There was apprehension in the air as the sun set, throwing deep shadows across Ilam. The night bus to Siliguri wasn’t just another form of transit; it was a symbol of danger that drew the brave and the curious. People in the area forewarned about the spooky legends that circulate about travellers who boarded the bus but never arrived at their destination.

The bus pulled up, its windows catching the faint light from the street lamps. The driver, a serious man whose eyes betrayed hidden knowledge, opened the door with a groan.

The night bus to Siliguri rocked and rolled over the deserted road, its headlights slicing through the mist like two sharp blades. All of the passengers were quiet inside, seemingly preoccupied with their own thoughts.

The only sounds were the rhythmic rumbling of the engine and the occasional snore from the old man in the corner.

The driver spent his time looking both ways in the mirror before making any moves. He went out into the world anticipating trouble because he knew it existed.

Things seemed to occur on nights like this. It was the kind of night where the shadows moved and the night assumed form.

The driver had witnessed everything previously. He’d seen individuals vanish into the mist and never reappear. His blood had cooled after what he had seen in the past.

Tonight, however, he was dead set on protecting his passengers. Nothing would happen to them while he was watching.

The bus driver was relieved when they finally reached a rest stop and pulled into a small town. Even if it was just for a short time, he was glad to emerge from the haze. He observed as the passengers disembarked. However, the feeling of fear returned. There was nothing he could do to save them, and he knew they were all in danger.

After a while, the bus continued on its way, and the driver’s eyes started to close. He fought sleep valiantly but failed. He simply had not had enough sleep.

He went to sleep with his eyes closed.

The fog appeared to him in his dream. It was dense and oppressive, and it looked to be actively moving. He couldn’t escape the oncoming fog. He had no way out.

As he jolted awake, his heart started racing. They (the passengers) disappeared. No one else was on the bus with him.

He accelerated faster and looked out the window. The fog remained, albeit it was thinner than in his nightmare. The road lay out in front of him, and he could make out the lights of a nearby town.

The bus driver wandered and reflected on his nocturnal vision. It has to be more than a dream, he realised. It served as a caution. The mist was approaching, and it was headed in his direction.

He needed to go to the city as soon as possible.

His heart was thumping in his chest, and he sped up his pace. He could feel the fog enveloping him as it continued to advance. Somewhere he could pick up on the soft utterance of his name. His thighs pumped furiously as drove. Just ahead, he could make out the town.

He had nearly made it. He sped up his bus, but it was useless. The fog was simply too dense. He had lost his sense of direction. He lost his footing and collapsed, and the mist engulfed him. He yelled out, but no one came to his rescue. In the haze, he was all by himself.

Dead in his seat the following morning was the bus driver. The travellers had not yet arrived. The police looked everywhere for them, but nothing came up. The fog had abducted them, and it had no intention of letting them go. No one is sure where the night bus to Siliguri goes, but it keeps on running.

Some claim it leads to a realm where constant fog and shifting shadows are the norm. Some claim it leads to a place where the dead are never forgotten. However, nobody can say for sure.

The bus rider woke up drenched in sweat. Once again, he thought he had dreamt a nightmare in which he was surrounded by fog. He got out of bed and started rummaging around. He was in a tiny, dim room. One window was present, but it was barred.

Suddenly he walked over to the window. He looked outside, but it was too dark to see anything. The only thing he could see was the fog, which moved around him like a living creature. He refocused his attention inward and sat down on the bed. He attempted to recall how he had arrived, but nothing came to memory.

He had no idea what was happening other than that he was stuck and the fog was closing in on him. He froze as he heard a sound outside the door. A person entered through the opened door.

The person was cloaked in mist and stood tall and slender. Even though the man couldn’t see its face, he could sense that he was being watched.

A whispering voice came from the figure. “You are mine now,” it proclaimed. “You will never leave.”

The driver yelled in terror, but the creature vanished. The night was gloomy and the fog was getting closer to him. He was prepared to die once again.

No one ever figured out why the bus driver died. No one found the travellers. No one is sure where the night bus to Siliguri goes, but it keeps on running.

Nothing is known about the night bus to Siliguri except that it is mysterious and dark. Don’t take the night bus to Siliguri if you can help it.