The Last Stop: another short, scary story

“The Last Stop”

It was almost midnight when I got on the last bus home.
The streets were empty, just slick black tarmac glistening under the orange streetlights.

The bus was nearly empty, too — just me, a woman in a red coat two rows ahead, and the driver. I took a seat at the back, put my headphones in, and stared out the window.

About ten minutes into the ride, the driver pulled over unexpectedly.
We weren’t at a stop.

He stood up, turned to face us, and said in a low voice:

“Both of you. Off the bus. Now.”

The woman in the red coat immediately protested. “This isn’t my stop—”

The driver’s tone hardened.

“NOW.”

Something in his voice made my stomach twist. I grabbed my bag and got off with her. The moment we stepped onto the pavement, he slammed the doors shut and drove away fast.

We just stood there, baffled, watching the bus disappear down the road.

Then we saw it.

From where we’d been sitting, you couldn’t see the seats at the very back of the bus. But now, through the rear window, illuminated for just a moment by a passing streetlight…
There was a man sitting there.

He grinned, and for a moment I thought I saw more teeth than a human mouth could possibly hold — row after row, gleaming in the dim bus light.