The Stranger on the Last Bus

The rain had been falling for hours, turning the city into a restless blur of silver. Puddles reflected the orange glow of streetlights, and cars hissed by in streaks of water. Zara adjusted her coat and tightened her scarf as she hurried toward the bus stop. She hated working the late shift at the café; by the time she finished, it felt like the whole world had already gone to sleep.

When the last bus of the night finally groaned to a stop, she climbed aboard with a sigh of relief. The warmth inside smelled faintly of metal and damp fabric. Only a handful of seats were occupied, scattered with tired faces and half-closed eyes. Toward the back, a man sat by the window, his shoulders hunched beneath a worn-out jacket. His face was hidden in the dim glow of the overhead lights.

Zara chose a seat a few rows behind him. She pulled out her phone, but the signal flickered uselessly. The silence inside the bus felt heavier than the rain outside. It was the kind of silence that pressed on your ears, making you hear your own heartbeat.

Then, without warning, the man spoke.

“You shouldn’t trust the last bus.”

His voice was low, rough, like someone unused to speaking. Zara stiffened, glancing up.

“Excuse me?” she asked cautiously.

He didn’t turn. For a moment she thought she had imagined it. Then, slowly, he shifted his head, and his eyes caught hers. They startled her—not cruel, not kind, but carrying a strange weight, like he was looking straight through her.

“Strange things happen at this hour,” he said. “People get on, but not everyone gets off.”

A nervous laugh escaped her throat. “You’re joking, right?”

The man didn’t smile. He lifted one hand and pointed toward the front of the bus.

Zara followed his finger. A woman had just boarded. Zara blinked, confused. She hadn’t noticed anyone walk up to the doors. The woman’s umbrella dripped water onto the floor. Her coat clung to her shoulders as though she’d been standing in the storm for hours.

But she didn’t pay the driver. She didn’t glance at a single passenger. She simply walked down the aisle, sat in the middle of the bus, and stared straight ahead. Motionless.

Zara’s stomach tightened. She was sure she hadn’t heard the doors open. Not even the sound of footsteps.

The man’s voice was closer now, as if he’d leaned forward. “Most people don’t notice them. But you did. That means something.”

Her pulse quickened. “Notice who?” she whispered.

His eyes flicked toward the silent woman. “Some passengers aren’t alive anymore. But they still ride.”

The bus rumbled forward, gears groaning like an old throat clearing itself. Zara’s first instinct was to scoff, to dismiss him as some lunatic with wild stories. But when she looked again, the hairs on her arms rose. The woman hadn’t blinked. Not once. Her face was pale, her eyes glassy. She seemed more like a mannequin than a person.

The bus slowed. The doors hissed open, but the street outside wasn’t familiar. It wasn’t even a street Zara recognized from this part of the city. The lamps were dim, the sidewalks empty, the buildings old and crumbling as if abandoned for years.

Zara clutched her bag. “Where are we?” she asked, her voice trembling.

The man turned his gaze back to the window. Rain streaked down the glass in crooked lines. “Not everyone makes it home.”

Before she could ask what he meant, he rose to his feet. His jacket hung loose on his thin frame. He walked slowly down the aisle and stepped off the bus into the rain. The doors closed behind him with a hollow hiss.

Zara was left with the silent woman, who still stared ahead, unblinking. The driver didn’t seem to notice anything unusual. No one else moved.

Her breath came shallow. The bus groaned forward again, pulling her deeper into streets she didn’t know. The city she had always trusted, always believed she belonged to, seemed to be unraveling around her.

Zara glanced once more at the woman. Their eyes met for the first time, and in that glassy, lifeless stare, Zara saw something chilling. It wasn’t emptiness. It was recognition.

Her blood ran cold.

The last bus rattled on into the unknown night, and Zara realized with growing horror—she might never make it home.