I've got a story for you today — one that's been drifting around the Nampodong area for a while now.
I can't say for certain it's true. I heard it from someone I know, and even they didn't experience it firsthand... apparently it's just one of those tales that makes the rounds in that part of town. Still, once you've heard it, I think you'll find yourself thinking about it the next time you board a late-night bus.
This was a few years back, they say. A woman in her late twenties boarded the last bus alone from Nampodong. It was past midnight. Whether it was a Saturday or a Sunday, I couldn't tell you — but it was late, and her feet were aching. Must have been a long day of walking. She said that when she got on, the only thing in her head was getting home.
There weren't many people on the bus. Toward the back, there was a group — five or six men, she thought. At first she didn't think anything of it. She just sat down and looked out the window. But then something felt off. It was the silence.
A group of people on the last bus, and not a sound between them. No murmuring, no phone calls, nothing. They were just... there. She found it strange enough to glance back — and the moment she did, she locked eyes with one of them. He smiled at her. Without a sound. Just the corners of his mouth pulling upward. She snapped her gaze forward immediately, and that's when the cold sweat started. A chill spreading across her back where it pressed against the seat.
For the rest of the ride, she kept her eyes on the window. Watching the darkness outside while feeling watched herself. She said it was like pinpricks at the back of her skull. She didn't need to turn around to know. She could feel them looking.
And then — the driver caught her eye in the rearview mirror. Once, twice. On the third time, he held her gaze, and raised his hand just slightly, pointing ahead. There was no stop marked there, but the bus slowed anyway, and came to a halt. The doors opened. The driver gave a single nod. That was all. Not one word spoken.
She got off without really understanding why. Half in a daze. As the doors closed and the bus pulled away, she saw one of the men through the rear window — his hand pressed flat against the glass, staring back at her.
His hand was touching the glass.
Later, when she told someone about that night, she said it was the hand she couldn't stop seeing. It looked like something reaching out to grab hold. She wasn't sure... but no one ever told her what happened to that bus after that night.
Or what happened to the driver.
