The 3_30 A.M. Bus_ Ride With the Dead

The sharp sting of the blade pressing into my skin made my whole body go rigid.

In the rearview mirror, I noticed something unsettling—the figures in the back of the bus had straightened up at some point. Their blurry outlines looked like paper dolls swaying in the wind, all of them facing the driver’s seat.

Gritting my teeth, I flipped on the turn signal and jerked the wheel, changing direction sharply. The tires screeched across the asphalt and from behind came a faint sigh—like autumn wind through dry leaves—carrying a chill that seeped straight into my bones.

Goosebumps prickled across my arms, but Jerry and his men burst into laughter.

“Why didn’t you do this earlier?” Jerry kicked the back of my seat. “At least you know when to give in.”

The alternate route was much smoother and soon, Jerry’s villa emerged from the shadows of the night.

As soon as the bus stopped, he strode down the steps with his henchmen, deliberately grinding his heel into the tooth I had dropped on the floor mat.

“You’re a complete failure.” He spat the words down at me. “The repair costs for the Bentley must be transferred to my account within three days—or you’ll be in jail.”

The bald man and the silver-haired one laughed, shoving each other as they made their way toward the villa’s entrance.

I watched their backs, anger burning hot in my chest—until, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the bus door.

Three faint gray shadows were silently following them.

They were paler than the night, like wet paper clinging to the backs of Jerry and his two men.

Jerry’s shadow was crooked, with a thin trail of gray mist drifting from the base of his neck.

The bald man’s shadow was missing one shoulder, as though something had gnawed it away.

The silver-haired man’s shadow was the most disturbing—a gray-black thread was wound tightly around his feet, pinning him in place like a specimen on a board.

The three of them were oblivious, still bragging about how they had “taught me a lesson.”

The villa’s lights drew closer, stretching their human shadows long and thin, while the three gray ones blended seamlessly into them—like stains that could never be washed away—following step by step into the warm glow.

I clenched my bloodstained tooth until my knuckles turned white. In the rearview mirror, the passengers had all returned to their seats, as though nothing had happened.

Only the fading chill of the knife at my neck and the sticky warmth of the tooth in my palm reminded me it hadn’t been my imagination.

The night wind blew through the open window, carrying with it the faint scent of burning paper.

As the villa door closed, I thought I heard a soft, satisfied sigh drift from one of the lit windows.

I slammed the bus door shut, trying to shut out the cold. But the sound from the back grew louder—a faint tap… tap… tap… against the seatback, slow and deliberate, like nails dragging on wood.

I didn’t dare turn around. My eyes stayed locked on the road ahead as I steered the bus back toward that familiar dark alley.

The dashboard clock read 4:07—thirteen minutes late.

In the rearview mirror, the blurred figures seemed to sit even straighter, their faces still indistinct.

As we neared the final stop, I spotted a figure under the dim streetlight.

My stomach dropped. This stop was always for people getting off, never for someone waiting—and certainly not at this hour.

When the bus came to a halt, I opened the door and was greeted by a wrinkled, sour face.

The man wore a faded old-style suit and clutched an enamel cup in his hand. As soon as I stepped off, he started shouting.

“You little brat, what’s wrong with you? Thirteen minutes late! Don’t you know the rules of this bus?”

My throat tightened. I was about to explain about Jerry, but his gaze shifted past me, peering into the bus compartment. His brows furrowed even deeper.

“Just now… how many old ones got off?”