It has been raining since sunset in the evening. The rain hit hard on the old roof zinc bus stop.

Jide stood under the shelter, jacket zipped to his chin. Water rushed through the gutters in messy swirls, carrying paper and dirt. When looked at his watch, the was already 10 pm.

By now, he should have been halfway to Okeja. That was the plan. But plans rarely worked out for him.

Earlier at the phone shop, a man had argued with him about a charger for nearly thirty minutes. Too expensive, he’d said. Poor quality. Then he wanted a discount. In the end, he bought nothing.

That delay had cost Jide the last easy bus. Now he was stuck here, waiting in the rain.

Okeja wasn’t the kind of place people visited for fun. It was far away, quiet in a way that made you feel watched. His mother had called earlier. She never called at night unless it mattered. Her voice had been tight. Almost rushed.
“make sure you get home tonight. Don’t wait till morning,” she’d said.

She didn’t explain. He didn’t ask. But her tone had stayed with him.

The bus stop was almost empty now. An old man wearing a brow coat waited. He was standing beside a tree watching the wet road.

Brakes squealing immediately a black bus stopped. The sign read:

OKEJA LAST TRIP.

The driver leaned out. His eyes seemed wider than normal.
“You going to Okeja?” he asked.

“Yes,” Jide said.

“Get in. We don’t wait on this trip.”

Something about his voice felt final. Still, Jide climbed aboard.

The smell inside was thick—rust and wet clothes. Seven passengers sat scattered across the bus. Upright. Hands on their laps. No one looked at him. No one moved.

Jide took a seat beside a woman in a faded green dress. Her skin was pale, her lips colourless. He smiled politely. She didn’t react.

The bus rolled away. The rain blurred the view outside. Okeja was supposed to be a straight drive one long road with a few stops.

But this road twisted into narrow streets he didn’t know. The houses were abandoned. Windows broken. Rooms filled with shadows.

He reached for his phone. No signal. Not a single bar.

Then he heard it.

A whisper. So soft it could have been the rain.
“Don’t get down. No matter what you see.”

He turned to the woman in green. She hadn’t moved. But her eyes seemed to know something.

The bus slowed. The driver spoke.
“We’re here.”

Jide looked outside through the glass and saw a wide open field. Lantern swaying in a wind on a wooden pole.

The passengers stood at once, as if answering a signal. They stepped into the rain without speaking.

Jide stayed seated.

“You’re not getting down?” the driver asked, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“Where are we?”

The driver’s grin stretched too wide.
“Okeja.”

The woman in green stood. She leaned close, her breath cold.
“Stay,” she whispered again. Then she stepped off the bus.

The lantern flickered and went dark.

Jide blinked. The bus was empty. Not just empty rotting. Cobwebs clung to the windows. Seats were torn. Rust spread across the metal.

His chest tightened. He stumbled outside.

The field was gone. In its place, a dense forest loomed. The rain had stopped. The air was still.

Behind him, the bus door slammed shut. Headlights flared. Without a driver, it rolled forward into the trees until it vanished.

He turned in a slow circle. No signal on his phone. He remembered what his mother told him earlier.
make sure you get home tonight.

A lantern glowed in the distance. Shapes moved between the trees. The passengers.

They walked in slow, steady steps. Then they all turned their heads toward him.

Their pale faces caught the lantern’s cold light. Their eyes didn’t blink.

His body froze. The forest seemed to close around him.

The passengers kept coming—calm, patient, certain they would reach him.

He stepped back. The ground was soft, swallowing his movement. His phone slipped into the mud.

The lantern flickered. Darkness swallowed their faces.

When the light returned, they were closer. Much closer.

Jide ran.


Ahead, a faint glow appeared. Warm, unlike the lantern.

He pushed toward it.

Breaking through the last trees, he found a dirt road. A motorcycle idled there, its rider hidden under a helmet.

“You going to town?” the rider asked, voice urgent.

“Yes,” Jide panted.

“Get on. Now.”

He climbed on without thinking. The forest faded behind them as the vehicle engine roared 
Jide didn’t look back.

But he felt their eyes.

Somewhere in the trees, the lantern swung.