I Shared a Bus Ride with a Serial Killer

Based on the kinds of ordinary moments that can become terrifying in hindsight. It was raining the night I boarded the last bus home. There were only six passengers. An elderly couple sat near the front, a college student slept against the window, and a man in a dark jacket occupied the very last seat. He never looked out the window. He never checked his phone. He simply watched everyone who entered.

When I walked past him, he smiled.

Not warmly.

Just enough to let me know he’d noticed me.

I chose a seat near the middle and put on my headphones. Every few minutes, I caught him staring. Whenever our eyes met, he’d slowly look away.

At the next stop, everyone except the two of us got off.

The driver announced the route was ending early because of flooding. He told us to leave at the final stop.

When the bus finally emptied, I stepped onto the deserted street. The man got off behind me.

His footsteps echoed.

So did mine.

Every turn I took, he took.

I convinced myself I was imagining it—until I stopped at a pedestrian crossing. He stopped too, just a few meters behind me.

I crossed the road suddenly.

He crossed.

My heartbeat drowned out the sound of the rain.

Instead of walking home, I ducked into a brightly lit convenience store. I wandered the aisles, pretending to shop while secretly watching the entrance.

He walked in.

He didn’t buy anything.

He simply wandered the store, never far from where I stood.

The cashier noticed my nervous expression and quietly asked if I knew the man.

I shook my head.

Without saying another word, the cashier picked up the phone and said loudly, “Yes, officer, they’re still here.”

The man froze.

He glanced toward the counter, turned around, and walked out into the rain.

I waited nearly thirty minutes before leaving.

The next morning, the local news reported that police had arrested a suspected serial killer less than two kilometers from that convenience store after a witness reported his suspicious behavior. Investigators believed he had been linked to multiple disappearances across several towns over the previous five years.

Security footage released later showed him entering the store just seconds after I did.

The police couldn’t prove he had chosen me as a victim.

Maybe he was simply trying to stay dry.

Maybe the cashier’s quick thinking saved my life.

I’ll never know.

But even now, years later, whenever I notice someone watching me a little too long in a crowded place, I remember that smile from the back of the bus.

Some encounters never truly end.

They simply follow you home.