NSFW
yuurs
Grasshopper
Every night at exactly 10:30 p.m., the last bus left the small town of Greenfield. Everyone knew the rule: if you missed that bus, you had to walk home in the dark.
Seventeen-year-old Nora learned that lesson the hard way.
One Friday evening, she stayed late at school to finish a group project. By the time they packed their bags and said goodbye, the hallways were empty and the sky outside had already turned deep blue.
Nora checked her phone.
10:28 p.m.
Her eyes widened.
“Oh no,” she whispered, grabbing her backpack. She ran out of the school gate and sprinted down the sidewalk toward the bus stop. Her footsteps echoed in the quiet street, and her lungs burned as she pushed herself faster.
From a distance, she saw the bus.
It was already pulling away.
“Wait!” she shouted, waving her arms.
But the bus didn’t stop. Its red taillights grew smaller and smaller until they disappeared around the corner.
Nora bent over, breathing heavily.
“Great,” she muttered. “Now I have to walk.”
Her house was nearly four kilometers away. The road was long, with only a few streetlights and very little traffic at night. She tightened her jacket and started walking.
The night felt unusually quiet. Crickets chirped in the fields, and the wind rustled through the trees. After about fifteen minutes, Nora heard the sound of an engine behind her.
She turned around.
It was the same bus.
But something was strange.
The bus moved slowly, almost silently, and its interior lights flickered. Nora couldn’t see any passengers inside. The driver’s face was hidden in shadow.
The bus stopped right beside her with a soft hiss.
The doors opened.
For a moment, Nora hesitated. A cold feeling crept up her spine. She stepped back slightly.
Then the driver spoke in a calm, gentle voice.
“You missed your ride.”
Nora nodded cautiously.
“Yes…”
The driver tilted his head toward the empty seats.
“Get in. I’ll take you home.”
She looked around. The road was deserted, and the night air felt colder than before. Part of her wanted to refuse, but the long walk ahead made her tired just thinking about it.
Slowly, she stepped onto the bus.
The doors closed behind her.
As the bus started moving again, Nora noticed how quiet it was. No music. No chatter. Just the low hum of the engine. She sat near the front, gripping her backpack tightly.
After a few minutes, curiosity got the better of her.
“Are you the regular driver?” she asked.
The driver didn’t answer immediately.
Finally, he said,
“I drive when people need help getting home.”
Nora frowned. That was a strange answer.
They continued down the dark road. Outside the window, the familiar landmarks passed by—the gas station, the old bridge, the grocery store. Everything looked normal, yet the silence inside the bus felt heavy.
Soon, the bus slowed to a stop in front of her house.
Nora blinked in surprise.
“We’re here,” the driver said.
She stood up quickly and walked to the door. As it opened, warm light from her porch spilled onto the pavement.
“Thank you,” she said, stepping off the bus.
The driver nodded once.
“Next time,” he added gently,
“don’t rush through your day. Some rides are easier to miss than others.”
Nora turned to wave goodbye—but the bus was already pulling away. Within seconds, it disappeared into the darkness.
The next morning, Nora told her parents about the strange ride. Her father listened carefully, then his expression changed.
“That’s impossible,” he said quietly.
“Why?” Nora asked.
He hesitated before answering.
“That bus line stopped running night routes five years ago… after a driver saved a student by giving her a ride home during a storm. On his way back to the depot, he had an accident.”
Nora felt a shiver run through her.
Since that night, she always made sure to leave earlier, never taking time—or safety—for granted.
And sometimes, when the clock struck 10:30 p.m., she could swear she heard the distant sound of a bus engine passing by, making one last trip to help someone get home.
Seventeen-year-old Nora learned that lesson the hard way.
One Friday evening, she stayed late at school to finish a group project. By the time they packed their bags and said goodbye, the hallways were empty and the sky outside had already turned deep blue.
Nora checked her phone.
10:28 p.m.
Her eyes widened.
“Oh no,” she whispered, grabbing her backpack. She ran out of the school gate and sprinted down the sidewalk toward the bus stop. Her footsteps echoed in the quiet street, and her lungs burned as she pushed herself faster.
From a distance, she saw the bus.
It was already pulling away.
“Wait!” she shouted, waving her arms.
But the bus didn’t stop. Its red taillights grew smaller and smaller until they disappeared around the corner.
Nora bent over, breathing heavily.
“Great,” she muttered. “Now I have to walk.”
Her house was nearly four kilometers away. The road was long, with only a few streetlights and very little traffic at night. She tightened her jacket and started walking.
The night felt unusually quiet. Crickets chirped in the fields, and the wind rustled through the trees. After about fifteen minutes, Nora heard the sound of an engine behind her.
She turned around.
It was the same bus.
But something was strange.
The bus moved slowly, almost silently, and its interior lights flickered. Nora couldn’t see any passengers inside. The driver’s face was hidden in shadow.
The bus stopped right beside her with a soft hiss.
The doors opened.
For a moment, Nora hesitated. A cold feeling crept up her spine. She stepped back slightly.
Then the driver spoke in a calm, gentle voice.
“You missed your ride.”
Nora nodded cautiously.
“Yes…”
The driver tilted his head toward the empty seats.
“Get in. I’ll take you home.”
She looked around. The road was deserted, and the night air felt colder than before. Part of her wanted to refuse, but the long walk ahead made her tired just thinking about it.
Slowly, she stepped onto the bus.
The doors closed behind her.
As the bus started moving again, Nora noticed how quiet it was. No music. No chatter. Just the low hum of the engine. She sat near the front, gripping her backpack tightly.
After a few minutes, curiosity got the better of her.
“Are you the regular driver?” she asked.
The driver didn’t answer immediately.
Finally, he said,
“I drive when people need help getting home.”
Nora frowned. That was a strange answer.
They continued down the dark road. Outside the window, the familiar landmarks passed by—the gas station, the old bridge, the grocery store. Everything looked normal, yet the silence inside the bus felt heavy.
Soon, the bus slowed to a stop in front of her house.
Nora blinked in surprise.
“We’re here,” the driver said.
She stood up quickly and walked to the door. As it opened, warm light from her porch spilled onto the pavement.
“Thank you,” she said, stepping off the bus.
The driver nodded once.
“Next time,” he added gently,
“don’t rush through your day. Some rides are easier to miss than others.”
Nora turned to wave goodbye—but the bus was already pulling away. Within seconds, it disappeared into the darkness.
The next morning, Nora told her parents about the strange ride. Her father listened carefully, then his expression changed.
“That’s impossible,” he said quietly.
“Why?” Nora asked.
He hesitated before answering.
“That bus line stopped running night routes five years ago… after a driver saved a student by giving her a ride home during a storm. On his way back to the depot, he had an accident.”
Nora felt a shiver run through her.
Since that night, she always made sure to leave earlier, never taking time—or safety—for granted.
And sometimes, when the clock struck 10:30 p.m., she could swear she heard the distant sound of a bus engine passing by, making one last trip to help someone get home.
