The Crazy Woman on the Bus - A True Horror Story

The Crazy Woman on the Bus - A True Horror Story

This happened while I was on my way to visit my grandmother.

That day, I struggled to catch a bus as all the routes were packed around noon. Finally, I managed to board one, and there were only a few people inside: the driver, a fare collector leaning out of the bus, a young woman, a few men, and an elderly lady.

As the bus drove past a psychiatric hospital, a woman wearing a hospital gown stood at the roadside, signaling for the bus to stop.

Her head was shaved, and her face was pale as a ghost. The bus pulled over right next to her, and the atmosphere inside went dead silent. The road ahead was shrouded in mist and darkness, with the bus's headlights as the only source of light.

While texting my grandmother to inform her I’d be late, I glanced at the woman. Just as she was about to step onto the bus, the driver suddenly hit the accelerator, speeding off and leaving her behind.

I was confused and perplexed, and so were the other passengers. When we looked at the driver, his face was filled with fear, though no one knew why. I asked him why he didn’t let the woman board, and with a trembling voice, he replied:

“That’s not a normal woman.”

He then fell silent, staring at the rearview mirror, and increased the speed. Following his gaze, I saw a woman running after the bus in a grotesque posture, moving at an unnatural speed.

She was running so fast that I couldn’t make out her face clearly, but I could see her dress was soaked in blood. The fare collector screamed at the driver:

“Faster! She’s catching up!”

Everyone on the bus began to panic. I was sitting closest to the door when, suddenly, the woman leaped onto the bus, clinging to the door and slowly pulling herself up.

That moment was the most horrifying of my life. Her face was bruised and covered with gruesome wounds. She flashed a wide grin with razor-sharp teeth and soulless black eyes. My heart almost stopped, and everyone screamed in terror.

I quickly grabbed my bag and swung it at her, knocking her off the bus. But as she fell, I saw her stand back up, glaring at me with a deranged smile.

Thankfully, the bus eventually reached its stop, and everyone hurriedly got off. After paying the fare, I walked into a nearby 7-11 store to buy some snacks to calm my nerves.

At the checkout counter, still replaying what had just happened in my head, the cashier asked me:

“Are you okay?”

I replied, “Yes, I’m fine. I just encountered a crazy woman on the bus.”

But his response left me stunned:

“Oh, I know her. They say she had cancer and had to shave her head. After that, she often hurt herself, laughed hysterically, and threatened to kill people. That’s why her family sent her to the psychiatric hospital.

But last week, she escaped and was hit by a bus, which killed her.”

I froze, my skin crawling. I asked if he remembered the bus route number. After some hesitation, he whispered it to me.

Thanking him, I collected my change and rushed out to find the bus I had just been on. When I saw it, I was paralyzed with fear.

Because it was the very bus that had hit and killed that woman.