Guttersnipe
mortal ally
I wrote this story last night, but I've had the general idea for a while. This is my first draft, more of an outline than anything. I'm planning on expanding it a lot and making it into a longer creepypasta. Any ideas as to how I should expand and possibly rephrase the story are welcome.
"The Wrong Bus"
It's 7:45 P.M., and I'm in such a hurry to get home to my dog that I walk onto a bus I've never seen before. I don't even notice the number on it, if there is one. I mechanically pay the fare. Automatically, I sit in the seat closest to the driver, a habit of mine. As soon as I put my cellphone back into my wallet, I take stock of my surroundings.
On a seat kitty-corner to me, there's a seventy-ish man with a white beard reading a newspaper. But that isn't what got me. He was missing an eye, its socket blood-stained. He notices me and looks up. His remaining eye is piercing.
"What the f*** are you looking at?" he says.
I immediately avert my gaze, and I hear him re-shuffle his newspaper. Turning around, I see a handful of people nearer the back. A chill rushes through me.
There is a teenage girl with a wide, bloody hole through her forehead and scars on her arms. A middle-aged man has a knife in his chest with the handle sticking outwards. A man around my age had a sickly black substance trickling from his orifices. I look away.
Now I knew where I am. I decide against glancing at the driver; I half-expect him to be Satan himself.
I ring the cord. For a while, I think it's too late, that the driver will not stop. To my surprise, he does.
No sooner do I exit the bus than it completely vanishes. The night has become pitch-black, barring the street lamps' lights. I notice I'm close to home, and walking there doesn't bother me. I am very cautious, though...because some day, I know the wrong bus will be the right bus.
"The Wrong Bus"
It's 7:45 P.M., and I'm in such a hurry to get home to my dog that I walk onto a bus I've never seen before. I don't even notice the number on it, if there is one. I mechanically pay the fare. Automatically, I sit in the seat closest to the driver, a habit of mine. As soon as I put my cellphone back into my wallet, I take stock of my surroundings.
On a seat kitty-corner to me, there's a seventy-ish man with a white beard reading a newspaper. But that isn't what got me. He was missing an eye, its socket blood-stained. He notices me and looks up. His remaining eye is piercing.
"What the f*** are you looking at?" he says.
I immediately avert my gaze, and I hear him re-shuffle his newspaper. Turning around, I see a handful of people nearer the back. A chill rushes through me.
There is a teenage girl with a wide, bloody hole through her forehead and scars on her arms. A middle-aged man has a knife in his chest with the handle sticking outwards. A man around my age had a sickly black substance trickling from his orifices. I look away.
Now I knew where I am. I decide against glancing at the driver; I half-expect him to be Satan himself.
I ring the cord. For a while, I think it's too late, that the driver will not stop. To my surprise, he does.
No sooner do I exit the bus than it completely vanishes. The night has become pitch-black, barring the street lamps' lights. I notice I'm close to home, and walking there doesn't bother me. I am very cautious, though...because some day, I know the wrong bus will be the right bus.