Paranormal Whisper- The Last Passenger of the 108.

I was 43 when I agreed to cover a night shift for a friend who'd gone on holiday, and I thought the worst part of it would be the hours. I had never worked nights before, never driven those empty roads with the city half asleep and every bus stop looking colder than it should. At first it just felt unfamiliar, the kind of quiet that makes you notice every sound and every movement a little too much.
But as the night wore on, something about that route began to get under my skin in a way I still struggle to explain. What frightened me most was not one single moment, but the slow feeling that I was no longer in control of what was happening around me. The bus felt wrong. The mirrors felt wrong. Even the silence started to feel like it was waiting for something. I kept trying to be sensible, trying to explain things away, because that is what you do when you have a job to finish and no choice but to keep going.
But the longer the shift went on, the more I felt like I was carrying something I could not see clearly and could not understand, and by the time morning came, I knew I had brought home more than just exhaustion. Even now, years later, I cannot sit on a late bus without feeling that same tightness in my chest, as though one ordinary favor on a wet London night left a part of me stuck on that route forever.