The 3_30 A.M. Bus_ Ride With the Dead

The prince of New York crashed into my latenight bus and knocked out my teeth. He said he would repay me—with his life.

I drove the latenight bus that runs only once a month, departing at exactly 3:30 a.m. No exceptions.

The time was unusual, the location was unusual and the passengers were… strange. I’ve never seen their faces.

The old driver who trained me told me not to ask questions. If I did happen to find something out, I was supposed to pretend I didn’t know.

Tonight, as always, the bus departed right on schedule. Following the rules, I didn’t check whether the cabin was full; I simply announced, “Time’s up,” and pulled away.

But before I could even shift into gear, the bus was slammed into by a luxury car. A group of rowdy young men spilled out.

“You’ve got the nerve to block my way?”

They reeked of alcohol. They dragged me from the driver’s seat, forced me to kneel and demanded I apologize—laughing as they filmed it for social media.

The bus was filled with restless passengers.

I warned them, “If we miss the departure time, it will cost you your life.

——

I was checking my watch, waiting for the exact moment to leave, when...

BANG!

A violent crash shook the bus, jolting me forward. The steering wheel almost slipped from my hands.

Outside, the sharp screech of brakes sliced through the quiet early morning. The tires’ wail against the asphalt was unsettling in the stillness.

The driver’s compartment filled with the overpowering stench of alcohol mixed with expensive cologne. I turned and a hand suddenly seized my collar, yanking me out.

My back slammed into cold metal, making my vision explode with stars.

The man in charge was wearing crocodileskin shoes, the cuffs of his tailored suit dusted with dirt. It was Jerry Shawn.

His black Bentley was still lodged against the rear bumper of the bus. Anyone could see he had rearended it.

“Got a problem? You dare to block this gentleman’s way?” Jerry sneered, his breath heavy with liquor. He ground the shiny heel of his shoe into my wrist, pressing down until my knuckles ached.

“Do you have any idea how much this car costs? Selling you wouldn’t even cover the damage!”

His baldheaded thug forced me down, his knee digging into my lower back, making me kneel.

A phone camera was shoved in my face. Jerry’s mocking voice came through, dripping with laughter. “Kneel and admit you’re wrong. Record it, post it online—let’s show you what the rules are.”

I struggled to lift my eyes. The dashboard clock read 3:27.

The shadows inside the bus were moving restlessly, like candles flickering in the wind. The faint rustle of fabric came from the seats, followed by a barely audible sigh.

The last time I was two minutes late to the final stop, I collapsed onto the steering wheel that same night. My chest had felt as if it were crushed beneath an iron slab, every breath tasting of rust.

I stayed in bed for half a month. When my mentor visited, he stared at the blue blotches spreading across the whites of my eyes and simply said, “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“The bus didn’t move—you crashed into it,” I gritted my teeth, wanting to argue.

But no matter how unwilling I was, I had to bow my head. The bus had to depart on time.

“I’ll pay for the repairs. Just let me get back and leave now—if I’m any later, it’ll be too late.”

Jerry snorted and snatched my work ID from around my neck. The plastic case creaked in his grip.

“NYC Platinum Passenger Transport? What’s so special about it? You got the king of hell riding inside?”

He jerked his chin at the bald man. “Go check it out. See what this guy’s deal is.”

The thug muttered, “Alright,” and shuffled toward the bus door in his slippers.

I heard the door open and suddenly, the cabin fell silent. Not even a whisper of movement remained.

A few seconds later, the bald man came running back down, his pant legs covered in dust. “It’s empty! Not a soul in sight! Jerry, this guy’s just messing with you!”

“Messing with me?”

Jerry’s palm struck my face like a fan blade. My cheek burned and I tasted blood.

Jerry ground my work ID under his shoe.

“Now you’re scared? Too late!”

Suddenly, his silverhaired henchman screamed, “Jerry! The car… the car won’t start! The engine compartment is like a boiling pot!”

Jerry spun around sharply. From the Bentley’s hood came strange clicking sounds and the dashboard needles twitched wildly like a dying fish.

His expression darkened instantly. He grabbed my collar, yanking me toward the Bentley, his nails digging into my neck.

“Did you hear that? You wrecked my car! Take me home now, or you’ll be paying for the repairs until the next life!”

“I have to leave…” I couldn’t agree to his demand—it was time to go.

“Go to hell!”

He jabbed his finger toward the Bentley’s emblem.

“The front bumper and paint job alone will cost at least 500,000 dollars! Either you take me now, or expect a court summons tomorrow.”

I looked toward the bus door. The shadowy figures inside were already pressed against the glass, silently urging me to get moving.

The number 29 glared at me from the dashboard like an omen. A patch of moisture seeped onto the steering wheel, as if a cold, wet hand had just been pressed there.

“…Get on the bus,” I said at last, my voice hoarse.

Jerry smirked, satisfied and motioned for his men to follow him.

The bald man jumped aboard first. He was about to curse and claim a seat when he suddenly sprang back up with a yelp.

“What the hell? Something’s pricking my ass!”

He grabbed at the seat cushion, but found only a cold metal plate. When he pulled his hand back, his fingertips were coated in a grayishblack powder—like burnt paper ash.

“What a useless idiot,” Jerry muttered, kicking him aside before dropping into the passenger seat. But the moment his hand touched the surface, he jerked it back.

“Why does this seat feel like an icebox?”

I started the engine. In the rearview mirror, the shadowy figures suddenly melted back into their seats, as if they had never moved.

Outside, the Bentley’s hood still gaped open in the early morning breeze, like a mouth left hanging.

At exactly thirty seconds past, the bus body shuddered lightly, as if someone had tapped the brakes.

I gripped the wheel tighter and checked the backseat in the mirror. Jerry was glued to his phone, the bald man was scratching himself and the silverhaired one stared blankly out the window.

None of them noticed the figure now sitting quietly in the back row—a man in a gray cotton jacket, his sleeves hanging loosely, his head slightly bowed as he watched them.

They didn’t see him. But I did. And I couldn’t risk my life with them on board. I made my decision instantly.

Just as the bus took the third corner, a sudden shriek came from the back.

“Jerry! This isn’t the way to your house!”

Jerry was still scrolling through his phone, but his head snapped up. Outside, the streets had changed—the streetlights were scattered and sparse, like gums missing teeth.

“Where the hell are you taking me?” He hurled his phone at the back of my head. “Daring to take a detour? Tired of living?”

I kept my hands tight on the wheel. This was the route the Master had strictly ordered me to follow—the mandatory route—said to avoid “unclean things.”

But in the mirror, Jerry was already storming toward me, his eyes bloodshot, fists pounding against my head.

“I told you not to turn! Did you hear me?”

Pain exploded in my forehead. Blood trickled down past my eyebrow, blurring my vision.

I clung to the wheel. Then he grabbed an empty wine bottle from the side and smashed it against my cheek.

Crack! Shards of glass mixed with blood filled my mouth. I spat, a tooth landing in my palm with the metallic tang of blood foam.

“Dare to resist?”

The bald man had pulled out a folding knife from somewhere. With a sharp snap, the blade locked into place, its cold edge pressing against my neck.

“Move again and I’ll bleed you dry.”

The sharp sting of the blade pressing into my skin made my whole body go rigid.

In the rearview mirror, I noticed something unsettling—the figures in the back of the bus had straightened up at some point. Their blurry outlines looked like paper dolls swaying in the wind, all of them facing the driver’s seat.

Gritting my teeth, I flipped on the turn signal and jerked the wheel, changing direction sharply. The tires screeched across the asphalt and from behind came a faint sigh—like autumn wind through dry leaves—carrying a chill that seeped straight into my bones.

Goosebumps prickled across my arms, but Jerry and his men burst into laughter.

“Why didn’t you do this earlier?” Jerry kicked the back of my seat. “At least you know when to give in.”

The alternate route was much smoother and soon, Jerry’s villa emerged from the shadows of the night.

As soon as the bus stopped, he strode down the steps with his henchmen, deliberately grinding his heel into the tooth I had dropped on the floor mat.

“You’re a complete failure.” He spat the words down at me. “The repair costs for the Bentley must be transferred to my account within three days—or you’ll be in jail.”

The bald man and the silverhaired one laughed, shoving each other as they made their way toward the villa’s entrance.

I watched their backs, anger burning hot in my chest—until, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the bus door.

Three faint gray shadows were silently following them.

They were paler than the night, like wet paper clinging to the backs of Jerry and his two men.

Jerry’s shadow was crooked, with a thin trail of gray mist drifting from the base of his neck.

The bald man’s shadow was missing one shoulder, as though something had gnawed it away.

The silverhaired man’s shadow was the most disturbing—a grayblack thread was wound tightly around his feet, pinning him in place like a specimen on a board.

The three of them were oblivious, still bragging about how they had “taught me a lesson.”

The villa’s lights drew closer, stretching their human shadows long and thin, while the three gray ones blended seamlessly into them—like stains that could never be washed away—following step by step into the warm glow.

I clenched my bloodstained tooth until my knuckles turned white. In the rearview mirror, the passengers had all returned to their seats, as though nothing had happened.

Only the fading chill of the knife at my neck and the sticky warmth of the tooth in my palm reminded me it hadn’t been my imagination.

The night wind blew through the open window, carrying with it the faint scent of burning paper.

As the villa door closed, I thought I heard a soft, satisfied sigh drift from one of the lit windows.

I slammed the bus door shut, trying to shut out the cold. But the sound from the back grew louder—a faint tap… tap… tap… against the seatback, slow and deliberate, like nails dragging on wood.

I didn’t dare turn around. My eyes stayed locked on the road ahead as I steered the bus back toward that familiar dark alley.

The dashboard clock read 4:07—thirteen minutes late.

In the rearview mirror, the blurred figures seemed to sit even straighter, their faces still indistinct.

As we neared the final stop, I spotted a figure under the dim streetlight.

My stomach dropped. This stop was always for people getting off, never for someone waiting—and certainly not at this hour.

When the bus came to a halt, I opened the door and was greeted by a wrinkled, sour face.

The man wore a faded oldstyle suit and clutched an enamel cup in his hand. As soon as I stepped off, he started shouting.

“You little brat, what’s wrong with you? Thirteen minutes late! Don’t you know the rules of this bus?”

My throat tightened. I was about to explain about Jerry, but his gaze shifted past me, peering into the bus compartment. His brows furrowed even deeper.

“Just now… how many old ones got off?”

“Old guys” was the driver’s term for those passengers.

I froze, thinking of the gray shadows trailing behind Jerry and his group and muttered, “I… I’m not sure, but it seemed like they followed.”

“Ah, never mind.” The driver waved a hand dismissively and tapped the enamel cup on the ground.

“If the sky falls, there’s always someone taller to hold it up. It’s not your concern.”

He bent down and picked something up from the carriage floor—it was my work ID, the one Jerry had crushed and crumpled. The plastic cover was cracked and the photo still showed the naïve expression I’d worn when I first started the job.

The driver brushed the dust away with his rough fingers, blew lightly on the edges, then raised the strap and placed the ID back around my neck.

The cold plastic pressed against my chest and his fingertips, calloused from years of gripping the steering wheel, accidentally brushed my skin.

“Remember to bring your work ID when you go to work.”

He looked at me, his eyes as deep and still as a pond.

“This thing is sometimes more important than your life.”

Without another word, he turned toward the carriage. Instead of taking the wheel, he stood in the middle of the aisle and called softly, “We’ve arrived at the station.”

Then he pulled a brass bell from his pocket—its surface polished smooth, faint patterns etched into the metal.

He shook it gently.

Dingling… dingling…

The crisp sound rang out like spring water trickling over stones, instantly drowning out the rustling noises inside the carriage.

Even the chill in the air seemed to ease, replaced by a strange calm that settled deep in the chest, as if something invisible had quietly washed over it.

I watched as the figures in the back row began to move. One by one, they slowly stood, their movements stiff but orderly and shuffled toward the door.

With each chime of the bell, their outlines became both clearer and hazier at the same time—like ink dissolving in water.

Suddenly, a sharp cry for help rang out from far away. It was broken, uneven and muffled, as though something were covering the mouth of the speaker.

“Help… help…”

The sound came from the direction of Jerry’s villa.

The driver paused in his ringing for just a moment, then continued at the same pace, his voice calm and detached.

“Did you hear that?”

The cries grew fainter, until they ended with a dull, muffled thud—then silence.

The wind in the alley picked up, colder now, swaying the streetlights and twisting the shadows on the ground.

The driver tucked the bell back into his robe, then patted my shoulder harder than usual.

“Remember, the rules of this ride aren’t set by humans.”

I watched as the figures stepped out of the bus, one by one and disappeared into the depths of the dark alley. Only then did the driver turn back to me and nod.

“Pack up. Let’s go.”

I stood there for a moment, staring toward Jerry’s villa. It was still pitchblack, no lights on anywhere.

The bloodstained tooth in my palm had gone cold, but the work ID hanging from my neck felt faintly warm—like it had absorbed some of the bell’s lingering heat.