Likewise, her skin complexion can either be pale or dark, depending upon the

beholder. What's consistent is how she's made up and dressed, donning a cocktail dress and high heels and carrying a designer handbag. Her fragrance is sweet and enticing, but you may also smell a hint of alcohol on her breath. You'll note how her mascara has run, indicating that she's been crying. Nevertheless, there's something in her deep and expressive eyes which will draw you in, an inner beauty and vulnerability that plays on your emotions. It's worth noting that you'll be attracted to the young woman in spite of your gender, or usual sexual preferences.

You will be unable to take your eyes off her and will feel compelled to take a seat close to her. A party girl will engage with you during the early stages of the journey, distracting you from the bizarre sights outside of the bus's windows. At first she'll be flirtatious and fun, asking you about yourself and talking about her night out. But soon the conversation will take on a darker tone

as the girl tells you about a tragic event from her past. Childhood abuse, a violent ex-partner, or the death of a loved one. The story will vary each time, but will always be one of sadness and suffering. Your heart will go out to her, even if you're not usually an empathetic person. Once she's told you her woeful tale, the young woman will ask you to go home with her, to give her some comfort. You'll be tempted, but under no way. circumstances should you agree to go with her. It's critical that you remember what she is

and what she really wants from you. My advice is to politely decline her offer without causing her undue suffering. The party girl may be a lost soul, but by all accounts she still feels human emotions. She won't be angry when you reject her, but instead will sob softly into her hands. You'll feel guilty, but you must move on and sweet. seats, leaving the poor girl to her misery. The next passenger you'll encounter since a couple of rows behind the party girl. We'll call her the OAP or the pensioner. She's an elderly woman, probably in her 80s, her white hair in curls, wearing a shawl and a heavy winter coat, with a shopping cart on wheels parked underneath her seat. Her face is wrinkled, and the perfume

she wears is quite overbearing, but the OAP has kind eyes. and a sweet motherly smile. She'll remind you of an elderly relative, like a grandmother or great aunt, and you'll feel an affection towards her. A woman of her age and appearance is the last person you'd expect to find riding a night bus during the early hours of the morning,

and yet here she is, another lost soul trapped on a journey that never ends. The OAP will speak with you in a kindly wholesome fashion, asking about your life and your family, while also entertaining you with anecdotes from her long and interesting life. You'll feel at ease talking with her, but you mustn't forget what she really is. The conversation will end with the woman asking you to accompany her home

to help with her shopping or something like that. She'll offer to prepare you something to eat, your favourite meal or snack, whatever that may be, and she'll offer to put you up for the night. Now again, you'll be tempted, but you must, say no. On this occasion it doesn't actually matter how politely you refuse her offer. Whatever you say or do, she'll react with absolute fury, screaming every

obscenity under the sun as her face screws up with anger. The last thing you'd expect from a seemingly sweet old lady, but this is what will happen. As soon as she launches into her hateful tirade, you should leave your seat to move further down the bus. You would be worried. You would be wise not to engage with her again for the rest of your journey. The next passenger you'll meet is a scruffy middle-aged man known as the drunkard. He sits close to the back of the bus and is perhaps the type you'd expect to find on a late-night service.

I wouldn't recommend sitting too close to the drunkard, only because he smells pretty bad, his breath-stinking of alcohol and cigarettes. You'll note how his old clothes are soiled and torn, and his unkempt beard will be badly matted. You probably won't wish to engage with him, but the drunkard will begin a conversation with you regardless, and against your better judgment you'll get drawn in. The drunkard will turn out to be surprisingly intelligent and insightful, seeking to educate you on such matters as religion, philosophy, and scientific theory. He'll tell you a story in the form of a parable or fable, one with a dark twist to it. When I first met the drunk, he recounted to me the tale of the frog and the score.

one that demonstrates the cruel and destructive nature of life. Next, he'll remove a silver hip flask from his inside jacket pocket and offer you a drink. Regardless of your alcoholic preferences, you'll be tempted to take a sip. The drink will smell so sweet and inviting, but of course you must refuse him. After you turn down the drink, the drunkard will shoot you an angry look before shaking his head and saying, you're a damn fool stupid little child you have no idea what you're dealing with now this is your cue to move on now you'll notice how the first three passengers are trying to draw you in using whatever charms or supernatural powers they have at their disposal their ultimate goal is to trick you into leaving the bus

needless to say you must not do this not if you want to make it home nobody knows what exactly happens to those who fall into one of their traps. We do know that several members of our forum vanished without a trace over the years, and my city has a long history of unexplained disappearances. The fourth passenger is different from the rest, though. He's a young male who sits on the back row while listening to headphones linked up to an 80s-style walkman. We call him headphones guy, and it seems all he does is listen to music, his eyes closed as he taps his foot to the beat. The headphones guy will not attempt to engage with you or even acknowledge your presence. That's not to say he isn't dangerous, however. There was a member of our group who had a run-in

with the guy. To be fair, it wasn't unprovoked. Feeling bold, my friend got right up in the passenger's face, waving his hands and clicking his fingers in an attempt to gain the spirit's attention. When this failed, he foolishly grabbed the guy's headphones, physically pulling them off his head. Predictably, headphones guy didn't react well to this violation. In an instant, he jumped up from his chair, lashing out with his fist and knocking his assailant down with one punch. My friend remembers a sharp, intense pain in the back of his head

before he blacked out. The next thing he remembers is waking up in his own bed the next morning, with a broken nose and a nasty gash on the back of his head. He also found a note in his jeans pocket. crudely written on the back of an old bus ticket in what looked like dried blood. And it read, Do that again. Now rip your fucking head off.

Unsurprisingly, my friend never rode the night bus again. I don't know what the deal with headphones guy is. My advice is to leave him well alone. So, at this point, you're probably wondering why one would wish to catch the night bus at all, given how you'll be transported to a terrifying or. alternative reality and encounter other worldly spirits who wish to trap you there. Well, the short answer is that no sane person would, bar a handful of crazed urban adventurers and amateur panoranormal investigators such as myself.

Yeah, most of those who've boarded the phantom coach have done so by accident, not realizing what they were getting themselves into until it was too late. Most of those who ride the night bus once have no inclination to do so again. But those of us who do seek out the Phantom Coach for a second, third, or in my case, fourth occasion, well, we all have our reasons. Part three. One reason above all others, in fact, is that we want to see the harbinger and ask him our one permitted question. I'll regret my first ride on the bus for the rest of my days.

Although I was drunk, I had enough wits about me to see off the various tricks used by the ghoul, but I wasn't prepared for him. The Harbinger is the only passenger who isn't already riding on the bus when you first get on. He comes later, after you've negotiated your way through the ghostly entities, and you think the worst is behind you. The first thing you'll notice is the burning cross mounted on top of the darkened hillside, overlooking the road on the left-hand side. I remember the first time I saw that foreboding symbol and the immense fear I felt,

as I knew something bad was coming. A moment after I spotted the cross, I was shocked to see the bus was slowing down, pulling over to the side of the road and parking up in a lay-by. Next, the driver operated the swing door at the front of the bus, open it to whatever lay on the other side. The terror almost overwhelmed me as I thought of the horrors that lurked within the shadowlands,

of the creatures and demons hiding in the haunted woods and hillsides. I recall looking to the other passengers, somehow hoping these devious spirits would offer me some protection from whatever was coming. But instead their heads were down, as they all maintained a solemn silence. Realising I was on my own, and glanced out of the window to witness a sight which chilled me to my very bones. There was a small, covered shelter by the roadside, almost covered by overgrown vegetation, and only just visiting. visible in the dim light. And within this seemingly abandoned bus shelter stood a tall hooded figure, a sinister individual with his face covered,

and his considerable frame hidden underneath a long and dark robe. The mystery man remained still in silence, although I soon spotted the animal by his size. A large black dog that snarled aggressively through a snout filled with razor-sharp teeth, It glared at me with hungry and predatory eyes, only a thin glass pane separating me from him. I imagined the hound breaking loose, ascending the steps and charging down the aisle, before burying its razor-sharp fangs into my soft flesh. Thankfully, the dog's master retained control of his beast, although I was far from out of danger.

I also noticed how hot and stifling it suddenly became, as an almost unbearable wave of heat hit me. Meanwhile, the bus remained parked for what seemed like an eternity. His door ajar as the driver awaited to see whether his passenger would get on. Now, I've since learned that the hooded figure we call the Harbinger will do one of two things at this point. Either he'll remain rooted to the spot until eventually the driver will say something like, well, not tonight then.

before he closes the door and drives on. From what I've been able to gather from both my own experiences and those of my contemporaries, this is what happens most of the time. Two times out of three, the harbinger won't step out from the bus shelter, and that'll be the end of it. But sometimes he will step forward,

marching through the mud in his heavy boots while dragging his hellhound along on a leash. He'll come on board the bus, prompting the driver to say, good evening sir i trust you'll have a pleasant journey the harbinger will not answer instead gliding down the aisle with his faithful mutt following him behind i'll take a seat near the front of the bus pulling down his hood to reveal what lies underneath to this day i can't fully explain what i saw in that terrifying moment it seemed like there was only a dark void where his face should be with two burning orbs instead of eyes he had no more than a moment he had no more than a little bit of a dark void where his face should be with two burning orbs instead of eyes he had no mouth that I could see, and so by rights he shouldn't have been able to speak. Yet he did, calling out to me in a booming godlike voice which echoed through the hollow interior of the bus.

Come to me, mortal child, he ordered. Come sit with me so we may speak. As you can imagine, I was utterly terrified in this moment, so much so that I thought I might pass out. But for reasons, I can't explain, they obeyed the Harbinger's orders, feeling like I physically could not resist him, as if my legs were no longer under my control. I remember looking to the other passengers as I walked down the aisle, hoping that one of them could help me. But each of the four kept their heads down, as they muttered in unison, reciting a prayer in a language I could not understand. It became obvious that the Harbinger held power over these lost souls, and they were all trained. wrapped under his spell.

Perhaps they were once like us, falling victim to the Phantom Bus and the Harbinger's godlike powers. In any event, they offered me no assistance in that fateful moment. I soon realized I was completely at the Harbinger's mercy. I involuntarily took a seat

in the road directly behind the Harbinger. His head turned in an unnatural way to face me, as his dog snarled aggressively in my direction. But thankfully he resisted the urge to bite me in the last. I can't really describe how the harbinger smelt, other than to say he stank of death. The fiery orbs he had instead of eyes stared right at me.

I couldn't look away, no matter how much I tried. I felt like I was on fire, my soul burning under his hateful glare. In my state of abject terror, I imagined what this monster might do to me. I reckoned he could kill me with ease. this was the least of my fears. Instead I believed I may become like the others, another anonymous lost soul, riding this damned bus for all eternity.

In any event, I was powerless to do anything in that moment other than remain frozen to my seat, waiting for the harbinger to speak. Despite his absence of eyes, somehow I could tell he was looking down on me, that he considered me with total contempt, like it was something he'd stepped in. To this day, I don't know whether he was speaking out loud

or if his booming voice was only in my head. Either way, I found myself totally transfixed as he spoke his words. I see another mere mortal has found its way into my realm. He began. I assumed he was referring to me. I confess to having little time for your contemptible and weak race. Nevertheless, I must respond.

respect the bravery of the odd individuals such as yourself. Not many have the courage to come to this dark place. For this reason, I will grant you safe passage, and I will answer you one question. Ask me what you will, mere mortal, and I will impart to you my infinite knowledge. Now, this is a moment I've replayed over and over again in my mind over the years. I literally could have asked the harbinger anything. the winning lottery numbers Who killed JFK, the meaning of life?

He sees and knows everything And the possibilities are limitless One of the guys on our forum asked the harbinger How he would die And was told that his vices would kill him within six months Well, this guy wasn't addict But he laughed off the harbinger's warning And continued using

Six months later he was dead from an overdose And then there's a young woman who at the time of her encounter with the Harbinger was stuck in an abusive and controlling relationship. She asked the entity what would happen if she stayed with her asshole boyfriend. Well, she was told that her life would end unless she broke off the relationship.

This proved to be the motivation she needed to leave him. And about a year later, the bastard was arrested for murdering another girl and ultimately sentenced to life in prison. But, of course, I didn't know any of this, at the time. I felt nothing but pure terror as I sat frozen to my seat, quaking in my boots as the harbinger glared down upon me with disgust. In that chilling moment, I could only think of one question to ask, which I stuttered out from my trembling lips. What are you? I swore I could hear

the creature scoff with contempt before he gave his answer. More child, he bellowed. Alas, you humans will never fully comprehend what I am and what I represent. Nevertheless, I owe you an answer, and so I shall explain in the simplest of terms. And the past, the present and the future. I see all from where I stand, and yet I have sworn not to intervene in the mortal realm. He paused momentarily, turning his burning orbs towards the darkened landscape outside the window. This world you see before me is my kingdom, my domain. I offer sanctuary to those who have nowhere else to go, giving a home to those lost souls

trapped between the mortal and eternal realms. Perhaps you will come here one day and become a permanent resident of my dark realm, or perhaps not. You could have inquired after your ultimate fate, of course, but you chose not to do so. I have answered your one permitted question and fulfilled my obligation. And now, my child, I will bid you farewell. With that he rose from his chair and summoned his hound, gliding down the aisle as he made for the exits.

I was flabbergasted in a state of shock. I still had so many questions to ask, and I opened my mouth without thinking. Wait, I called after him, instantly regretting my decision to speak. The harbinger turned sharply, his orb-like eyes burning ever fiercer, his hound growling as it bared its sharp teeth, pulling on its lead as it tried to get at me. When the harbinger spoke again, his tone became angry and threatening.

Ead, my warning, you damn fool. I have tolerated your presence in my realm thus far, but do not test my patience. I can inflict pain upon you which goes beyond. your worst nightmares, and I will not hesitate to do so if you break my rules again. I felt all the blood drained from my face, and my whole body shook uncontrollably as sheer terror overcame me. And needless to say, I did not utter another word. Instead, I watched on in shocked awe as the harbinger glided down the aisle, dragging his snarling hellhound with him.

The driver brought the bus to a slow halt, to allow the godlike creature to do disembark. I began to feel pangs of relief as I thought my ordeal was nearly over, but there was one last twist to this macabre episode. As the harbinger stepped off the coach, my fellow passengers suddenly shot up from their seats, all simultaneously turning in my direction. To my horror, I saw how their eyes had turned jet black, and their mouths were open wide, revealing gaping black holes. It seemed like they were all trying to scream, and yet no sound was emitted. Then I saw what was lurking in the darkened woods on either side of the road. Hundreds of fiery red eyes emerging from the tree line,

belonging to unholy beasts that howled like wolves in the night. Every one focused upon our bus. I screamed out in terror, fearing that the harbinger had changed his mind and was summoning his hellish minions to tear me to pieces. The howling rapidly increased in volume, becoming so loud that I was near-defend. What happened next remains something of a blur in my memory. I recall the horrific din and the pressure built up inside of my head until I thought my skull would explode. Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light, forcing me to hide my eyes underneath my hands.

A moment later I opened my eyes again, only to discover that the beasts had vanished. as had my ghoulish fellow passengers. I was on my own inside the bus, just me and the driver, as we continued down that lowly stretch of road, a very little recollection of the rest of that journey. I don't think it was much longer before we left the dark realm

and returned to the city streets I knew and recognised. When we arrived on my home street, I couldn't believe it, thinking this was another trick. I sat still in my seat for some time until eventually I needed to be prompted by the driver, who called out to me, saying, You'll stop, my friend.

Come on now, please. I can't wait here all night. With some trepidation, I walked down the aisle and stepped off the bus, feeling the cool, fresh air against my skin as I returned to the realm of the living. I recall the driver wishing me good night and saying, he'd see me again before he drove away. And so? That's my story.

But it's not quite the end of it. You may well ask why I didn't abandon my obsession with the Phantom Bus after my terrifying encounter. Well, for a long time I did. But in the end my curiosity got the better of me. I don't like the uncertainty of life of not knowing what lays before me. I used to think that's just the way it is, but now I know better. The Harbinger is out there. and he can provide the answers I need.

I won't waste my opportunity a second time. For years I've chased the bus, and I've caught it a further two times. On both occasions, I boarded and avoided the trap set by the ghoulish passengers. Both times I waited for the harbinger to board, but he would not move from his shelter, and so my hopes were frustrated.

It's been extremely disheartening, but I will not give up. Tonight I'll seek out the bus once again, and I'll keep doing so until the Harbinger answers my call. I know the risks. One night I may board the Phantom Coach and never make it home, but nevertheless I need to do this. I must know the truth, no matter what the cost.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a bus to catch. And so once again, we reach 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 favor 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.