The Man on the Bus

By: Corryn Williams

I could already see him staring me down from across the bus, through the smudged lenses of his thick red glasses and long eyelashes.

His brown scruff seemed to move every time I would glance back at him to see if he was still staring at me. He almost seemed to sit still, frozen in time, like a very flexible statue.

I would glance down at my phone, pretend to type a text or like a post, and then put my eyes back to him. He wouldn’t even make acknowledgment, he just kept on staring.

My stop was coming up, so I had to let him know I was not a feast for his eyes.

I lifted up my head made direct eye contact with him, and shot him a look to say “can I help you?” 

He would shift his eyes away and sit up a bit straighter, scratching his nose and lean back, but I still felt he would look over

at me every so often.

When my stop arrived, he stood up at the exact same time I did. He seemed to walk far too quickly out of the door and stood out on the sidewalk as if he was waiting for me to get off.

Once I did, he walked the opposite direction, never looking back. I was just being paranoid, or maybe I should be.

I made my way down the sidewalk to get to my apartment, as I still felt he was there.

My building was very hidden away, and my front door was even worse.

I didn’t want to walk back there alone, but who would I take with me?

I had just moved here to Rotterdam, and the chances of me making a friend were very slim due to my social awkwardness.

I quickly came into the alley where my apartment was as I reached for my belt loop to find my keys.

Reaching my front stoop, I became a little panicky to get in the door for I was still worried about the man following me.

I opened the door quickly and with great force I slammed the door and immediately locked it, followed by the drawing of my curtains and the assurance my door was locked - again.

I’m known to have major issues with telling myself nothing is wrong because I’m always suspicious.

Yet again, I knew nobody in this town. Trying to talk to people would be extremely difficult.

A lot of people spoke Dutch and German. I was an English and Russian speaker, so the fact I had moved here just so I can be closer to my family seemed unnecessary. I couldn't talk to them anyway.

I put the whole bus situation off my mind and put in a simple microwave dinner with tea, then settled in front of my laptop to unwind with news of the day.

Unfortunately, the top headline was reports of a disappearing man named Bennett Burgundy who had been last seen in my area.

That was not very relieving, and it only made me go deeper into this man.

He was a thirty-one year old man, married to Sierra Burgundy.

She, in her own words, “is crushed he is nowhere in sight and hopes every night he will come back”. In Dutch, obviously, which took one lousy copy-and-paste into Google Translate.

I felt a little unsteady at the fact the woman looked vaguely familiar to me.

Deeper into the search, I found a comparison photo of the missing man.

I knew his face more than his wife. He looked far too familiar to brush him off as someone I never knew. I definitely had met him somewhere.

I continued to click on link after link, dragging myself deeper into this drama.

Eventually, I had to stop myself and clicked out of the window, back to my regular social media feed.

As I immersed myself into some better news, an instant message popped up in the corner of my screen. It was a strange Russian name; Ruslan Gania.

Now, I never answer messages from people I didn’t know, especially with the recent events that happened today, but all they sent was a link.

It was a strange mixture of numbers, letters, and symbols. It didn’t look trustworthy in any way.

I refused to click on it. Rather, I sent them a reply.

Leave me alone.

And that was that. I hit send, and I continued to scroll.

I received another message.

The message to Ruslan Gania had failed to send.

I shrugged, deleting the conversation, and shutting off my laptop to go work on my paintings.

My eyes are gold. They can see beauty in ways that no one else can.

I see colors that are vibrant and saturated, point out features of man that I would never think of seeing.

I am impressed with my eyes, and how well I can use them.

That's why painting is such an important thing to me. I can pick out tiny details from the world and translate it to a canvas.

I do in fact get paid to paint. I sell them on a website with over seventy-eight thousand followers. I also paint just for fun.

Most of the things I find myself painting are flowery scenes or winter wonderlands with the sparkling snow, or girls with large overcoats on with snowflakes sticking to their eyelashes or young children standing in the ocean.

While painting is a passion, another thing I focus on is investigating animal behavior. I have two pets of my own.

Well, one pet and it’s lunch.

I have a python I named Kyle whom I tried to feed a mouse to and all he did was move to the other side of the tank and munch on wood chippings.

A snake specialist told me it was a snake who didn’t eat animals, hence making it a vegetarian snake.

So, now I have a pet mouse I named Max. Kyle continues to only eats lettuce and basil leaves.

In my back bedroom, with American music pouring from my speakers, I continued a painting of a lagoon mermaid with pink hair.

This was a commissioned piece, and while I don’t exactly enjoy painting mythical characters, it was nice getting to create something outside of what I was used to.

There was a strange band I didn’t place blasting a medley of trumpets, guitars, and violins singing about a strange time and place that really made no sense. Not that American music is all bad. I enjoy a few artists that hit the pop charts.

Washing out each of my paint brushes, the song skipped to a new track, where a techno beat pulsed in my mind. I went to go skip to the next track when I spot a notification that makes my stomach drop.

I began to speculate if he could be the man staring at me on the bus. I had almost forgotten about that incident until this moment.

I pull out my phone from the speaker and open the message nervously.

The link was once again sent. The same pattern of numbers, the same worded code. It was ready to be clicked on.

It seemed to me like a horrible scam or a nasty virus that would totally destroy my phone.

So, I block the user. I know they’ll find a loophole to find me again, but maybe that will give them a hint to leave me alone.

I finish cleaning my art supplies and decide to just get some sleep. It was almost one in the morning, and the painting was far beyond complete.

I decided to take off my clothes, crawl into bed in nothing but a shirt, and immerse myself in a restful night.

Or at least what could have been.

I woke up an hour later to the sound of my home phone ringing in the kitchen. I tried my best to ignore it, but it almost seemed to never shut off.

I finally decided to get out of bed and walk into my pitch black kitchen to unplug my landline from the outlet.

If this had anything to do with that Gania man, I do not want anything to do with him.

I tried to go back to bed, but the haunting thought of a stalker constantly trying to get in contact with me bothered me.

The fact I had two windows near my bed terrified me.

The fact the two apartments on either side of me were vacant drew the line.

I had to get this guy off my back.

And the only way seemed to be to watch the video he sent me.

I quickly went to the living room and opened my laptop, squinting at the blinding light.

Sure enough, 4 new messages from Ruslan were in the notification bar, all of the exact same links, followed by a new message.

Please help this poor soul. He’s like you.

Trying my best not to get scared, I slowly clicked on the link.

It pulled up a tab that asked me if I would like to run this file. I hit yes with a wavering hand, resting a hand on my head, expelling a concerned huff of air through my nose.

Then, a video appeared, titled “Hamen chhod do mat”

I hit play, bracing myself.

The video began with sentences in Hindi, which I definitely could not read.

Suddenly, an English narrator began to speak.

“If you can hear my voice, you are probably the last person on this Earth that wants to get to know me. You are probably unaware of my existence, and if you are, consider yourself lucky. I know everything about you, though, and I have for many years prior to this. You can avoid me all your little heart can but I will always come back to you.” then, the sentence is cut short and it switches to the video of Bennett, the man who went missing.

His tired eyes glow white from the green tint over the camera.

He looks in a daze, in the dark room, the camera right in his face. I can tell he’s bound to a chair.

The narrator continues “Before you wonder, this is Bennett. He is the man you’re looking for. I have him here with me, and he will stay here until we collect all the items we can get.  Something on that list has to do with you,”

Obviously, I  have no idea of what the item might be, and I still am so, utterly confused about what I have to do with the man in the camera.

The narrator quits talking as Bennett speaks, “...I am disappointed in you.” he says to me as if I had done something to him before. “You could have saved me. You could have saved yourself…!” his voice rises as he continues to protest, but then it was quieted down when a soft voice appears from behind the camera.

“Shh, no need to shout,” it says. It sounds nothing like the narrator. It sounds high-pitched and slurred. Bennett drops his head, taking deep breaths, beginning to cry, “Before they find you, tell everyone you know that you will be gone for a while. I didn’t get that chance. I didn’t get that warning--” suddenly another figure appears behind him and stuffs his head into a bag and the camera shuts off, the screen black, reflecting with my terrified face.

I slam my laptop close, my breath quickening. I turn on every light inside my house, just to make sure no one is hiding in a corner, and then I put furniture in front of every opening in my home. The front door, the windows, the air vents, and the garbage chute. I then lock all other internal rooms in my house beside the bathroom and kitchen. I was going to stay out of my bedroom for a while.

I open my cell phone and dial the number for the police. I was now aware where the missing man, Bennett was being kept. 

Or at least I had an idea.

I stared at the video information as the operator picked up.

“911, what’s your emergency?” asks the operator.

I nod, “Y-yes, I have been receiving messages from the person who has kidnapped Bennett Burgundy, the man who went missing a few days ago.”

The operator on the other line pauses, “Alright, can you print out a photo of said messages and deliver them to the nearest police station?” she asks.

“Of course.” I say.

“Thank you for notifying us. Have a nice night.” says the woman.

The other line shuts off. I found that conversation far too short, but I suppose it wasn’t exactly an emergency, so they had to hang up to answer to real people in distress.

I open up my laptop to screen capture the conversation and download the video to my laptop, but when to go to find Ruslan’s profile, no results appear.

The conversation was deleted and so was his profile. No matter how many ways I searched it, his profile never came up.

It was at that point where I felt that I was about to get myself into something, really, really horrible.

I picked up my cell phone, and on the home screen I had two missed calls I could only assume were from Ruslan.

So, I called him back.

The ringing seemed to repeat over and over as I paced the living room, scared out of my mind by now, praying he would answer.

Finally, I heard the phone being picked up.

“I’m in the parking lot.” said the voice that sounded like the narrator.

“I’m waiting for you to walk out here,” it spoke in a way that sent a really sickening feeling in my stomach.

Shakily, I replied, “I’m not coming out there.”

There was a pause, “Then I’ll come get you.”

I quickly hung up the phone and ran to the front door, leaning up against it, making sure no one could push it open.

I waited there with still breath, closing my eyes, tears trickling down my face and my heart louder than I had ever heard it.

That was when the voice appeared behind me.

“You forgot to block off a window, Alice.”

I whirled around to see a man who had been on the bus standing behind me, holding a syringe in his right hand.

I screamed out so loud I was sure the neighbors above could hear me, but the figure clapped a hand on my mouth.

I stared back at him, frozen there, unable to think. I needed to get out of there but I was too afraid to move.

“You don’t need to wake up anyone, now do you?” and he jabbed the syringe into my neck and slowly, I felt my reality slipping away.

My breath slowed down along with my heartbeat, my vision going blurry, my head almost spinning too fast.

Then I was out for a while.