Carl had been driving the late-night bus route for nearly a decade. The quiet roads, empty seats, and the soft hum of the engine were as familiar to him as the back of his hand. It was a simple life—one that didn’t demand much, except for a steady hand on the wheel and a watchful eye on the road. Most nights, the bus would be empty, the only sound the low growl of the engine and the occasional sigh of the wind outside. It was the sort of job that allowed you to think, to reflect, and for Carl, there was plenty to think about.

But tonight, something felt off.

It started when he stopped at the usual spot: an old, dimly lit bus stop on the edge of town. He'd passed it countless times without a second thought, but tonight, there was a figure standing by the light. The streetlights flickered, casting long, jagged shadows across the pavement.

Carl slowed the bus, squinting into the night. The woman standing at the stop was elderly, her movements slow and deliberate. She wore a vintage coat that seemed a little too thick for the warm summer night, and a wide-brimmed hat obscured most of her face.

He opened the door, offering his usual greeting, “Evening, ma’am.”

The woman didn’t respond, merely stepping aboard with a quiet grace. Carl nodded to her, then closed the door and resumed driving.

He glanced in the rearview mirror, expecting to see her sitting near the back, but she was already in place, as if she had always been there. Carl found himself distracted by her stillness. It was rare to have a passenger this late, especially on this stretch of road. But there was something more than just her silence that unsettled him. There was a strange, heavy feeling in the air—almost as if the night itself had taken on a deeper, more meaningful tone.

The woman remained quiet, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her gaze fixed out the window. Carl could feel her presence, not in the way one might notice another person sitting beside them, but in the way the air around them seemed to change. The night outside the window grew colder, the chill creeping into the bus, despite the heat of the summer. He shifted in his seat, turning up the heat, but it did little to chase away the feeling of unease.

He tried to focus on the road, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the woman. She hadn’t spoken a word since boarding, and he didn’t know why, but something about her felt… out of place.

The bus passed the usual landmarks, the sleepy town giving way to the surrounding fields, the houses growing fewer and farther between. The streetlights ahead flickered, casting strange shadows across the road. It was as if the whole world around him had grown dimmer, as if something was moving just out of sight.

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He glanced over his shoulder. The woman was still there, sitting motionless, her eyes fixed on the passing night. There was a faint glow around her, a shimmer in the air, like the edges of her form were slightly blurred. Carl felt his pulse quicken.

"Are you, uh, heading to the next stop?" Carl asked, trying to break the silence.

No response. She didn’t even move.

His eyes flicked back to the road, but the bus felt different now, as though it was no longer in the town he knew. The streets were unfamiliar, the route deviating in subtle ways, taking him down paths he didn’t recognize. He turned the wheel instinctively, but each turn seemed to lead him further away from the places he knew.

The woman, still silent, didn’t react. Carl tried again.

“Are you sure this is your stop?” he asked, his voice a little more strained.

She smiled then, a faint, knowing smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Not yet,” she replied, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Carl's heart skipped a beat. He didn’t know why, but there was something in her words, in the way she spoke, that sent a shiver down his spine. He gripped the steering wheel tighter and tried to ignore the growing sense of unease spreading through him.

Minutes stretched into hours. The bus rolled on, its wheels humming against the asphalt, but the world outside the window felt more and more distant. The streetlights blinked in and out of existence, leaving long stretches of road bathed in inky darkness. Carl felt his eyes growing heavy, but when he glanced in the rearview mirror, the woman was still there, staring out into the night.

Then, finally, the bus came to an unmarked stop—a small, crumbling station nestled between two tall, crooked trees that seemed to lean in toward the bus. It was a place Carl had never seen before. His foot hovered over the brake, unsure if he should pull over, but the woman stood and made her way toward the door without a word.

“Are you sure this is where you want to go?” Carl asked, his voice low.

The woman didn’t respond directly. Instead, she paused at the door and turned back to him, her eyes meeting his for the first time. Her gaze was soft but unfathomable. “I’ve been traveling a long time,” she said, her voice distant, as though she were speaking of something that had happened long ago.

With that, she stepped off the bus, the door closing behind her with an almost eerie finality.

Carl watched her walk into the darkness, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. He quickly started the engine, eager to leave the strange station behind, but when he looked back at the empty bus, he froze.

There, on the floor near the window, was a small, yellowed ticket stub.

He knelt to pick it up, his fingers trembling as he read the date: July 4, 1963.

Carl’s breath caught in his throat. His hands shook as he held the ticket, staring at it as if it might vanish if he looked away. He remembered the woman’s eyes, the quiet, unsettling way she had spoken. And now, this ticket—this ticket that had clearly been there for decades.

He swallowed hard, looking out at the darkened streets. The last passenger had gone, and the bus was empty once more. But Carl knew he would never forget the woman who had boarded his bus and taken him on a journey that, somehow, didn’t belong to this world.