It was a normal Friday night.I had just finished a late shift at the grocery store and was exhausted. The last bus home was supposed to leave at 11:45 p.m.
I checked my phone.
11:32.
Perfect.
I walked to the bus stop, just a few blocks from the store.
The stop was empty, except for one other person.
A woman.
She stood at the far end of the shelter, wearing a long, dark coat and a wool hat pulled low over her face.
I didn't think much of it.
People are weird, especially at night.
I sat down on the bench and pulled my hood up. The wind was cold, and the streetlight above me flickered.
I glanced at my watch.
11:47.
Still no bus.
I checked the schedule on my phone.
The next bus wasn't until 12:42 a.m.
That couldn't be right.
I looked up at the road.
There was no sign of the bus.
And the woman was gone.
I stood up, annoyed, and started walking toward the main road to see if I could get a taxi.
As I passed the bus shelter, I noticed something strange.
The woman was still there.
She hadn't moved.
But when I got closer, I realized she wasn't wearing a hat anymore.
Her face was pale.
Her eyes were completely black.
And she was smiling.
I froze.
She didn't speak.
She simply smiled and tilted her head slightly, as if inviting me to sit down.
I backed away.
Then I ran.
I didn't stop until I reached the main road.
I didn't look back.
When I finally got home, I checked the time.
2:17 a.m.
I told myself it had been a trick of the light.
That I was tired.
That I'd imagined it.
But the next morning, I found a note taped to my front door.
It was written in the same shaky handwriting as the bus schedule.
There were only six words:
The next bus is always on time.
I threw the note away.
I didn't take the bus again.
Not for weeks.
Then, one night, I got home from work and found another note beneath my apartment door.
This one said:
You missed it again.
I stopped sleeping properly after that.
Every night, sometime between 11:45 and midnight, I heard a bus outside my apartment.
I lived six blocks from the nearest bus route.
There wasn't supposed to be a bus anywhere near my building.
But every night I heard it.
The hiss of air brakes.
The squeal of tyres.
Then three knocks against my front door.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
I never opened it.
Until last night.
At 11:47, the knocking started.
Three slow knocks.
I looked through the peephole.
The hallway was empty.
Then I heard a woman's voice.
“Your bus is here.”
I stepped away from the door.
The voice continued.
“You've been waiting a long time.”
I heard the sound of an engine outside.
I looked out my window.
There was a bus parked on the street.
Its destination display didn't show a route number.
It simply said:
HOME
The doors opened.
And the woman stepped off.
She looked up directly at my window.
Even from four floors above, I could see her black eyes.
She smiled.
Then she raised one hand.
Behind her, the bus lights flickered.
And I saw dozens of people sitting inside.
Every one of them was staring at my apartment.
Then I noticed something that made my blood run cold.
One of the passengers looked exactly like me.
He was sitting beside the window.
Wearing the same clothes I was wearing.
He raised his hand.
And waved.
The woman smiled wider.
Then she pointed toward the empty seat beside him.
My phone suddenly buzzed.
A text message appeared.
LAST STOP: 11:47 P.M.
I looked at the clock.
11:47.
The bus doors opened again.
And this time, I heard my own voice coming from outside.
“Come on.”
I haven't left my apartment.
I'm writing this from inside my bedroom with the door locked.
But I can hear footsteps coming up the stairs.
Slowly.
One floor at a time.
Second floor.
Third.
Then fourth.
The footsteps have stopped outside my door.
There are three knocks.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
And now I can hear the woman whispering through the door.
“Last stop.”
The door handle is turning.
I don't think the bus wants me anymore.
I think it wants the other me.
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