The Last Passenger
The Last Passenger
The bus rumbled through the stormy night, headlights cutting through the rain-soaked darkness. Emma sat in the back, gripping her bag tightly. Only four passengers remained, scattered in silence.
With each stop, someone disembarked, leaving behind an emptier and eerier atmosphere. Soon, it was just Emma and a tall, pale man in a black coat sitting at the front. She could barely see his face, but she felt his eyes watching her in the reflection of the window.
The bus driver called out her stop. Emma stood, her heartbeat quickening. As she approached the front, she noticed something strange — the man hadn't moved, not a twitch, as if frozen in place. His eyes remained fixed ahead, staring blankly.
The bus doors slid open. Emma hesitated for a second before stepping off into the rain. But as soon as her feet touched the wet pavement, she heard it: a quiet, rasping breath. Turning back, she saw the man standing now, on the steps of the bus, his mouth wide open in a twisted grin.
Behind him, the driver sat perfectly still, his head bent forward at an unnatural angle, as if... broken.
The doors slammed shut.
Emma realized too late. She wasn't the last passenger. The man had never been alive.
And now, she was his next ride.