The Bus That Feeds on Sorrow

In the quiet town of Willow's End, a peculiar legend had long whispered through the shadows. It was said that on the night of the new moon, a bus would appear on the outskirts of town, feeding on the sorrow of its passengers. Few dared to speak of it, for the legend was one of the town's many unsolved mysteries, a cautionary tale told to children who would not listen.

On the eve of the new moon, a group of strangers found themselves on the same train, bound for Willow's End. They were an eclectic mix: an elderly woman who had lost her family in a tragic accident, a young couple dealing with the betrayal of a friend, and a man whose son had vanished without a trace. None of them knew each other, but they shared a common thread—a sorrow so deep that it had carved a scar upon their hearts.

The train stopped at the small station of Willow's End, and the group stepped out into the cool night air. The station was dimly lit, and the only sound was the distant howl of a dog. As they exited, they saw a bus idling nearby, its windows dark and the headlights glowing softly. The driver, a stoic figure with a weathered face, nodded to them without a word.

The bus was older than it looked, its leather seats worn and the paint peeling. The passengers took their seats, each lost in their own thoughts. The elderly woman whispered to herself, her eyes fixed on the window. The couple held each other tightly, their fingers intertwined. The man with the vanished son tried to appear composed, but his knuckles turned white as he gripped the armrest.

As the bus pulled away from the station, the driver turned off the lights, and the only illumination came from the eerie glow of the headlights. The passengers exchanged glances, a sense of unease settling over them. The driver, still silent, began to sing a haunting melody, the lyrics lost to the night.

The bus traveled through the empty streets of Willow's End, the silence punctuated only by the occasional screech of tires on cobblestone. The passengers noticed that the driver seemed to know every back road and shortcut, taking them through places they had never seen. The elderly woman began to cry, her sorrow now feeding the bus. The couple whispered to each other, their fear growing. The man with the vanished son closed his eyes, willing himself to remain calm.

The bus stopped, and the driver opened the door to reveal a field bathed in moonlight. The passengers stepped out, their feet sinking into the soft earth. The driver stood before them, his face a mask of sorrow. "Welcome to the place where your sorrows are mine," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The passengers looked around, confused. The driver nodded towards the bus. "Step inside, and your sorrows will be taken from you." Without a word, they climbed back onto the bus, the driver closing the door behind them.

Inside, the bus was dark, save for the eerie glow of the headlights. The passengers sat in their seats, the driver now at the helm. The melody resumed, a siren call to the depths of their souls. The elderly woman's sobs grew louder, her sorrow now a tangible presence. The couple held each other, their fear turning to terror. The man with the vanished son closed his eyes, willing the pain to end.

The driver turned the bus, and the passengers felt a strange pull, as if the bus was trying to consume them. The elderly woman's cries grew more desperate, her sorrow now a force that threatened to overwhelm them. The couple's whispers turned into screams, their fear now a part of the bus's insatiable hunger. The man with the vanished son opened his eyes, only to see the driver's eyes reflecting his own sorrow.

The bus reached a stop, and the driver opened the door. The passengers stepped out, their legs weak and unsteady. The driver approached them, his hands outstretched. "Welcome to the end of your sorrow," he said, his voice filled with a twisted satisfaction.

The passengers looked at each other, their faces contorted in fear and disbelief. The driver's hands moved closer, and the passengers felt a chill run down their spines. The elderly woman, the couple, and the man with the vanished son all stepped forward, their sorrows now a part of the driver's essence.

The driver wrapped his arms around each of them, his embrace a promise of release. As he did, the passengers felt their sorrows being drawn out of them, a darkness seeping into their souls. The driver's eyes widened, his face now a mask of ravenous hunger.

The bus, now empty, pulled away from the stop, leaving the passengers behind. They looked at each other, their faces now hollow and lifeless. The driver, now free of their sorrows, sang a triumphant melody, the bus speeding away into the night.

In the town of Willow's End, the legend of the bus that feeds on sorrow lived on, a reminder that some sorrows are too deep to be released, and that the night is full of things that feed on our fears.