Monkmaster
05-23-2009, 06:47 PM
So in this thread we write short, chilling stories. Let's hope this picks up. Inspired by http://creepypasta.net
The Bus
On a not-so-spectacular New Years Eve, a friend and I had gotten together to make the most of the evening. I lived out in the country, behind a mountain that ultimately separated my property from the big city. We cracked a few beers and headed out to the front porch, hoping we may see a few fireworks over the mountain’s horizon. It was 11:03 at the time we sat down, the night accentuated by the falling snow. It was cold, but we were comfortable in our sweaters. We chatted, finished our beers and opened new ones.
In mid-sentence, I was interrupted by the sound of a heavy vehicle coming down the road to the left of my house. I couldn’t see the vehicle yet, but it’s headlights pierced through the thick fur of the roadside trees. Then it came into view. A Greyhound bus. It slowed down as it drew closer and closer to my driveway. The squeal of the air brakes shot through the sky as the bus finally came to a halt right in front of my house. My friend looked at me confused, with a hint of a smile; but I just looked back at him perplexed as I’ve ever been. My friend put down his beer on the little table between our chairs and stood up. He looked back down at me and then again at the bus. He started walking towards it.
About halfway down the driveway, the lone bus driver reached over to the door controls and the folding doors cracked open. As my friend began the stairs up to the bus, I got up out of my chair frantically, spilling my beer in the process and ran towards the bus. Halfway down the driveway, I watched through the bus’s windows as my friend sat down at the back of the bus. The driver stared at me, although his eyes were completely closed. I approached the doorway to the bus cautiously and with calculated footing, ascended the few stairs. The bus driver kept staring at me, eyes still closed, face expressionless. He abruptly reached for me and I flinched slightly, although he had only reached for the door lever. The doors cracked shut and I looked down the aisle at my friend sitting at the back of the bus, still with that strange little smile on his lips.
The bus started to crawl forward, and I grabbed on to a support bar when suddenly everything went black.
I opened my eyes to the sound of fireworks, peaking over the mountain’s horizon. Rubbing my legs in sheer disbelief, I look over at my friend, who’s not there anymore. The winter cold rips through my sweater as my spine begins to shiver. In his empty chair is a bus ticket. The destination field is blank.
The Bus
On a not-so-spectacular New Years Eve, a friend and I had gotten together to make the most of the evening. I lived out in the country, behind a mountain that ultimately separated my property from the big city. We cracked a few beers and headed out to the front porch, hoping we may see a few fireworks over the mountain’s horizon. It was 11:03 at the time we sat down, the night accentuated by the falling snow. It was cold, but we were comfortable in our sweaters. We chatted, finished our beers and opened new ones.
In mid-sentence, I was interrupted by the sound of a heavy vehicle coming down the road to the left of my house. I couldn’t see the vehicle yet, but it’s headlights pierced through the thick fur of the roadside trees. Then it came into view. A Greyhound bus. It slowed down as it drew closer and closer to my driveway. The squeal of the air brakes shot through the sky as the bus finally came to a halt right in front of my house. My friend looked at me confused, with a hint of a smile; but I just looked back at him perplexed as I’ve ever been. My friend put down his beer on the little table between our chairs and stood up. He looked back down at me and then again at the bus. He started walking towards it.
About halfway down the driveway, the lone bus driver reached over to the door controls and the folding doors cracked open. As my friend began the stairs up to the bus, I got up out of my chair frantically, spilling my beer in the process and ran towards the bus. Halfway down the driveway, I watched through the bus’s windows as my friend sat down at the back of the bus. The driver stared at me, although his eyes were completely closed. I approached the doorway to the bus cautiously and with calculated footing, ascended the few stairs. The bus driver kept staring at me, eyes still closed, face expressionless. He abruptly reached for me and I flinched slightly, although he had only reached for the door lever. The doors cracked shut and I looked down the aisle at my friend sitting at the back of the bus, still with that strange little smile on his lips.
The bus started to crawl forward, and I grabbed on to a support bar when suddenly everything went black.
I opened my eyes to the sound of fireworks, peaking over the mountain’s horizon. Rubbing my legs in sheer disbelief, I look over at my friend, who’s not there anymore. The winter cold rips through my sweater as my spine begins to shiver. In his empty chair is a bus ticket. The destination field is blank.