Bus 13

It was raining. Of fucking course, it was raining. Myra sighed as she pulled the hood of her thin jacket over her hair. Fat lot of good that did...  

She didn’t realize how late it got, too caught up in doing inventory for Angela’s Floral Boutique. But the work was done, and she had the day off tomorrow. Yippee... 

It was 11:30 at night. And all the buses were not in service.  Not this late... 

Myra sighed again. Opening her Transit app, she scowled as there wasn’t even an Uber in service close to her. Not like she could have afforded it anyway.  

The app then glitched, which definitely caught her attention. As the glitch settled, she saw it. 

“Bus...13?” The app showed the bus route in red, but it kept glitching. However, it was better than nothing. She glanced through the app for the nearest stop, letting out a sigh of relief as the closest one was at the Crossroads Inn. It was only half a block away. Pulling the hoodie tighter, she ran. 

As Myra made it to the inn, the rain stopped. The chill of the water was soon replaced with a muggy, cloying heat.  

“Mrruh?” Looking down, Myra smiled as a single black cat wove her slim body around her ankles. The cat was looking up at her, begging for pets. 

“Hello, kitty. Tch, tch, tch, tch.” She called the cat, gently running a finger through the little creature’s short fur. 

The sound of air being released from bus brakes made the cat let out a hiss and bolt away into the darkness. Myra looked up. The muggy air was forming a hot fog, enhancing the arrival of a large vehicle. 

Bus 13 was black. Black paint, black lights, black windows. But when the doors opened, Myra was bathed in a soft, red light. 

“Good evening, little miss. Where are we off to?” The bus driver was male. He was taller than it seemed possible to sit in the driver’s seat. Black sunglasses, which reflected her image, sat firmly in place on his nose. Long black hair that hung like silk curtains framed his angular face. The weirdest element was that the man was wearing a black and red suit, similar to that of a classic butler outfit. And white gloves. 

“Oh. Uh...1405 Eastgate Drive.” Myra muttered. The man grinned. 

“Sounds like an adventure, miss. Let's get to it.” The man waited until Myra sat down. The bus did a slight lurch and a hiss, then began rolling out. 

Myra looked around the interior of the bus. She was the only one. 

“Miss, is something troubling you?” the driver asked. Myra flinched, but she relaxed. The bus was warm. A more comfortable heat than the mugginess outside. 

“No, sir. I was hoping to see others on the bus,” she replied. 

“Not many people out this late need buses, miss,” the driver answered. 

“True. It just made me a bit uneasy.” 

“Uneasy how, miss?” Myra sighed.  

“It’s nothing, never mind,” Myra replied. In the mirror above the driver, the said man was giving her a small smile. She closed her eyes, leaning back as she allowed the dry, warm air to heat up her wet clothes.  

“Why are you out this late, miss? Most young ladies are already home and resting, or frolicking amongst degenerates?” The driver asked. 

“I was working. Normally I would be done before 9, but my work ran into overtime today.” Myra replied. 

“What is your work, if I may ask?” Myra smiled, a soft twist of the lips at the question. 

“I work in a floral boutique. This week’s inventory was a bit larger than usual. I lost track of time.” The driver let out a soft chuckle. 

“It sounds like you like it.” 

“I do. It’s simple, but I find it endearing. Better than nothing, at least.” Myra stated. 

“That is true,” the driver replied. 

“...Why is there a bus this late?” Myra asked. 

“I pick up stragglers who need it. Nothing more,” the driver replied. The two rode in silence for a few moments. 

The bus lurched to a stop, nowhere close to her home. 

“What are we stopping?” Myra asked. The driver parked and stood, stretching his limbs high. He was much taller than she thought.  

“It is midnight, miss. That's break time.” The driver then opened the doors and stepped off the bus. Myra glanced at her cellphone. It was 12:06. She looked outside, startled as she saw a small picnic table and a tea set all laid out in front of the driver. 

“Come join me, miss,” he offered. Myra sighed. It's not like she had anything else to do. 

Sitting across from the driver, Myra looked over the delicacies.  

Chocolate cookies with red icing, small red ladyfinger cakes, truffles dipped in caramel, and two cups full of a red/brown liquid. 

“This is pretty sophisticated for a bus stop snack,” Myra stated. The driver smiled, not even taking off his glasses, despite the darkness. 

“I find it soothing. A cup of tea at midnight just has something soothing,” the driver stated, sipping his tea. Myra looked down at her cup. The tea swirled like blood in the water. She took a sip. 

It was sweet. Warm tea coated her throat as she tasted the soothing heat of the tea. There was a faint aroma of roses and cherries. But it was slightly tinged with the taste of blood. 

“Not bad. The tea, that is.” She responded. The driver smiled and handed her a small cake. 

“Try the cakes.” He asked. Myra took the cake and gently bit it. 

The taste of rich, dark chocolate coated her mouth, washing away the taste of the tea. The small cake was moist and dense, not at all what she expected. Once again, there was the faint taste of blood. 

The driver pulled out a watch. A pocket watch, colored gold and bronze, with a black face and red numbers. 

“Tea time is up. Let's get you home.” Myra stood as the driver did. She calmly went back to the bus and sat in her seat. The driver adjusted his glasses and climbed on board, sliding into the too-small seat. Myra looked out of the window. The tea party was gone. 

“Where did the tea party go?” she asked. The driver smiled into the rearview mirror. 

“Our time was up. We had to leave, so the party did too,” he explained. 

“Odd.” Myra kept quiet afterwards. 

It felt like they had been driving for hours. There were no other riders so far. 

The driver looked up into the mirror. 

“Any plans when I get you home?” he asked. Myra chuckled. 

“A long, hard sleep. That tea made me a bit sleepy,” she replied. 

“Rest your eyes, miss. We are almost there.” The driver then pushed a button, and soft music flowed through the air. It was soft guitar and drums. A steady, light tempo. Myra smiled and closed her eyes. 

She was dreaming. She got to be. When she closed her eyes to the steady music, the bus rolled to a stop, startling her awake. Stepping on the bus was another woman. But she was dressed in a red dress, with a red veil, holding black flowers. She had her head bowed. 

“Where are you headed, miss?” The driver asked. The woman mumbled an address and sat down behind Myra. 

“He lied. He lied. He lied. To me. He lied to me...” the Red Bride muttered. 

“Are you okay?” Myra asked as she turned to talk to the other woman. The Red Bride lifted her head, and Myra froze. 

The Red Bride’s face was rotted. Putrid flesh gave her a grey, waxy appearance. Her eyes, once green, were filmed over and sunken. Black, greasy tears trickled from her eyes. Her hair, while styled, sat stiff and stringy. 

“he lied. He lied to me...” the Red Bride muttered. Myra was stunned into silence. She turned and kept her own head down, terrified of the rotting woman. 

“Miss in Red? This is your stop,” the driver called out. The bus slowed to a stop, right in front of a cemetery. The Red Bride sighed and stood, still holding her flowers upright and proper. 

The Red Bride was still muttering as she approached the door. She paused by the driver, muttering a farewell, and left. Myra watched as she slipped past the cemetery gates and disappeared into the muggy fog that was still lingering. 

“Who was that?” Myra asked. The driver chuckled. 

“The Red Bride. She does this every night. Don’t worry,” he explained. The bus did a soft lurch and went on driving. 

After a few moments, the bus stopped once more, the doors hissed open, and a hulking figure stepped in. The figure muttered a destination and went to sit closest to the door. From where she was sitting, Myra could smell him. It was heavy, bloody. A cloying scent that permeated the air. The hulking body let out a deep heave. 

“Tired. So tired...” the mass, its voice male, shuddered. The hulking man was crying. For a quick minute, the bus stopped at a street light. Myra used the time to move and sit across from the hulking man. 

“Is everything okay? Are you okay?” she asked, holding her breath from the cloying scent. 

“She’s...she’s gone. She's gone. I did it. I... I did it. She’s gone.” Myra felt ice go down her back. She inched a bit further away. 

The bus stopped again. This time in front of an abandoned building. The hulking man stood and uttered a farewell to the driver. The bus leaned as he walked off. He slowly walked towards the building.  

Myra watched as the man then faded into a red mist, the vapor drifting in the night air. 

The driver bowed his head at the building before shutting the door. 

“IS he a regular too?” Myra asked after a few minutes. 

“NO. He was new. He just needed rest.” The driver then pulled the bus away and began to drive. 

“Now then, miss. Let’s get you home,” he said, his voice chipper. 

“What kind of bus is this?” Myra asked. 

“This is bus 13. You saw us on the app,” he replied. Myra stayed silent. She glanced down at her phone, frowning. The clock said 12:10. That can’t be right.  

“How much longer to my stop?” she asked, keeping her voice calm. 

“Not long, miss. Not long at all.” Myra leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. 

The bus lurched once more, startling Myra awake. 

“We’re here, miss,” the driver announced. Myra looked out of the window. Her apartment building stood bathed in pale orange light. 

“Thank you. Umm...what’s your name, if I can ask?” she whispered. The driver smiled widely, revealing sharp, canine-like teeth instead of human. 

“Morning Star. My name is Samael Morning Star. Have a good night, miss. And here.” The driver then handed Myra a small package, wrapped in beeswax paper. 

“Thank you.” As she stepped off, the bus made a hiss. Myra walked over to the door. She turned around to wave goodbye, but the bus was gone. 

Myra stood on the porch, the package in her hand. She pulled out her phone, frowning slightly. 

The clock only read 12:00. She quickly looked up the bus on the app. 

“Error. Bus not found.”