Chapter One — 12:47 A.M.
Everyone in Saskatoon knows that the buses stop running eventually.
At least, that's what I thought.
It was a cold January night when I learned there was one bus that apparently didn't follow the schedule.
I had been working late downtown and missed my usual ride home. The wind coming off the South Saskatchewan River was brutal, so I decided to wait at the bus stop on 8th Street.
The electronic sign said:
ROUTE 8 — 12 MINUTES
I pulled my coat tighter around myself.
There was nobody else at the stop.
Then the sign changed.
ROUTE 8 — 1 MINUTE
I looked down the road.
A bus appeared in the distance.
Its headlights were unusually bright.
As it approached, I noticed something strange.
There was no route number displayed above the windshield.
The bus stopped directly in front of me.
The doors opened.
The driver looked at me.
He was an older man with pale skin and completely white hair.
"Where are you going?"
I told him my address.
He nodded.
"Get on."
I stepped inside.
The bus was completely empty.
Not one passenger.
I tapped my card.
The machine accepted it.
Then the doors closed.
As the bus pulled away, I looked at the driver through the mirror.
He wasn't looking at the road.
He was looking at me.
"First time?" he asked.
"First time on this route."
He smiled.
"No."
The bus turned onto a street I didn't recognize.
I looked outside.
The buildings were wrong.
The street signs were wrong.
Even the snow looked different.
Then I noticed something written on the window beside me.
Someone had scratched words into the glass.
DON'T GET OFF AT YOUR STOP.
I stared at them.
The driver suddenly spoke.
"Whatever you do..."
He paused.
"...don't listen when they call your name."
From the back of the bus came a voice.
My voice.
"Michael?"
I froze.
Someone had just called my name.
The driver looked at me in the mirror.
"Don't answer."
Then every light inside the bus went out.
And something began walking toward me from the back.
Chapter Two — The Passengers
I couldn't see anything.
The bus continued moving through the darkness.
I could hear footsteps approaching.
Slow.
Heavy.
One step at a time.
I wanted to run.
But there was nowhere to go.
Then the interior lights flickered back on.
There were people sitting in the seats.
Dozens of them.
They hadn't been there before.
Every passenger was facing forward.
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
I looked at the nearest passenger.
An elderly woman.
Her face was completely expressionless.
I looked at another.
A young man wearing a Saskatoon Blades jacket.
Then another.
A woman holding a grocery bag.
They all looked normal.
Until I noticed their eyes.
Every passenger was staring directly at me.
The bus driver spoke quietly.
"Don't look at them."
I looked away.
The bus continued.
Then someone whispered my name.
"Michael."
I kept my eyes on the floor.
"Michael."
Closer this time.
"Michael."
I felt someone sit beside me.
The seat sank under their weight.
I could smell something like wet earth.
A voice whispered directly beside my ear.
"You missed your stop."
I turned.
Nobody was there.
The bus suddenly stopped.
The doors opened.
Outside was a bus stop.
The sign said:
8TH STREET
I recognized it.
My stop.
The driver looked at me.
"Get off."
I remembered his warning.
Don't get off at your stop.
I stayed seated.
The doors closed.
The bus continued.
The driver smiled.
"Good."
"What happens if I get off?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he pointed toward the back.
I looked.
Every passenger was standing now.
And every one of them was facing me.
The old woman smiled.
Then she said something that made my blood run cold.
"He's coming."
Chapter Three — The Driver
The bus accelerated.
Faster than any city bus should have been able to travel.
The buildings outside became streaks of light.
The driver remained completely calm.
"Who is coming?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
"Who?"
Finally, he spoke.
"The person who owns the route."
I laughed nervously.
"That's not funny."
"I wasn't joking."
The bus entered a tunnel.
Saskatoon doesn't have a tunnel like that.
I knew that.
But there it was.
A long concrete passage stretching beneath the city.
The lights inside flickered past us.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then I noticed something written on the walls.
Names.
Hundreds of names.
Some were almost impossible to read.
Others were fresh.
I saw one from 1952.
Another from 1979.
Another from 2001.
Then I saw a name I recognized.
My father's.
I stopped breathing.
He had died years earlier.
I jumped up.
"Stop the bus!"
The driver slammed on the brakes.
The passengers remained perfectly still.
I pointed toward the wall.
"That name."
The driver looked at it.
"I know."
"How?"
"He rode this bus too."
My stomach turned.
"My father?"
The driver nodded.
"He got off."
"Where?"
The driver looked at me.
"Home."
That made no sense.
"He died."
"Yes."
The driver turned back toward the road.
"That's what happens when you get off."
The bus began moving again.
I sat down.
Then I heard a sound from the back.
Someone was laughing.
I turned.
The passengers were smiling.
All of them.
And at the very back of the bus sat my father.
Chapter Four — Dad
He looked exactly as I remembered him.
Same coat.
Same glasses.
Same tired smile.
I stood.
"Dad?"
The driver shouted:
"Don't!"
My father raised one finger to his lips.
"Don't listen to him."
His voice was exactly right.
I walked toward him.
The passengers moved aside.
"Dad, what is this?"
He looked sad.
"You shouldn't have taken the bus."
"I didn't know."
"I know."
He looked toward the driver.
"He's been doing this for a very long time."
The driver didn't react.
My father leaned closer.
"This bus doesn't travel through Saskatoon."
"Then where are we?"
He pointed toward the windows.
"Between places."
I looked outside.
The tunnel had disappeared.
Now the bus was travelling beside the river.
But the river was enormous.
It stretched to the horizon.
There were no bridges.
No buildings.
No lights.
Only black water.
Floating on the water were hundreds of street signs.
8th Street.
Circle Drive.
Idylwyld Drive.
College Drive.
Broadway.
All of them slowly sinking.
My father whispered:
"The city is being erased."
"What?"
He looked at me.
"Every time someone takes this bus, something disappears."
"Why?"
"Because the thing driving it needs somewhere to go."
The bus suddenly stopped.
The doors opened.
Outside was my childhood home.
My father stood.
"This is my stop."
"No."
He smiled.
"You can't come with me."
He stepped off.
The doors closed.
I watched him disappear into the house.
Then the house vanished.
I screamed.
The driver looked at me.
"Now you understand."
Chapter Five — The Last Stop
The bus continued.
Buildings disappeared outside the windows.
First neighbourhoods.
Then streets.
Then entire sections of Saskatoon.
I could see the city becoming darker behind us.
"What happens when everything disappears?"
The driver didn't answer.
I looked at the passengers.
Some were crying.
Some were sleeping.
Some were staring blankly ahead.
One by one, they began disappearing.
A man vanished.
Then a woman.
Then a child.
Finally, only three passengers remained.
The driver.
Me.
And an old woman sitting at the back.
She looked at me.
"You have to drive."
I laughed.
"What?"
"You have to take his place."
The driver turned around.
She continued.
"Every driver was once a passenger."
I looked at the driver.
"Is that true?"
He nodded.
"I got on this bus in 1948."
"Where were you going?"
"Saskatoon."
"And you never arrived?"
He smiled.
"I arrived."
He pointed toward the windshield.
"This is what Saskatoon looks like now."
I looked ahead.
The road ended at a massive black doorway.
Beyond it was complete darkness.
The driver stopped.
"This is the last stop."
The doors opened.
Cold air rushed inside.
I could hear thousands of voices outside.
All calling my name.
The driver stood.
"It's your turn."
He walked toward the door.
Then he disappeared.
The old woman stood beside me.
"Drive."
I looked at the controls.
The engine was still running.
I understood.
If I didn't take the driver's seat, the bus would continue.
And wherever it went, something would disappear.
Maybe Saskatoon.
Maybe the entire world.
I sat behind the wheel.
The bus doors closed.
The old woman smiled.
"Good."
Then every passenger disappeared.
I was alone.
Chapter Six — The Route
The steering wheel was freezing.
I looked at the dashboard.
There was no speedometer.
No fuel gauge.
Only one display.
NEXT STOP: SASKATOON
I laughed.
"Saskatoon?"
The bus started moving.
The darkness outside disappeared.
Suddenly I was driving down 8th Street.
Everything looked normal.
Cars.
Buildings.
Traffic lights.
People walking.
I almost cried with relief.
Then I noticed something.
Nobody could see the bus.
Cars drove straight through it.
People walked through the passengers' seats.
I was driving through the city like a ghost.
The bus stopped at a familiar intersection.
A young man stood at the bus stop.
He looked cold.
Alone.
I opened the doors.
He stepped inside.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
He gave me an address.
I knew it.
It was my address.
I stared at him.
"Why are you going there?"
He smiled.
"To see you."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
The doors closed.
The bus continued.
The young man walked toward the back.
I looked in the mirror.
He was gone.
In his place was another passenger.
Me.
A second version of myself was sitting at the back of the bus.
He looked at me.
Then he smiled.
"You finally understand."
I gripped the steering wheel.
"Understand what?"
He leaned forward.
"There was never a last bus."
The lights went out.
Chapter Seven — The Real Saskatoon
When the lights returned, Saskatoon was gone.
Not destroyed.
Not abandoned.
Gone.
There was nothing outside the windows.
No buildings.
No roads.
No river.
Only endless darkness.
My other self stood behind me.
"The bus doesn't travel through the city."
"Then where does it go?"
"Through people's memories."
He pointed toward the windshield.
"Every stop is someone's memory of Saskatoon."
I looked outside.
Suddenly I saw my childhood.
There was my father.
There was my old home.
There was my first school.
There were streets I hadn't seen in decades.
Everything was there.
The bus was driving through my memories.
My other self whispered:
"Eventually, you forget."
"What?"
"You forget the city."
Then I realized what had been happening.
The more I rode the bus, the more memories disappeared.
My father's face.
My childhood home.
My friends.
My first job.
Everything.
The bus wasn't taking people.
It was taking memories.
And when nothing remained, the person disappeared too.
My other self smiled.
"You're almost empty."
I looked at my hands.
They were becoming transparent.
"No."
I grabbed the steering wheel.
"I remember."
The bus shook.
I shouted every memory I could think of.
My father's name.
My mother's voice.
The smell of snow.
The river.
8th Street.
The bridges.
The University.
The streets downtown.
The bus began screaming.
Not the engine.
The bus itself.
The walls cracked.
The windows shattered.
And something enormous screamed from beneath the floor.
Chapter Eight — The River
The bus exploded into darkness.
I woke beside the South Saskatchewan River.
Morning sunlight was coming through the trees.
People were walking along the path.
A cyclist passed me.
A dog barked.
Everything seemed normal.
I checked my phone.
8:14 a.m.
There was no record of the bus.
No strange messages.
Nothing.
I went home.
My apartment was exactly as I had left it.
For several days, nothing happened.
Then I noticed something.
My father was missing from every photograph.
I searched my phone.
Nothing.
I searched old albums.
Nothing.
Nobody else remembered him.
I asked my mother.
She stared at me.
"Who?"
I felt sick.
"You know. Dad."
She looked confused.
"I don't have a husband."
I realized then that the bus had won.
It had taken him.
Not his life.
His memory.
And I was the only person who remembered him.
That night, I heard a bus outside.
I looked through the window.
A city bus sat across the street.
Its lights were off.
The route display was blank.
The doors opened.
Nobody got out.
Then my phone vibrated.
One message.
YOUR FATHER IS WAITING.
A second message followed.
HE MISSES YOU.
Chapter Nine — The Bus Stop
I went outside.
I knew I shouldn't.
But I had to know.
The bus waited at the curb.
I walked toward it.
The driver was gone.
The doors were open.
I stepped inside.
The bus was empty.
Except for one seat.
My father was sitting there.
He looked exactly as I remembered him.
I started crying.
"Dad."
He smiled.
"You remembered."
"How do I get you back?"
"You can't."
"Why?"
"Because someone has to drive."
I looked toward the driver's seat.
There was nobody there.
My father stood.
"You already know what happens."
"No."
He placed his hand on my shoulder.
"Every city needs someone who remembers."
The bus doors closed.
I understood.
If I left, the bus would take someone else.
Another passenger.
Another memory.
Another family.
Another piece of Saskatoon.
So I sat behind the wheel.
My father sat behind me.
The engine started.
Outside the windows, the city appeared.
Saskatoon.
Perfect.
Alive.
Real.
I smiled.
Then I saw something that made me afraid.
Every bus stop was filled with people.
Thousands of them.
Waiting.
All of them staring at me.
And every one of them was holding a photograph.
In every photograph was someone they had forgotten.
Chapter Ten — The Driver
I have been driving the bus for three years.
I don't age.
I don't sleep.
I don't leave the driver's seat.
But I remember.
That's the important part.
Every night, the bus travels through Saskatoon.
Sometimes it takes someone.
Sometimes it returns someone.
Sometimes it simply drives past.
Most people never notice it.
But occasionally, someone sees the empty route display.
Someone notices the bus arriving at 12:47 a.m.
Someone steps aboard.
When they do, I ask the same question.
"Where are you going?"
They give me an address.
I take them there.
But before they leave, I warn them.
"Don't get off at your stop."
Most don't listen.
Some do.
The ones who listen become passengers.
The ones who don't become memories.
And occasionally, someone remembers too much.
Those people become drivers.
Tonight, I am sitting at the wheel again.
The city is quiet.
Snow is falling.
The river is black beneath the bridges.
I see someone waiting at the next stop.
A man standing alone.
He looks familiar.
Very familiar.
I pull over.
The doors open.
He steps inside.
I look at him.
He looks at me.
Neither of us speaks.
Then I realize who he is.
My father.
He smiles.
"You've been driving a long time."
I look at the clock.
12:47 a.m.
Exactly the same time as the night I first boarded.
My father sits down.
I grip the steering wheel.
Outside, Saskatoon begins to disappear.
One street at a time.
One building at a time.
One memory at a time.
And somewhere beneath the South Saskatchewan River, something enormous wakes up.
The bus begins moving.
I turn onto 8th Street.
And the route display finally lights up.
NEXT STOP: NOWHERE.
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