The bus ride was long, the city lights fading behind her as they moved deeper into the countryside. The air grew colder, the roads quieter, and with every passing mile, Leena felt a strange mix of relief and unease.
The driver, an old man with weathered skin and tired eyes, seemed eager to talk. She wasn't in the mood for conversation, but he didn't seem to notice.
"You ever been up this way before?" he asked, his voice raspy from years of smoking.
"No," Leena replied, staring out the window.
He chuckled, a deep, knowing sound. "Figures. Not many people go there unless they have to."
She glanced at him. "Why's that?"
The driver gave her a sideways look, as if deciding whether to tell her something. Then, with a smirk, he said, "Because that town ain't normal. People say it's haunted."
Leena sighed. Of course. Small towns always had their share of ghost stories.
"Yeah?" she said, humoring him.
The driver nodded, gripping the wheel tighter. "Used to be a man there—Elias Graves. Died in his thirties. Folks say he was cursed, that he still lingers, watchin' people, waitin' for somethin'."
Leena rolled her eyes. "Sounds like a local legend."
He chuckled again. "Maybe. But I've heard folks swear they've seen him. Walking the streets at night. Staring through windows. He don't rest."
Leena turned back to the window, unimpressed. She had no time for ghost stories. The only horrors she believed in were real ones—the kind she had already lived through.
"Let me guess," she said dryly. "If I see him, I should run?"
The driver's smile faded. "No," he said, his tone suddenly serious. "If you see him… it's already too late."
Leena didn't respond. She just tightened her grip on her bag and waited for the town to appear in the distance, ignoring the lingering chill that crept up her spine.