The Last Passenger

Rafiq boarded the last bus of the night, relieved to find it nearly empty. The rain poured outside, blurring the city lights. He slid into a window seat near the back, shaking off the cold. The driver, an old man with hollow eyes, gave him a brief nod before shutting the doors.

The bus rumbled forward, its engine growling against the storm. Rafiq glanced around. A few passengers sat scattered throughout—an elderly woman clutching a cloth bag, a man in a suit staring out the window, and a young girl sitting alone near the front.

Something felt… off.

The bus was oddly silent. No one spoke. No one moved. Even the girl, who looked no older than ten, sat unnaturally still, her face hidden by her long, dark hair.

As the bus sped through the empty streets, Rafiq noticed something strange—the route was unfamiliar. He had taken this bus before, but the turns felt wrong. The city buildings faded, replaced by endless fog.

He leaned forward. "Excuse me, driver, where are we going?"

The old man didn’t respond.

Rafiq’s stomach twisted. He turned to the nearest passenger—the man in the suit. "Do you know where this bus is headed?"

The man slowly turned his head. His face was pale, his eyes empty sockets.

Rafiq recoiled in horror. The old woman beside him did the same—her skin paper-thin, her mouth stretching into an unnatural grin.

His breath caught in his throat. He turned to the young girl, the only one who hadn’t moved.

"Help me," he whispered.

The girl lifted her head. Her hollow, black eyes met his. "You shouldn’t be here."

The lights flickered. The bus shook violently. The fog outside thickened, swallowing everything.

"Stop the bus!" Rafiq shouted, scrambling to his feet.

The driver finally turned to him. His face was decayed, flesh hanging from his bones. His voice was barely a whisper.

"You were never supposed to get on."

The bus screeched to a halt. The doors flung open, revealing nothing but darkness outside. A force yanked Rafiq forward, pulling him into the abyss.

The next morning, the city’s first bus of the day followed its usual route. At one stop, the doors opened, but no one was there.

Yet, on the last seat at the back, a single wet handprint remained.