The Bus I Boarded Had Burned Down a Year Ago
It picked me up like normal. People were seated. Silent. Watching. But I later found out the bus — and everyone in it — had died in a fire last year.
The Bus I Boarded Had Burned Down a Year Ago
I was returning from a family visit in rural Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. Missed the last van, and it was almost 9 PM.
Just as I began to consider walking toward the main road, a faded white bus came rolling up the hill.
No conductor shouting. No music. No lights inside.
But it stopped. The door creaked open.
A driver — face obscured by shadow — nodded at me.
I stepped in.
---
The inside was dim.
Seats half torn.
Curtains old and dusty.
A faint scent of smoke… like something had burned long ago and never left.
I walked slowly to the middle row.
There were passengers.
Every seat taken.
But no one moved.
No one blinked.
They just… stared ahead.
---
Their faces were darkened.
Not in color — in shade.
As if soot had settled into their skin.
Eyes wide open.
Not watching me.
Just… open.
---
I sat anyway.
I don’t know why.
Maybe I was tired.
Maybe the silence felt safe.
Maybe… I wasn’t thinking.
---
The bus started moving.
Slow at first. Then faster.
But the landscape outside never changed.
Same trees. Same bends.
As if we were driving in circles.
---
Then I noticed something chilling.
The windows were sealed shut.
Melted at the corners.
Like heat had once warped the metal.
I looked to my left — the woman beside me had a veil over her face.
But underneath, I could see blisters.
Her fingers were blackened, as if charred.
Still, she sat upright.
Breathing slow.
Eyes wide.
---
I whispered:
> “Is this bus going to Peshawar?”
She turned slightly.
And whispered back:
> “We never made it.”
---
I stood up instantly.
But no one turned.
No one reacted.
Just those wide, watching, empty eyes.
---
I moved toward the driver.
He didn’t flinch.
Didn’t look.
His hands were fused to the wheel — literally.
Burned into the rubber.
I shouted:
> “Let me off!”
He said only one word:
> “Soon.”
---
Then… a bright flash outside the window.
A memory? A fire?
I saw the bus — this same bus — ablaze.
People screaming.
Hands on glass.
Flames licking the curtains.
Smoke filling lungs.
---
Then darkness.
---
I awoke.
Not in the bus.
But on the side of the road, alone.
Dusty. Shaken.
The sun was rising.
A man in uniform was helping me up.
> “Are you alright? What happened?”
I stammered.
> “The… the bus…”
His face fell.
> “You mean the white one?”
> “Yes! It picked me up — last night.”
He stared hard at me.
> “That bus caught fire one year ago. Exactly on this date. Same time. Everyone died.”
> “What?”
> “Locals say it passes through every year, looking for… one more passenger.”
---
I looked down.
In my hand… was the ticket.
Stamped clearly:
“9:00 PM — 23 June — Route to Nowhere.”
---
I don’t know how I got off.
I don’t know why they let me go.
But I still have that ticket.
And some nights, I swear…
I hear that bus pull up outside.
Door creaking.
Engine humming.
Waiting for me to get back on.
---
And one day…
I might.
About the Creator
Noman Afridi
I’m Noman Afridi — welcome, all friends! I write horror & thought-provoking stories: mysteries of the unseen, real reflections, and emotional truths. With sincerity in every word. InshaAllah.
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