The Last Bus to Ruhal
Introduction: A Detour into Darkness
It was nearing midnight when Aditya boarded the last bus bound for Ruhal, a remote village perched in the mountains of Himachal Pradesh. He had taken this journey on a whim—a solo backpacking trip across the hills to clear his head. But when he asked the locals for directions to the village earlier that day, they had exchanged uneasy glances and mumbled vague warnings: “Not safe after dark.”
Aditya had laughed it off. Ghost stories and superstitions, he thought. The Himachali countryside was dotted with old myths, but none of them had ever stopped tourists like him before.
The bus was ancient, creaking with every turn as it climbed through the winding mountain roads. The few passengers on board sat in silence, their faces hidden beneath shawls, staring blankly ahead. The mist thickened outside, and the only sound was the hum of the bus engine struggling against the steep incline.
Act 1: The Lonely Road
Hours passed, and the bus slowed to a crawl. The fog was dense now, almost choking the headlights, and the road seemed to vanish into the abyss ahead. The driver’s face was a mask of unease. Aditya noticed something strange—the same few passengers who had been sitting behind him were now seated in the front rows. He hadn’t seen them move.
Then, the driver muttered something in Himachali under his breath, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. The words were low, like a prayer or a warning, but Aditya didn’t ask. The bus lurched to a stop at a fork in the road, and the driver hesitated before taking the narrower path—a dirt road disappearing into the forest.
As they drove deeper into the woods, the bus’s headlights swept over twisted branches and strange stone shrines on either side of the road. They resembled faces—distorted, ancient, watching.
Act 2: An Unscheduled Stop
After what felt like hours of winding through the dense forest, the bus screeched to a halt. Aditya leaned forward, peering into the darkness beyond the windows.
“Why have we stopped?” he asked the driver.
The old man didn’t answer. Instead, he kept staring ahead at something on the road—a silhouette standing still amidst the swirling mist. It was a woman in a white saree, her head tilted at an unnatural angle.
The driver began chanting again under his breath. One of the passengers hissed, “Don’t look at her.”
But Aditya’s curiosity betrayed him. He locked eyes with the figure. And just like that, she vanished into the mist.
The driver cursed under his breath, slammed the gears into reverse, and turned the bus around with alarming urgency. But Aditya wasn’t ready to leave. Something inside him—a voice, a whisper—told him to stay.
Without thinking, he grabbed his bag and jumped off the bus.
Act 3: Lost in the Forest
As soon as his boots hit the ground, the bus disappeared into the mist. The forest swallowed the sound of its engine, leaving Aditya standing alone on the dirt road, the cold creeping under his skin.
He glanced around, but there was no sign of the woman. The road behind him stretched into darkness, and the path ahead looked no better. With a sigh, he slung his bag over his shoulder and walked into the woods, hoping to find the village of Ruhal before dawn.
As he ventured deeper, the mist grew heavier. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if the forest wanted him to stay. He heard a distant hum—a woman humming a song—but the tune was broken, faltering, like a record scratched beyond repair.
Then, he saw her again, standing just ahead, her back turned to him this time. Aditya opened his mouth to call out, but no sound came. His legs moved forward on their own. He reached out... and she turned.
Her face was featureless, a smooth expanse of pale skin with no eyes, no mouth—only the faint outline of teeth beneath her skin, pressing against it from the inside.
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