The Man at the Bus Stop

When I was 16, I used to take the bus home from school every day. There was this quiet

man who always sat at the same stop, reading a newspaper. He never spoke to anyone,

but for some reason, I started noticing him following me on my route—just keeping pace behind

me, never overtly, but always there. One evening, I got home and noticed

the front gate was slightly open. My parents weren’t home. I shrugged it off

and went inside. That night, I kept hearing footsteps in the hallway. Every time I went

to check, there was nothing. The next day, at school, a classmate told

me something chilling. “Did you hear about Mr. Walters? The man who used to live down by