u/Story_ThatAreNotReal

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​

I first saw the house three weeks ago.

It was 3:17 in the morning.

I know because I checked my phone.

I had woken up because I heard a car door slam outside.

At first, I didn't think anything of it.

My street is usually pretty quiet, but people sometimes come home late.

I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

Then I heard it again.

Another car door.

This time it sounded much farther away.

I sat up.

My bedroom window faces the end of my street, so I looked outside.

That's when I saw the house.

It was standing at the very end of the road.

A huge two-story house with white siding, a dark roof, and a wooden porch running across the entire front.

There were several windows upstairs.

Most of them were completely black.

One had a faint yellow light behind it.

I stared at it for a few seconds.

I had lived in this house for almost six years.

I knew the neighborhood.

There wasn't supposed to be a house there.

There couldn't be.

The road ended at a line of trees.

I'd walked that way dozens of times.

There was no driveway.

No mailbox.

No power lines.

Nothing.

Just trees.

I grabbed my phone.

3:17 AM.

I looked away from the screen.

The house was still there.

I opened my curtains wider.

I couldn't explain it.

It looked completely real.

I could see individual boards on the porch.

I could see the curtains in the windows.

I could even see a crack in one of the upstairs windows.

Then something moved.

A shadow crossed the yellow-lit window.

I froze.

It looked like someone walking past.

I watched the window.

Nothing.

Then the shadow came back.

This time, it stopped.

It stood directly in front of the glass.

I couldn't see its face.

I couldn't even tell if it was facing me.

But I suddenly had the feeling that it knew I was watching.

I closed the curtains.

I didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

The next morning, I opened my curtains.

The house was gone.

There was nothing at the end of the street.

Just trees.

I went outside.

I walked all the way to where I'd seen it.

Nothing.

There wasn't even a path.

I stood there for several minutes.

Then I laughed at myself.

I figured I'd been half asleep.

Maybe I'd dreamed it.

That explanation lasted until the next night.

At 3:16 AM, I was sitting in my bedroom waiting.

I hadn't told anyone.

I wanted to prove to myself that I hadn't imagined it.

The clock changed.

3:17 AM.

The house appeared.

One second there were trees.

The next second there was a house.

I nearly dropped my phone.

It hadn't faded in.

It hadn't slowly appeared.

It was just suddenly there.

I watched the upstairs windows.

The yellow light was gone.

Every window was dark.

Then my phone buzzed.

I had received a message from an unknown number.

DON'T LET IT SEE YOU.

I stared at the message.

A second message appeared.

IT KNOWS YOU'RE WATCHING.

I slowly looked toward the house.

One upstairs window suddenly lit up.

Someone was standing behind it.

I couldn't see their face.

But they were looking directly at my bedroom.

My phone buzzed again.

TOO LATE.

The person behind the window raised one hand.

I stepped backward.

Then the light went out.

The person disappeared.

I closed the curtains.

I didn't open them again.

The next morning, I went straight to my neighbor.

His name was Mr. Harris.

He was one of those people who seemed to know everything that happened in the neighborhood.

He'd lived on the street for decades.

I found him outside working on his car.

I asked him:

“Was there ever a house at the end of the street?”

He stopped what he was doing.

“What?”

“At the end of the road. Past the trees.”

He stared at me.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I told him what I'd seen.

He didn't laugh.

He didn't tell me I was imagining things.

He just asked:

“What time?”

“3:17.”

His face changed.

He slowly put down the tool he was holding.

Then he looked toward the trees.

“Don't look at it again.”

I thought I'd misheard him.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why?”

He didn't answer.

I asked again.

“Mr. Harris, what is that house?”

He looked at me.

Then he said something I'll never forget.

“I was hoping it wouldn't come back.”

He went inside.

I stood there for a while.

Then I went home.

That afternoon, I started searching online.

I searched the street name.

Nothing.

I searched old maps.

Nothing.

I searched the neighborhood's history.

That's when I found an old newspaper archive.

The article was from 1987.

The headline read:

FAMILY OF FOUR DISAPPEARS FROM LOCAL HOME

I opened it.

The family had lived in a house at the end of my street.

The parents were named Daniel and Susan Miller.

Their children were a teenage boy named Michael and an eight-year-old girl named Emily.

All four disappeared on October 14, 1987.

Their car was still in the driveway.

Their wallets were still inside.

Their food was still sitting on the kitchen table.

There were no signs of a struggle.

No broken windows.

No forced doors.

Nothing.

The police searched the entire property.

They found absolutely nothing.

Then I saw the address.

It was the same location where I'd seen the house.

I kept reading.

A neighbor had reported seeing the house shortly before the family disappeared.

At exactly 3:17 AM.

I stared at the screen.

Then I looked at the date.

October 13.

Tomorrow was October 14.

I closed my laptop.

I didn't tell myself I was scared.

I told myself I was being careful.

That night, I stayed awake.

I locked my bedroom door.

I closed the curtains.

I put my phone beside me.

At 3:16, I heard nothing.

At 3:17, I heard three knocks.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

They came from my bedroom window.

I stopped breathing.

Another three knocks.

I slowly turned toward the curtains.

Then I heard my own voice.

“Hey.”

It came from outside.

I didn't move.

“Open the window.”

It sounded exactly like me.

I slowly pulled the curtain back.

Someone was standing outside.

It was me.

Same face.

Same clothes.

Same everything.

He pressed his hand against the glass.

“Please.”

I backed away.

He looked terrified.

“Listen to me.”

I couldn't speak.

“You have to get away from this house.”

I shook my head.

He whispered:

“It's going to replace you.”

My phone buzzed.

I looked down.

Unknown Number:

DON'T LISTEN TO HIM.

I looked back at the window.

The other me was still there.

Then his expression changed.

His eyes became completely blank.

He smiled.

“You already opened the door once.”

I froze.

“I've never seen you before.”

He tilted his head.

“You don't remember.”

“Remember what?”

He tapped the window three times.

“You'll remember tomorrow.”

I closed the curtains.

I heard him laughing outside.

When I opened them again, he was gone.

The next morning, I went back to Mr. Harris.

He was waiting for me.

“You saw someone,” he said.

I stared at him.

“How did you know?”

“Because everyone sees someone eventually.”

“What is that thing?”

He sighed.

“I saw it when I was seventeen.”

I sat down.

He told me the story.

He had seen the house for seven nights.

On the first night, he watched it from his bedroom.

On the second, he saw someone inside.

On the third, he received a message from an unknown number.

On the fourth, he saw himself standing outside the house.

On the fifth, the house appeared closer.

On the sixth, it appeared across the street.

And on the seventh night...

“It appeared inside my house.”

I stared at him.

“What happened?”

“I heard footsteps upstairs.”

“And?”

“I went to check.”

He looked at me.

“I saw myself standing in the hallway.”

“What did you do?”

“I ran.”

“Did it follow you?”

“No.”

“Then how did you get away?”

He looked down.

“I didn't.”

I didn't understand.

He pointed toward his own face.

“The thing I saw wasn't a copy of me.”

He paused.

“It was me.”

I felt cold.

“What does that mean?”

“I don't know.”

He stood up and went inside.

A few minutes later, he returned with an old photograph.

It showed our street.

The picture looked like it had been taken decades ago.

At the end of the road was the house.

And standing in front of it was a teenage boy.

I looked at Mr. Harris.

He nodded.

“That was me.”

I turned the photograph over.

There was writing on the back.

FIRST PERSON TO SEE IT.

I looked at him.

“Why didn't you tell anyone?”

“I did.”

“Did they believe you?”

“No.”

“What happened to the people who didn't believe you?”

He looked toward the trees.

“Some of them saw it too.”

That night, I decided to leave town.

I packed a bag.

I got into my car.

I didn't care where I went.

I just wanted to be somewhere the house couldn't reach me.

I checked the time.

2:58 AM.

I started driving.

I reached the end of the street.

The trees were ahead.

Nothing else.

I kept driving.

Then my headlights hit something.

I slammed on the brakes.

The house was sitting in the middle of the road.

I stared at it.

The front door was open.

I checked the time.

3:17 AM.

I looked behind me.

The road was gone.

There were only trees.

I tried reversing.

The car wouldn't move.

Then I heard a knock on my window.

I turned.

A little girl was standing there.

She looked about eight years old.

She was wearing an old-fashioned dress.

She pointed toward the house.

“Come inside.”

I shook my head.

“Who are you?”

She told me her name.

Emily.

I recognized it immediately.

The girl from the newspaper.

“You're Emily Miller.”

She nodded.

“You disappeared in 1987.”

She nodded again.

“What happened?”

She looked toward the house.

“We went inside.”

“Why?”

“We thought it was our house.”

“But it wasn't.”

“No.”

She looked scared.

“What is it?”

She whispered:

“It copies people.”

I looked at the house.

“Copies them how?”

“Sometimes it makes another one.”

“Another what?”

“Another you.”

I remembered the person outside my window.

“How do I stop it?”

Emily shook her head.

“You don't.”

“There has to be a way.”

She looked at me.

“There is.”

“What?”

“Don't let it choose.”

“What does that mean?”

She pointed toward the house.

“Don't go inside.”

I looked behind me.

The road was still gone.

“How do I leave?”

“You have to go through.”

I stared at her.

“What?”

“You can't leave from outside.”

She walked toward the porch.

I followed.

The front door was still open.

Inside was a long hallway.

There were photographs everywhere.

Hundreds of them.

Families.

Couples.

Children.

People standing outside the house.

I recognized some of the faces from old newspaper articles.

Others I didn't recognize.

Then I saw one photograph that made my stomach drop.

It was me.

Standing in my bedroom.

The date underneath it was from three weeks ago.

The first night I saw the house.

I looked at Emily.

“How?”

She didn't answer.

We walked farther.

The photographs changed.

The next showed me watching the house.

The next showed me talking to Mr. Harris.

The next showed me in my car.

The next showed me standing in this hallway.

I stopped.

“How does it know?”

Emily whispered:

“It doesn't.”

“What?”

“The house doesn't know the future.”

I looked at her.

“The pictures are made after it happens.”

I stared at the photograph in my hand.

“But this one hasn't happened yet.”

Emily looked terrified.

“Yes.”

A door slammed somewhere upstairs.

Emily grabbed my hand.

“Run.”

We ran.

The hallway seemed to stretch.

Doors appeared where there hadn't been doors before.

I heard footsteps behind us.

I looked back.

Someone was following.

It was me.

Another version of me.

He was walking slowly.

Emily screamed:

“Don't look at him!”

I turned forward.

We reached the stairs.

We ran upstairs.

The footsteps continued behind us.

Emily opened a bedroom door.

Inside was an old family bedroom.

A photograph sat on the desk.

I picked it up.

It showed Emily and her family.

The date was October 14, 1987.

I looked at the clock on the wall.

3:16 AM.

Emily started crying.

“What happens at 3:17?”

She shook her head.

“You can't be here when it happens.”

“Why?”

“Because that's when the house chooses.”

“Chooses what?”

“Who gets to go home.”

The clock ticked.

3:16:58.

I heard footsteps outside the door.

3:16:59.

Emily grabbed my hand.

3:17.

The lights went out.

The entire house became silent.

Then hundreds of voices whispered at once.

My name.

I covered my ears.

The door opened.

A person stood outside.

Me.

Then another.

Then another.

Dozens of versions of me filled the hallway.

Some looked exactly like me.

Some were older.

Some were children.

One was covered in dirt.

One was crying.

One was smiling.

Then the oldest version stepped forward.

He looked like me, but maybe twenty years older.

He said:

“You finally made it.”

I backed away.

“What is this?”

He pointed toward the window.

“Look.”

I didn't want to.

But I did.

Outside was my street.

My actual street.

The house was gone.

Everything looked normal.

Then I saw my own bedroom window.

Someone was standing inside it.

My copy.

He was watching us.

The older version of me said:

“That's the one that gets to go home.”

I shook my head.

“No.”

He looked at me.

“You don't understand.”

“Then explain.”

“The house doesn't replace people.”

He paused.

“It replaces the version of them that was supposed to survive.”

I didn't understand.

He continued.

“Every person who sees this house has two possible lives.”

“Two?”

“One stays.”

“One disappears.”

I looked toward Emily.

“Then why are you still here?”

The older version of me smiled.

“Because I made the wrong choice.”

The house started shaking.

The walls cracked.

The photographs began falling from the walls.

Emily screamed:

“RUN!”

I grabbed her hand.

We ran down the stairs.

The copies followed us.

The front door appeared ahead.

I pushed it open.

We fell onto the street.

The house disappeared behind us.

I looked at my phone.

3:18 AM.

For the first time in weeks, it was past 3:17.

I started laughing.

I had made it.

Emily was standing beside me.

But when I looked again...

She was gone.

I ran toward the place where the house had been.

Nothing.

Just trees.

I drove home.

I didn't stop.

When I reached my street, everything looked normal.

My house was there.

My neighbor's house was there.

The streetlights were working.

I walked inside.

My phone had signal.

I called my mom.

She answered.

I almost cried when I heard her voice.

“Where have you been?”

I didn't know what to say.

I told her I was fine.

I went upstairs.

My bedroom looked exactly the same.

I sat on my bed.

For the first time in three weeks, I felt safe.

Then I noticed something on my desk.

A photograph.

I picked it up.

It showed my house.

I was standing outside.

Mr. Harris was beside me.

And Emily was standing behind us.

Behind all three of us was the strange house.

I turned the photograph over.

There was writing on the back.

YOU LEFT ONE BEHIND.

I dropped it.

Then I heard footsteps downstairs.

I froze.

Someone walked across the hallway.

Then up the stairs.

One step.

Then another.

I grabbed my phone.

The footsteps stopped outside my bedroom.

My door slowly opened.

I couldn't breathe.

Someone stood in the doorway.

It was me.

Same face.

Same clothes.

Same voice.

He smiled.

“You made it home.”

I couldn't speak.

He stepped inside.

I backed toward the window.

“Who are you?”

He looked at me.

“I'm the version that stayed.”

I looked outside.

The street was empty.

Then I saw something at the end of the road.

The house.

It was back.

But this time it wasn't far away.

It was directly across from my bedroom.

The upstairs light turned on.

Someone stood behind the window.

I couldn't see their face.

Then my phone buzzed.

I looked down.

Unknown Number:

YOU WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO LEAVE.

I looked back at the copy.

He was gone.

The bedroom door was open.

I walked into the hallway.

There was nobody there.

Then I heard three knocks on my bedroom window.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

I slowly turned.

The house across the street was still there.

The person in the upstairs window raised a hand.

I raised mine without thinking.

Then I realized something.

They weren't waving.

They were pointing behind me.

I turned around.

The copy was standing directly behind me.

He leaned toward my ear.

And whispered:

“Don't worry.”

I stared at him.

He smiled.

“You're the one who gets to stay.”

The lights went out.

I haven't looked outside since.

I don't know if the house is still there.

I don't know where Emily went.

I don't know what happened to Mr. Harris.

And I definitely don't know who that other version of me was.

But every night at exactly 3:17 AM, I hear three knocks on my bedroom window.

Last night, there were four.

Three came from the window.

The fourth came from inside my closet.

And then I heard my own voice whisper:

“Let me out.”

This one Took Me A lot Of Time Like 45 Minutes 😭 Hopefully You Guys Enjoy It tho!

​

The driver whispered:

“One more passenger.”

I couldn't breathe.

The woman sitting beside him still looked like my mother.

But her face had just changed into mine.

I stepped backward.

“Who are you?”

She smiled.

“You already know.”

The bus doors opened wider.

The driver looked at me.

“You've been on this bus before.”

I shook my head.

“No, I haven't.”

He pointed toward the seats.

“Look.”

I looked inside.

Every seat was filled.

The passengers were staring at me.

Then I noticed something.

They weren't random people.

I recognized every single one.

My neighbor.

My teacher.

My friend.

The man from the gas station.

And then I saw myself.

Not one version.

Dozens.

Some looked older.

Some looked younger.

Some were staring at the floor.

Some were staring directly at me.

I backed away.

“What is this?”

The driver finally answered.

“The people who didn't make it home.”

My stomach dropped.

“What does that mean?”

He looked at the woman beside him.

She turned toward me.

Her face changed again.

This time, she looked exactly like my mother.

She said:

“Get on the bus.”

I shook my head.

“No.”

The driver sighed.

“You don't understand.”

He pointed behind me.

I turned around.

There was another version of me standing in the empty building.

Then another appeared.

Then another.

They slowly walked toward me.

I ran.

I pushed through the back door of the building and sprinted outside.

The street was completely empty.

No cars.

No people.

No houses.

Just fog.

And the bus.

It was following me.

I ran until my legs hurt.

The bus stayed behind me.

Never getting closer.

Never getting farther away.

Then my phone buzzed.

I stopped.

Unknown Number:

You can end this.

I typed:

How?

The reply came immediately.

Find the original passenger.

I stared at the message.

I looked back at the bus.

The doors opened.

Someone stepped off.

It was the version of me from the upstairs window.

He walked toward me.

But this time, he wasn't smiling.

He looked exhausted.

“It's you,” he said.

“What?”

“You're the original passenger.”

I didn't understand.

“You're lying.”

He shook his head.

“I'm not.”

He pointed at the bus.

“That bus doesn't create copies.”

“Then what does it do?”

He looked at me.

“It takes people who were never supposed to leave.”

I felt a chill run through me.

“What happened to the passengers?”

“They were replaced.”

“By what?”

He looked at me.

“By us.”

I stepped backward.

He continued.

“Every time someone gets on that bus, the driver takes them somewhere they can't return from.”

“And the copies?”

“They go home.”

I thought about my house.

The two versions of me standing in the upstairs window.

I suddenly understood.

They weren't trying to scare me.

They were waiting for me to disappear.

My phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number:

3:17.

I looked at the time.

3:16 AM.

The bus engine started.

The driver stepped outside.

For the first time, I saw his face clearly.

He looked exactly like me.

I froze.

He smiled.

“You're late.”

The clock changed.

3:17 AM.

Everything went silent.

The fog disappeared.

The empty street disappeared.

Suddenly, I was standing at the original bus stop.

The broken streetlight.

The old bench.

Everything was exactly how it had been when I first arrived.

The bus was gone.

So was the driver.

So were the copies.

I looked down at my phone.

I had full signal.

My mom called.

I answered immediately.

“Mom?”

She started crying.

“Where have you been?”

I looked around.

“I don't know.”

She was silent for a moment.

Then she said:

“Come home.”

I started walking.

When I reached my street, I saw my house.

The lights were on.

I stopped.

There was someone standing upstairs.

I couldn't see their face.

I slowly walked toward the front door.

Then my phone buzzed.

One final message.

Unknown Number:

Don't turn around.

I froze.

I heard an engine behind me.

Slowly getting closer.

I didn't turn around.

The bus stopped.

The doors opened.

The driver spoke.

“Last passenger.”

I closed my eyes.

Then I heard another voice.

My own voice.

Right beside me.

“Don't worry.”

I opened my eyes.

My front door was open.

I ran inside.

I slammed the door behind me.

Locked it.

Then I heard footsteps upstairs.

I looked toward the staircase.

Someone slowly walked down.

It was me.

The same clothes.

The same face.

The same voice.

He smiled.

And said:

“You made it home.”

I stared at him.

“Who are you?”

He pointed toward the front door.

I heard the bus engine outside.

Then he whispered:

“I'm the one who didn't.”

The front door slowly opened by itself.

The bus was waiting outside.

And this time...

I wasn't the passenger.

Hopefully You Guys Liked This Sequal :)

​

I couldn't move.

I was standing in front of my house.

My house.

But there were two people in the upstairs window who looked exactly like me.

They were standing side by side.

Neither of them moved.

Then one of them raised his hand.

The other one did the same thing.

My phone buzzed.

I looked down.

Another message.

Unknown Number:

Don't go inside.

I looked back at the window.

The two people were gone.

I turned around and started running.

I didn't know where I was going.

I just knew I couldn't stay there.

I ran down the street until I reached a gas station.

The lights were on.

I rushed inside.

There was a man behind the counter.

He looked at me.

Then he looked at the clock.

His face changed.

“Where did you come from?”

I pointed behind me.

“My house.”

He stared at me.

“What house?”

I gave him my address.

He went completely silent.

Then he reached under the counter and pulled out an old newspaper.

He placed it in front of me.

I looked at the date.

There was a picture on the front page.

A bus.

The same bus.

The headline said:

LOCAL BUS DISAPPEARS AFTER CRASH

I looked at the picture again.

There were twelve passengers.

And the driver.

My hands started shaking.

“This happened before?”

The man nodded.

“Every few years.”

“What happens?”

He looked toward the window.

“The bus comes back.”

I didn't understand.

“Why?”

He lowered his voice.

“To replace someone.”

My phone buzzed again.

I didn't want to look.

But I did.

Unknown Number:

You finally found someone who remembers.

I showed the message to the man.

He immediately stepped away from me.

“What?”

He pointed at my phone.

“That's the number.”

“What number?”

“The number they use.”

“Who?”

He didn't answer.

Instead, he locked the front door.

Then he turned off the lights.

I heard something outside.

An engine.

I looked through the window.

The bus was parked across the street.

No headlights.

No driver.

Just the blank black sign.

Then the doors opened.

The man whispered:

“Don't look at the passengers.”

I looked anyway.

There were people sitting inside.

Dozens of them.

Some looked normal.

Others looked exactly like people I recognized.

My neighbor.

A teacher from school.

Someone who looked like my friend.

Then I saw someone sitting in the very back.

It was me.

The version of me from outside my house.

He was staring directly at me.

The man grabbed my arm.

“Don't let it see you.”

I whispered:

“It's already seen me.”

The bus doors closed.

Then the bus drove away.

I waited.

Nothing happened.

Then the man walked toward the back room.

“Stay here.”

I nodded.

He disappeared through the door.

A few seconds later, I heard him scream.

I ran after him.

The back room was empty.

There was only a chair.

And on the chair was an old photograph.

I picked it up.

It showed the same bus stop.

The same broken streetlight.

And twelve people standing beside the bus.

But there was something written on the back.

Every passenger gets replaced.

I dropped the photograph.

My phone buzzed again.

This time, it wasn't the unknown number.

It was my mom.

Mom:

Where are you?

I almost cried.

I typed:

I'm at the gas station.

The reply came instantly.

Mom:

What gas station?

I sent her the address.

Three dots appeared.

Then disappeared.

Then appeared again.

Finally, she replied:

We don't have a gas station there.

I froze.

I looked around.

The lights above me flickered.

The shelves disappeared.

The counter disappeared.

The entire gas station was gone.

I was standing inside an empty building.

And behind me...

I heard the sound of a bus engine.

I turned around.

The bus was parked inside the building.

The doors opened.

The driver looked at me.

But this time, he wasn't alone.

Someone was sitting beside him.

It was my mother.

She looked at me through the windshield.

Then she mouthed two words:

“Get on.”

I took one step backward.

My phone buzzed.

I looked down.

Unknown Number:

That's not your mother.

I looked back at the bus.

The woman in the driver's seat smiled.

Then her face slowly changed.

It became mine.

And the driver whispered:

“One more passenger.”

Part 4 Coming Soon :)

​

“Too late.”

The doors were completely shut.

I grabbed the handle and pulled as hard as I could.

Nothing.

I looked at the driver.

“What does that mean?”

He didn't answer.

The bus started moving again.

I looked through the window.

My house disappeared behind us.

The person who looked like me was gone.

I pulled out my phone and tried calling my mom again.

No signal.

Then my phone buzzed.

I had another message from the unknown number.

Unknown Number:

You should have listened to me.

I typed back:

Who are you?

The message showed as delivered.

A few seconds later, I got a reply.

Look behind you.

I slowly turned around.

The bus was empty.

Every seat was vacant.

The twelve passengers were gone.

Again.

Except this time, I noticed something I hadn't noticed before.

There were wet footprints on the floor.

They started at the back of the bus.

And they ended directly behind my seat.

I didn't move.

The driver spoke without looking at me.

“Don't worry about them.”

I stared at him.

“Where did they go?”

He smiled.

“They got off.”

“When?”

He didn't answer.

I looked toward the doors.

They had never opened.

The bus kept driving.

I stood up and walked toward the front.

The driver suddenly slammed on the brakes.

I almost fell.

Outside the windshield was the same bus stop where I had gotten on.

The broken streetlight.

The old bench.

Everything was exactly the same.

I looked at the time.

3:17 AM.

It was still 3:17.

I checked my phone.

3:17.

I waited.

Nothing changed.

The seconds weren't moving.

The driver finally spoke.

“You have one stop left.”

I whispered, “Where?”

He pointed toward the front window.

I looked.

There was a tunnel ahead.

I had never seen it before.

The bus entered.

Everything outside the windows turned black.

Then I heard a voice behind me.

My voice.

“Don't trust him.”

I turned around.

Nobody was there.

The driver started laughing.

I grabbed the emergency door handle.

This time, it opened.

Cold air rushed into the bus.

I jumped out.

I landed on the road and immediately started running.

I didn't know where I was.

I didn't care.

I just kept running.

Then I heard the bus behind me.

The engine was getting louder.

I turned around.

The bus was coming straight toward me.

I ran faster.

The headlights got closer.

Then the bus stopped.

Right beside me.

The doors opened.

The driver looked at me.

But he wasn't smiling anymore.

He looked scared.

He pointed behind me.

I slowly turned around.

There was another bus coming down the road.

Same color.

Same blank black sign.

Same broken headlights.

It stopped beside the first bus.

Its doors opened.

And someone stepped out.

It was me.

But this time there was something different.

He was covered in blood.

He looked directly at me.

Then he said:

“You have to get back on.”

I shook my head.

“No.”

He looked toward the two drivers.

Then back at me.

“They aren't trying to take you home.”

I stared at him.

“Then where are they taking me?”

He whispered:

“They're trying to replace you.”

The two buses suddenly turned their headlights off.

Everything went dark.

Then I heard dozens of footsteps around me.

I couldn't see anyone.

But I could hear them.

Coming closer.

I felt someone grab my shoulder.

I screamed and turned around.

It was one of the passengers.

The same passenger who had disappeared earlier.

His face was pale.

His eyes were completely black.

He pointed toward the bus.

“Get on.”

I backed away.

“Why?”

He looked terrified.

Because for the first time, I realized something.

He wasn't trying to get me onto the bus.

He was trying to keep me away from whatever was standing behind me.

I slowly turned around.

There was someone standing directly behind me.

It looked exactly like me.

But it was smiling.

And it whispered:

“You were never supposed to get off.”

The bus doors slammed shut.

The engines started.

Both buses began driving away.

I watched them disappear into the fog.

Then my phone buzzed.

One final message appeared.

Unknown Number:

RUN.

I looked up.

My house was standing in front of me.

But the lights were on.

And someone was watching me from the upstairs window.

I couldn't see their face.

But I already knew who it was.

It was me.

And this time...

there were two of them.

Part 3 Coming Soon ;)

Hello Guys! You Maybe Might Not Be Familier With Me But, Im Making Part 2 From The CliffHanger In Part 1 Check It Out Its Called / The Last Passenger Thanks For Reading This BYEEE ;)

I was driving home late one night when my GPS told me to take a shortcut through a road I had never seen before.

It was almost 2 AM, and there wasn't another car anywhere.

The road became narrower and darker until my phone completely lost signal.

Then I saw a house.

It was an old two-story house sitting alone in the middle of the woods.

There were no other buildings nearby.

For some reason, I felt like I had seen it before.

I slowed down as I passed it.

That's when I noticed someone standing in the upstairs window.

A little girl.

She was staring directly at my car.

I kept driving.

A few seconds later, my GPS suddenly said:

“You have arrived at your destination.”

I looked at the screen.

The destination wasn't my house.

It was the house I had just passed.

I laughed nervously and kept driving.

Then my car engine stopped.

The headlights went out.

Everything went completely dark.

I tried starting the car again.

Nothing.

Then I heard a knock on my window.

Tap.

I froze.

Another knock.

Tap.

I slowly turned my head.

The little girl was standing outside my car.

Her face was pressed against the window.

I screamed and tried starting the car again.

This time, the engine started.

I slammed the gas pedal and drove away.

I didn't look back.

After about ten minutes, my phone suddenly regained signal.

I called my friend and told him what happened.

He went quiet.

Then he asked:

“What house?”

I described it.

He didn't answer for several seconds.

Finally, he said:

“There hasn't been a house on that road for years.”

I thought he was joking.

He wasn't.

He told me there used to be a house there decades ago.

A family lived there.

One night, the house burned down.

Everyone inside died.

Including a little girl.

I didn't sleep that night.

The next morning, I searched online for the location.

I found an old newspaper article.

The picture showed the burned remains of the house.

But something immediately caught my attention.

Standing beside the firefighters was the little girl.

Same dress.

Same face.

Same hair.

I zoomed in.

Then I noticed the date.

The article was published thirty-seven years ago.

I closed my laptop.

I told myself it was impossible.

Then my phone buzzed.

It was a notification from my GPS.

I opened it.

My recent destinations were listed.

My house.

My friend's house.

The grocery store.

And one more location.

The abandoned house.

I had never searched for it.

I deleted the location.

A few seconds later, it appeared again.

Then another notification popped up.

“New route calculated.”

The map showed a red line from my house…

straight to the abandoned house.

I turned my phone off.

That night, I heard something outside my bedroom window.

Tap.

I stayed completely still.

Tap.

Then a little girl's voice whispered:

“You drove away too soon.”

I slowly looked toward the window.

There was a small handprint on the glass.

Then another.

And another.

Until dozens of tiny fingerprints covered the entire window.

My phone suddenly turned itself back on.

The GPS opened automatically.

A message appeared on the screen:

“You have arrived.”

I looked outside.

The old house was standing across the street.

And the little girl was waiting in the upstairs window.

Hopefully Yall like It, This One Took Me A Long Time!

​

I was on my way home from my friend's house when I noticed the bus stop.

I had walked past that road hundreds of times, but I had never seen a bus stop there before.

It was almost midnight, and the street was completely empty.

There was one old bench underneath a broken streetlight.

I checked the bus schedule on my phone.

Nothing came up.

There wasn't even a bus route listed for that road.

I probably should've kept walking.

Instead, I sat down.

About five minutes later, I heard an engine.

An old bus slowly came around the corner.

There was no number on the front.

No company logo.

Just a blank black sign.

The doors opened.

The driver looked at me.

He didn't say anything.

I looked behind the bus.

There were no cars.

Nobody else was waiting.

I asked, “Where does this bus go?”

The driver stared at me for a few seconds.

Then he said:

“Wherever you're supposed to go.”

I laughed nervously.

“Okay… how much?”

He pointed at the empty seat beside him.

“Just get on.”

I don't know why I listened.

I stepped onto the bus.

The doors closed behind me.

That's when I noticed the passengers.

There were about twelve people sitting throughout the bus.

They were completely silent.

Nobody was talking.

Nobody was looking at their phones.

Nobody even moved.

I walked toward the back and sat down.

The bus started moving.

I looked out the window.

At first, everything looked normal.

Then we passed my street.

I stood up.

“Hey, I think you missed my stop.”

The driver didn't respond.

I walked toward the front.

“Can you stop at the next one?”

Nothing.

I looked at the passengers.

Every single one of them was staring at me.

I sat back down.

A few minutes later, the bus passed through a neighborhood I'd never seen before.

The houses looked abandoned.

The windows were dark.

There weren't any cars parked outside.

Then the bus turned onto a road covered in fog.

My phone suddenly lost service.

I tried calling my mom.

No signal.

I tried opening the map.

The map wouldn't load.

Then I got a text.

Unknown Number:

Don't get off the bus.

I stared at the message.

A second text appeared.

Unknown Number:

You're the last passenger.

I looked around.

The bus was still full.

At least, I thought it was.

I counted the passengers.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

My stomach dropped.

There were only four people left.

I counted again.

Four.

The seats where the others had been sitting were empty.

I looked toward the driver.

He was still driving like nothing had happened.

I stood up.

“Where did everyone go?”

The driver smiled.

“You're almost there.”

“Almost where?”

He didn't answer.

The bus suddenly stopped.

The doors opened.

Outside was my neighborhood.

My house was right there.

I almost ran off the bus.

Then I noticed something.

My house was completely dark.

Every light was off.

I looked at the time on my phone.

3:17 AM.

I knew something was wrong.

I looked through the front window.

There was someone standing in front of my house.

It was me.

Same clothes.

Same face.

He was staring directly at the bus.

I backed away from the door.

The driver looked at me through the mirror.

“You can get off now.”

I shook my head.

“That's not me.”

The driver smiled.

“I know.”

The doors started closing.

The person standing outside my house suddenly ran toward the bus.

He slammed his hands against the window.

His mouth was moving.

I couldn't hear him.

Then I finally understood what he was saying.

He was screaming:

“DON'T LET THE DRIVER TAKE YOU HOME!”

The bus doors slammed shut.

The driver looked at me.

Then he said something that made my blood run cold.

“Too late.”

Hopefully Yall Like It! Part 2 Coming Out Soon

​

I woke up around 2:13 in the morning because I heard someone whisper my name.

“Ethan…”

At first, I didn't move. I just stared at the ceiling, trying to convince myself I was still dreaming.

Then I heard it again.

“Ethan…”

It was coming from under my bed.

I immediately pulled the blanket up to my chin.

I know that sounds stupid, but I didn't care. I was 16, and I've always hated the dark. My mom used to make fun of me for it, but that night I didn't feel stupid anymore.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand.

The screen turned on.

I had one new message from an unknown number.

Don't look under your bed.

I stared at it for probably ten seconds.

Then another message appeared.

I'm hiding from it too.

My stomach dropped.

I thought maybe one of my friends was messing with me, so I texted back.

Who is this?

No answer.

I turned on my flashlight and slowly pointed it toward the floor.

There was nothing there.

Just the carpet.

I let out a breath and started laughing at myself.

“Okay,” I whispered. “I'm just being stupid.”

Then I heard something underneath me.

Three slow knocks.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

I stopped laughing.

My bedroom door was closed, but a few seconds later I heard footsteps in the hallway.

Slow footsteps.

Step.

Step.

Step.

They stopped outside my room.

I grabbed my phone and sat completely still.

The door handle started moving.

My door opened.

It was my mom.

She looked pale.

“Ethan,” she whispered. “Get away from the bed.”

I didn't understand.

“Mom, what are you doing?”

She didn't answer.

She just stared at my phone.

Then she pulled out her own phone and showed me the screen.

There was a message from an unknown number.

Don't let Ethan look under the bed.

I looked at her.

“Did you send this?”

She shook her head.

Then something grabbed my ankle.

I screamed and jumped onto the bed.

My mom screamed too.

We both stared at the floor.

Nothing was there.

But I could feel something pulling on my leg.

Then I heard my voice.

Not my voice in my head.

My actual voice.

Coming from underneath the bed.

“Mom…”

My mom grabbed my arm.

The voice continued.

“Mom, help me.”

I looked at my mom.

She was crying.

I whispered, “That's not me.”

The thing under the bed started laughing.

It sounded exactly like me.

Then it whispered:

“Mom… that's not Ethan.”

My mom suddenly pulled me toward the bedroom door.

We ran into the hallway and slammed the door behind us.

We didn't stop until we were downstairs.

My mom called the police.

When they arrived, they searched my room.

There was nothing.

No one under the bed.

No one in the house.

Nothing.

The officer even checked under my bed twice.

He told us it was probably someone playing a prank.

I almost believed him.

Until we went back upstairs.

My phone was still sitting on my bed.

There was one new message.

You shouldn't have left me under there.

Then another message appeared.

Now I'm in your room.

I looked toward my bedroom.

The door was slightly open.

And from inside, I heard my own voice whisper:

“Ethan…”

“Come back.”