Part 1
Something icy and thin wrapped around Lena's ankle—
not like a hand, but like a rope made of fingers.
She gasped and kicked instinctively.
Her heel struck something soft but cold, and the grip loosened just enough for her to stagger away.
She stumbled down the aisle, her breath shaking, her chest tight with panic. The passengers all sat still again, but their heads were now tilted at unnatural angles, as if listening.
The lights flickered back on with a sickly, yellow glow.
Lena dared to look down the aisle.
The shadow she'd seen earlier—the one that moved without its person—was now only a few rows away, stretched long like tar, crawling toward her in jerky, hungry motions.
"No, no, NO—stay away!"
She backed up until her shoulders hit the metal wall beside the driver.
The shadow froze.
Then it slowly retreated… back beneath its owner's feet.
The passenger never moved.
Lena's heartbeat thundered in her ears.
She had to get off. Somehow.
The bus shook violently as it took a sharp turn. She slammed against the seat, and the windows buzzed with static. Outside, the fog twisted into shapes—faces, hands, bodies pressed against the invisible barrier of night, clawing, whispering.
The driver's hollow voice filled the bus again, vibrating through the floor.
"You fear the dark."
Lena swallowed.
"I'm not afraid," she lied.
A long silence.
Then—
"Lies are heavy.
Heavy things sink."
The floor beneath her feet rippled, as if turning liquid. She jumped back, heart slamming into her ribs.
The obituary panel above flickered again.
New text appeared:
Cause of death: Fear of the dark.
She shook her head violently.
"I'm not dead! Stop saying that!"
The passengers spoke for the first time.
All at once.
Different voices.
Different tones.
Different pitches.
But the same words:
"Not yet."
The lights burst into static for a moment.
When they returned, every passenger was standing.
Their faces were blank.
Their eyes unfocused.
Their jaws slack.
And they began walking toward her—
slow, synchronized, feet dragging in unison like puppets pulled by a single thread.
Lena backed into the front door.
She grabbed the emergency lever—
It didn't budge.
She pulled harder—
Nothing.
The passengers drew closer.
Their breath smelled like dust.
Their shadows stretched unnaturally long, weaving together on the floor like black vines.
"NO—stay back!" she screamed.
She glanced at the driver.
"LET ME OUT!"
The hollow head turned slightly.
"The last stop is earned."
"What does that even mean?!"
But the voice didn't answer her.
Because something outside the window did.
THE WORLD OUTSIDE IS WRONG
The fog parted briefly, revealing the road ahead.
There wasn't a road.
There was a river—
black, silent, and impossibly wide.
The bus was racing straight toward it.
"No. No no no—STOP THE BUS!"
The passengers' footsteps grew louder.
One of them—a young man with sunken cheeks—reached out.
His fingertips were ice-cold, like touching frostbite.
She slapped his hand away.
He didn't react.
No expression.
No anger.
All the passengers kept moving forward in perfect unison.
Lena turned to the windows.
The river reflected nothing—
not the bus,
not the lights,
not her.
Only emptiness.
The bus didn't slow.
The driver's voice whispered:
"You run from endings, child."
"But everything ends somewhere."
The water loomed closer.
The bus would plunge in within seconds.
She slammed her fists against the driver's seat.
"STOP! I don't want to die!"
Another whisper answered from directly behind her ear:
"Then choose something else."
She whirled around—
No one was close enough to whisper.
Yet every passenger had stopped moving.
Frozen mid-step.
All eyes locked on her.
Then, the door beside her clicked.
Unlocked.
Lena jolted.
She threw the lever—
This time it yanked down easily.
The doors folded open as freezing air blasted inward.
She didn't think.
She jumped.
The moment she leaped off the bus, time stretched—
The black road beneath her dissolved into sand.
The air thickened.
Her body felt weightless.
Then—
She hit the ground hard.
The world spun around her.
The sound of the bus roared in her ears as it sped forward—
Then plunged.
She heard the splintering crash, a massive splash, and then silence.
The bus sank into the black water, swallowed within seconds.
No passengers surfaced.
No pieces floated.
Nothing.
It was as if the river absorbed everything.
Lena crawled backward, trembling violently.
But when she looked up—
She realized something was wrong.
There was no river.
No fog.
No forest.
She was sitting at the entrance of her university dorm.
Bright lights.
Familiar pavement.
Automatic doors sliding open.
The campus security guard stared at her from inside.
"Miss? Are you okay? Why are you on the ground?"
Lena couldn't speak.
She couldn't breathe.
She staggered into the dorm, feeling the solid tiles under her shoes, hearing the hum of fluorescent lights.
All normal.
All safe.
She reached her room with shaking hands and slammed the door shut.
Her phone chimed.
A notification popped up—
the same static symbols from earlier.
Then the screen froze.
Lines of text appeared:
You survived the road tonight.
But roads remember the lost.
Next departure: 12:13 a.m. Tomorrow.
Lena's breath stopped.
One more line appeared:
Passenger: Lena Graves.
Status: Confirmed.
Her phone screen cracked—
a thin, spiderweb fracture across her picture.
She dropped it onto her bed, backing away slowly until her back hit the wall.
The dorm hallway outside went dead silent.
Somewhere far below her window, a bus horn honked.
Once.
Long.
Echoing.
12:13 is coming back.