The Night Bus

GHOSTS

"I have a meeting in Sylhet, we're thinking about merging the companies. Twice the profit," Manila explained, tapping the warm water bottle on her lap.

"Interesting. Is the company you work for in Bangladesh?" Alec was now very curious about her, he noticed the way she got excited when she talked about her work.

"No, it's in England. Oxford, to be precise, that's where I'm from" she stopped tapping and looked up at him, "when do you think they'll be done fixing the tyre?"

"I don't know. It shouldn't take this long."

They had been waiting for over half an hour and patience was not a virtue any of the passengers had. Many of them had complained, but Manila and Alec spent the time to uncover more about each other.

Manila discovered that Alec was a tourist who preferred visiting unpopular yet fascinating countries. He was a floundering 23 year old, trying to find himself while discovering diverse cultures and surroundings. There was not a single thing that was Scottish about him, despite him living there for the first 15 years of his life. Manila found herself hooked on his charming Californian accent.

Alec learned that Manila wasn't just a business woman with a firm selective mind. She was also an art enthusiast who adored abstract paintings and abhorred classical music. She was sure of who she was, not a single doubt in her mind. When she wasn't busy thinking of effective business strategies, she would watch crime shows and imbibe many cups of tea like the English girl she was.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" It was 2.46 a.m. and Manila was starting to share her dark thoughts.

Alec chuckled, disbelievingly, "you're kidding right?"

"Is that a no?"

"Well-"

"Let me tell you a story that will change your mind."

"Oh come on, you don't seriously believe in ghosts, do you?"

"I'm a strong, independent 24 year old who works in a very serious company. If I choose to believe in ghosts, I will believe in ghosts." She always became avid in anything when she was tired, much like a toddler.

"Okay then," Alec replied weakly.

"It was late, at around 1.30 am on a weekday. I was coming home from a funeral of a family friend at Birmingham. The highway was almost empty and I refrained from looking in the front mirror. Because, like most people, I didn't want to see some creepy 'grudge' girl in the backseat." She started tapping the bottle again, to make the story more dramatic and add a bit of background music.

"You know 'Little Chef'?" She asked.

Alec shook his head, slightly confused.

"Oh, well I suppose you don't have them in America. Little Chef is a restaurant, I've never been to them. I've only ever seen them on highways, a 'stop driving and eat' kind of place.

So I was driving and I needed the loo. So naturally, I stopped at Little Chef as soon as I saw it. The lights were on inside and my idiotic self thought it was open." The tapping was now climactic.

Alec eyed her every move, invested in the anecdote.

"I saw this guy standing outside the restaurant and I approached-"

"Weren't you afraid?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I didn't feel threatened by him. Besides, I didn't learn karate to feel scared.
Anyway, the only light on was inside and the man was standing near the back door. He looked more like a silhouette than a person, yet I approached him and asked, "excuse me, could you tell me where the restroom is?"

I blinked, like a breathing, living human being. I blinked and he was gone.

He didn't run off, I didn't hear the rustling or stamping of shoes. I didn't hear a cough in the bitter winter air or a single breath escape his mouth.
People don't just disappear like that, you know.

I was bloody terrified when I entered my car. I didn't look back, I didn't look in any of the mirrors. I simply drove home.

Spooky, isn't it?"

The tapping had stopped.

"Real spooky," Alec muttered, starting to believe her outlandish theory.

"Do you want to hear another one?"