I discovered the bus on the trail. How it got there, I didn’t know. It was old and had obviously been there for quite a while. Sure, there had been an old road here at one time, now grown in with blackberries and brush. It had probably come in during a much better time when the patch was clear and before a scrabble of tough grasses had replaced gravel. But now it sat in dappled moonlight, down the hill from me.

I stared at it for a long time. Surely it could not be complete and indeed it was missing windows and the engine cowling was open. My initial fear was that someone or something was still living in it. In the daytime, I am sure it was little more than a decrepit old bus. A rotted and rusted remnant of another time that had somehow ended up in another place. But in the darkness, it was a looming hulk. An isolated thing that was darker than the darkness itself. A place where shadows themselves disappeared into a greater darkness.

I approached cautiously. Maybe it would have been smarter to make noise, to scare off anything that might lurk inside. Some small beast might have found shelter and comfort in a place that outwardly looked so foreboding. But something told me to be quiet. I placed each step carefully, trying to avoid the patches of gravel and rock that remained.

It got bigger as I approached. All things are larger when you get closer to them. But this was different. It seemed to grow taller and loom. It was just an old bus. But it took on a more ominous sense the closer I came. My mind saw things in the empty windows and strange reflections in the windows that remained. I noticed parts and materials that the bus had shed, like some old skin, as it sat neglected in its forest home.

It drew me to the open door. Everything about it screamed danger in my brain. That dark maw leading to God knows what inside. But curiosity and some kind of thrill seeking death wish dampened down the fear flooding my heart. I had to look in. I had to see what trash or treasure lived and lurked in the darkness.

Outside, I could see the bottom step and the moon glinting off the steering wheel. If there had been a seat that once held the driver, it had exploded into a mound of decaying fluff that had blackened and sloughed off. I grabbed the handrail and pulled myself onto the bus.

I’m not sure what I expected to see. The aisle was an inky void. Moonlight reflected off the tops of the seatbacks. Material hung from the ceiling as if the forest itself had come inside to explore. A wave of rot and decay rolled past me. Something had died in here.

The door slammed closed. As I turned and bolted, I crumpled into its frame. Oh God, I was trapped. Oh God! I was IN a trap.