The Last Bus Home
Maya missed the final train after working late in Bangkok, forcing her to take an old night bus she had never seen before.
The driver never spoke.
Neither did the passengers.
Everyone stared forward silently.
As the bus moved through empty streets, Maya realized something strange: nobody ever got off.
No matter how many stops passed.
At one red light, she checked her phone.
No signal.
The bus entered a foggy road she didn’t recognize.
Panic slowly built inside her chest.
Finally, she approached the driver.
“Excuse me… where are we going?”
The driver answered without looking at her.
“End of the line.”
His voice sounded wrong — hollow and distant.
Maya hurried back to her seat and noticed the passengers more carefully.
Their clothes looked outdated.
Some appeared injured.
One elderly woman beside her suddenly whispered:
“You’re still alive. You need to leave before the bridge.”
Maya’s blood turned cold.
Ahead, through the fog, she saw a broken bridge stretching over dark water.
The bus never slowed down.
Terrified, Maya ran to the emergency exit and jumped.
She woke in a hospital two days later.
Police told her she’d been found unconscious near an abandoned road outside the city.
What disturbed her most came later.
While searching online, she found a newspaper article about a deadly bus accident on that exact road 18 years earlier.
No survivors.
The bus number matched perfectly.
