It comes on the most vanilla of days; the ones when your mind is wandering and running on autopilot. You know the days Iām talking about? Theyāre the ones when youāve dressed and gone through your morning rituals, only to arrive at your destination with no idea of how you got there.
Thatās when the Fake Bus shows up.
At first, you may be fooled that itās your regular bus, but itās not. Whatever you do, friend, heed my warning and DONāT get on it.
Donāt make the same mistake I did.
As it approaches, pay attention to the driver. For example, if the driverās silhouette looks like a lady with thick, voluminous hair, but then appears to be your normal, bald-headed, male driver when it pulls up: donāt get on. Pay attention to the details.
Although there may be a strange, meat-like smell when the bus arrives, a bigger clue is that the driver will either show too much emotion, or none at all. His smile could be a little too wide, and maybe a tad too toothy. Itās also possible that his face will be a blank slate, staring silently ahead. No matter what, the driver will NOT know your name; they will have a good excuse for not knowing it, even if youāve seen them five days a week for the past several years.
Taking your seat, you may notice the bus has a more comfortable atmosphere than normal, kind of like being wrapped in a warm blanket. If you listen closely, you might make out a faint, lullaby-like music being piped over its speakers. Do what you must to focus and pay attention to the order of the stops. Thatās what initially stood out for me.
If anything feels off, itās important that you let it be known. For instance, you may notice that many of the familiar-looking passengers seem to be in a drooling, semi-catatonic state. Itās too late for them. Worry about yourself. Make an absolute scene until you reach the next stop. Then, as the others begin launching themselves toward you from all directions, crawling down the aisles and writhing over the seats, while making the most disgusting squealing and sucking sounds through their gaping mouths, youāll have to battle your way toward the front of the bus. Kick, punch, gouge out eyesā¦do everything in your power to make it to the next stop.
Then, as the bus screeches to a halt and the doors finally squeal open, jump out and donāt look back. They wonāt follow you. As the bus drives off in a cloud of black, lung-burning smog, know that the cuts and scrapes you suffered in the process of escape are surely nothing compared to what happens to the unfortunate unawareā¦the drooling ones. I donāt know where the bus ultimately takes them. Ā Wherever it is, those passengers are quickly forgotten; even now their faces are fading from memory.