She sat directly behind me. The air grew heavy, and the lights began to flicker. I could hear her whispering, repeating a single name over and over. When I turned around, her face was pale, her eyes sunken, as if life had drained from them years ago.
Trying to ignore my fear, I stared out the window. That’s when I noticed her reflection—she wasn’t in it. Panic tightened my chest. I rang the bell, asking the driver to stop, but he didn’t respond.
The woman leaned close and whispered, “This was my last journey too.”
Suddenly, the bus screeched to a halt. I found myself alone on the roadside, the bus gone as if it never existed. At sunrise, I learned the truth: that bus had crashed years ago, killing everyone on board.
I still hear the whispers when I travel at night, reminding me some journeys never truly end. 👻🚌
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