The last bus to Maryland Park, scheduled to arrive at eleven, was five minutes late. Philip was tapping his right foot while he stood at the dimly lit bus stop, glancing at his watch every half a minute. Having to complete his monotonous yet hectic shift at the bakery after attending his college lectures had exhausted him and his phone battery till the point of near-death—at least, that's what it felt like to him. The bus arrived, at last. The driver checked his watch and looked at Philip.
"Sorry for the delay," he said, smiling.
"Not a problem," mumbled Philip, without looking at the driver, while he tapped his card on the reader. With drooping eyelids, he carried himself to the upper deck taking heavy steps. He stumbled at the top of the landing, grabbing the pole for support just before he slipped. He shook himself and raised his head.
Just an hour to midnight, he was surprised to see the usually empty upper deck now stocked full of passengers. All seats were occupied. Philip's tired eyes scanned the deck—ah, yes—there was one vacant seat right in the corner of the last row. Fortunate enough, he thought and sank in the seat. The home was twenty minutes away from now. He hugged his backpack and closed his eyes. He had started drifting off a bit, lulled by the soft rocking of the bus.
The bus was now passing through the forest stretch of its route. Pitch black trees rushed past the single lane road dimly illuminated by headlights in the lack of street lighting.
A hand tapped his shoulder and he jumped in his seat, startled by abruptly awakening from his shallow sleep. He turned to his left and looked at the girl next to him--he hadn't noticed her before. Thin, blonde, and extremely pale. She looked about the same age as him.
"Your stop is here," she said, without emotion.
"What?" Philip blurted out, peeping out the window to check. He realized only now that the bus had stopped moving. Dark trees stared back at him from the forest periphery. He turned back to the girl, "This is not my stop, and how do you think you know where-"
"This is your stop," she said again, unmoved. There was no expression on her face. She simply held eye contact.
Absolute silence suffused the bus. Slowly, his eyes traveled through the motionless passengers around him. They were all teenagers— young boys and girls. They looked normal except that they all sat in the same upright position and— they had no skin on their blood-smothered bodies. Disgusted and horrified, he got no chance to think or react before their heads started turning—all in unison, slowly, facing him. Bloodshot eyes bulging out of their bone sockets among clusters of skin hanging in patches from deformed faces that glared at him in the silence that was becoming increasingly icy and uncomfortable by the second. Philip couldn't move. He forgot how to breathe while his heart was in his throat. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't look away. Not now. A chill ran down his spine as Philip became aware of his position—he was the only life surrounded by seemingly undead teenagers in a motionless bus in the middle of a desolate forest at midnight.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the girl—no, she too was a dead, skinless teenager part of this bloody mess—except that she was the only one smiling. Still motionless, she finally broke the silence.
"I told you it was your stop. Welcome to the family."
Philip had his bag clutched tightly to his chest. He had to escape this madness. The adrenaline rushing through his blood was high enough. He could at least try. In one swift motion, he got up and ran—stumbling through his way—to the top of the stairs. He paused and looked back to check--their eyes followed, but none of them did. Then the chanting started.
"We are forever young."
They kept repeating the words.
"We are forever young. We are forever young-"
Just as he began moving downstairs, the bus started again. He struggled for balance. The driver, he remembered, the Goddamn driver!
He ran down to the lower deck. It was empty. He turned to the driver's seat and shouted—
"Hey! What the Hel-"
The driver didn't interrupt him—he simply turned—and Philip could no longer speak. The driver of the bus was a middle-aged man who wore a shirt with a jacket over a pair of jeans, covering his patched skin—skin sewn into his real skin in multiple layers.
"You boarded the wrong bus tonight," he said to Philip and continued driving.
"Stop it! Please, what have I done to you?", Philip cried in a high, cracked voice. He started banging on the glass door, eyes wide with mania.
"You and I will be forever young now," the driver said and smiled at him, which was the last thing Philip saw before he blacked out.
When he woke up, he was seated on the lower deck. The bus halted at the stop he boarded from. A young boy climbed in. The driver checked his watch and looked at him—
"Sorry for the delay," he said, smiling.
"Get off right now! Can you hear me? They'll kill you! Get off the bus!" Phillip bellowed, standing up from his seat.
The boy paid no heed to him. He couldn't hear a sound. He carried on and climbed to the upper deck. There was only one seat vacant-- the one in the corner of the last row. He sat and plugged in his earphones. Next to him, sat the pale, motionless body of Philip.
Downstairs, Philip looked up, with sadness in his eyes, at the digital clock that displayed—11:05 p.m