The last stop was always the dark stop.

And I’m telling the truth when I say I saw the Brierwood marsh change in an unnatural way.

Seems I’m the only one to eyeball it day in and day out, but I promise it used to be an unchecked mess of Darwin evolution near a week ago. How can I be the only one to know that? I’m not crazy! Check the maps!

4 days ago, I was on my usual route, taking a turn near the end of the day for my second to last stop. It was 8:46 in the evening when I saw him clunk onto my ride. Black buttoned coat from neck to foot, charcoal bowler on his head, and scraggly hair over his eyes. I paid little mind due to the mundane, for I’d taken that turn over 10,000 times in my life. (I did the math one day, but let’s not get off track.)

He gets off in the middle of nowhere at the last stop before I turn for the final run. Brierwood is the sad marsh on the south of town. I’ve never had anyone get off there at that time of night. Nothing is out there but gators, wetlands, and mosquitoes.

The next day, same time and stop, I notice him again. I let him off at the marsh, only the marsh is now a parking lot. I feel like ya don’t believe me. Let’s try that again — it’s paved with cement, painted white lines, and all in 24 hours. And let me say, I have nothing against progress, but the parking lot stretched on for miles. I ran the bus because I couldn’t believe my eyes. How in God’s graces did that get done over night?

The next day, I do the rounds and see less passengers than a regular week day. Again, I find myself with the dark clothed man on my bus at night.

Being the only one on the bus, I ask him if he’s new to town.

He smiles, nods, and bares his yellow teeth saying, “How nice of you to notice. I am, but I feel like I’ve been here for ages.”

As I near the mar — er… parking lot, I see a giant factory with towers the height of the clouds blowing smoke the color of ash out of exhaust pipes that seem to run in and out of the building like they’re rigged from top to bottom. The parking lot is filled to the brim with white vans.

I look back at him and say, “I don’t remember any of this from a few days ago.”

“Oh… strange. It’s been here forever,” he says.

He gets off the bus and I go home.

The next day, I notice less people on the bus than the day before. Nothing too weird, but there seems to be less on the street, too.

And he gets on, talks to me about the best bars in town, and gets off.

I see frozen boxes getting moved to the van by slender looking men in grey jumpsuits. Their eyes seemed to glow under the moon, though I assume it’s my imagination.

And now I’m here for the record. People are disappearing, a factory appears in two days, and the man. He just rides the bus?

I’d be mad with envy for money if I wasn’t going insane with fear — it’s all impossible!

The part that scares me the most is I’m pretty sure I know what’s going on in that factory. People don’t just disappear in droves over night!