It was already late into the night when Bus Driver A was on his way back to the depot, and was waved to stop by a little girl.

   “Please,” she said, “take me to the last stop.”

   The little girl mentioned she didn’t have any money. Feeling sorry for her, he told her to take a seat. As he drove off, the road ahead was peaceful—that was, until, after half an hour, he saw the last stop sign just ahead. He tried to pull over, but the brakes weren’t working, and he drove past it. “Mr. Driver, you drove past my stop,” the little girl said.

   Bus Driver A attempted to radio the depot, but only received static noise.

   Then, to his surprise, after another half hour of driving, he saw the same last stop sign. Though once again, he failed to stop the bus. “Mr. Driver, why do you keep driving past my stop?” The little girl’s voice felt so close behind his neck.

   The third time, he realized he had been driving in circles. His calm demeanor turned into fear. With a scream, he rammed the bus into the sign.

   The bus was burning when the Bus Driver A reopened his eyes. Strangely, he felt no pain. The flames weren’t hot. He felt nothing. Outside the window, he saw a red sky above a black river, with people gathered at the shore waiting to board boats. Somehow, he understood that this place he had arrived at was no longer the world of the living, but the realm of the dead.

   “Thank you, Mr. Driver,” said the little girl as she left, “here’s my stop.”