A Chilling Encounter on a Winter’s Night
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| A Chilling Encounter on a Winter’s Night |
This happened when I was 17, a memory that still gives me a chill whenever I think about it. Back then, I’d just started getting into a gym routine, going three or four times a week. I’d always take the bus home afterward, and that Sunday evening was supposed to be no different.
Unfortunately, I missed my usual bus by just a few seconds, which meant a longer wait for the next one. I thought about calling my parents, but they were out, and a cab was too expensive. I figured I’d tough it out in the bus shelter and wait.
It was freezing that night, and a light snow had started to coat the ground in a thin, sparkling layer. After a while, I noticed the bus was taking longer than usual—probably due to the snow. To pass the time, I put in my earbuds and scrolled through my music, letting myself zone out.
An hour crawled by, and the cold was starting to cut through my coat. The street was quiet, and I hadn’t seen a single person for ages. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of someone—a man bundled up in thick layers, walking slowly in my direction. He looked a little off, maybe homeless or just having a rough night. Something about him made me uneasy, but I decided not to look directly at him, hoping he’d just keep going.
Instead, he came into the shelter and sat down on the opposite end, staring at me. I tried to ignore it, but his gaze was hard to ignore. His eyes were glazed, like he was drunk or high, and he had this strange, jittery energy about him. Then, out of nowhere, he asked, "What does the bus do?"
Confused, I took out an earbud and answered politely, “I think it’s delayed because of the snow.” But he didn’t really react—just kept staring for a moment before he started mumbling to himself, his voice low and incoherent. I could feel myself getting more anxious, so I pretended to check my phone, hoping he’d lose interest.
After a couple of minutes, I glanced his way again. He had shifted closer. I looked away, trying to act calm, but I could hear him moving, inching even nearer. Finally, I turned to him and asked, “You okay there?” He looked right at me with this strange, vacant expression, then raised his arm and leaned in my direction. Instinctively, I grabbed my bag, jumped up, and ran down the street without looking back.
When I reached the next bus stop, I finally slowed down, catching my breath and hoping he hadn’t followed me. I glanced around—no sign of him. Relieved, I sat down to wait again, leaning back against the cold glass, trying to shake off the creepy feeling he’d left me with.
Then, out of nowhere, I felt a presence behind me. I turned and there he was, staring at me through the glass. My heart sank. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I yelled, panic creeping into my voice.
He didn’t respond, just began walking around the shelter, slowly coming toward me. "Stay back!" I shouted, my voice echoing in the empty street. I wanted to run, but my bag was still in the shelter, and I couldn’t bring myself to leave it. Suddenly, he lunged, and I managed to dodge, watching as he stumbled and fell face-first onto the ground.
I stood frozen, heart pounding, staring at the blood trickling from his face. Slowly, I leaned down, trying to get a response, but he lay still. Frantically, I dialed 911, and within minutes, the police and paramedics arrived. I explained everything, and as they searched his pockets, they found a worn photograph of him with a young boy who, to my surprise, looked oddly like me.
Later, one of the officers told me the man had lost custody of his son and had been struggling ever since, likely mistaking me for him in his medicated state.
After that night, I decided to get my driver’s license. I haven’t taken a bus since.
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