It is an early crisp October morning; a thick layer of fog clouded the air. I sit on a splintered, wooden bench waiting for the first bus of the day to arrive - I am alone, distracting myself with my air pods and a stale book that I had picked up from the used bookstore. I wait. There within my peripheral vision I notice movement; I chalk it up to just an animal skittering along the wet pavement, it was only a glimpse. Perhaps, it was nothing at all. Whether or not it was a figment of my imagination, I am now on high alert. I feel my stomach drop heavily, and the hairs on my arms raising with the goosebumps forming across my ghostly pale skin. I close my eyes. Breathe.

I open my eyes and in front of me there is in fact a shadowed figure leering within the misty fog, too far to make out any distinguishable features - but I notice he is carrying an umbrella. The atmosphere grows eerily silent, it's almost deafening how quiet and uncomfortably calm it is. I breathe again, my anxiety must be playing tricks on me. There is nothing to worry about, I remind myself - I'm lying. If I have learned anything from true crime podcasts; it is that there is always something to worry about, I lean into my gut instinct. This feels off - unsettling.

I can feel his stare laser focused on me, I'm paralyzed with fear and uncertainty. I remind myself to breathe, in and out. Deep. Deeper. I lie to myself again - this is just my anxiety, I'm not in danger. Through the gloomy clouds he starts to slowly tread towards me, until suddenly he's towered over me.

"What the fuck..." Is all I can manage to squeak out - this man, or more-so thing is faced to face with me. He's disfigured, inhumane. His eyes hollowed out as if they were knots in an old oak tree that's been carved out by nature. He's unnaturally tall and malnourished towering over me with a bonelike structure.

I close my eyes and begin to pray, this thing - it's damned. It senses my fear and it's feeding off of it, the closer he is I begin to notice that his umbrella is drenched in a scarlet-colored liquid, the air smells of rot and decay causing my stomach to churn. I breathe.

“The bus isn’t coming for you,” his raspy voice whispers, sending chills down my body - his dead face smiles widely, his lips not moving.

There's no hope, I am fucked.