Huron had only one bus stop, placed at the entrance-exit crossroads on the edge of town. The Huron-Anastasia Transit was markedly underused. See, it was common that no one wanted to come here and that no one wanted to leave this town.
However, an autumn afternoon revealed a lone figure sitting at the bus stop. Bundled in shockingly black clothing, a monochrome appearance between the outfit and the pallid skin underneath. The figure was stationary, calm, despite the near-frigid wind pushing against them. They were old and clean, neat almost to a point.
The transit would not arrive for another hour, and yet this did not dissuade the figure. Watching, waiting, they had a quiet, sort of contemplative glee across their face: a youthful crone grin and flashing eyes. Their attention was fixed on something beyond the road in front of them, nearer to a local thicket.
They were not looking at the tree line, but somehow deeper. Something invisible to passers-by, and yet wholly known to them of which they never took their eyes from. It was the source of this calm and pulsing feeling inside.
An hour later, the only thing to disrupt their focus was the bus stopping. The door swung open, and they boarded. In one simple movement, it seemed, they had risen from the bench and settled into a seat upon the transit.
As the bus closed and pulled away from the lone bus stop, the old figure gave a single, somber nod toward the thicket.
Deep within, a grove of bodies began to decay.
By Sam Sage