The creep I met at a bus stop

I’ve been thinking about this story for a while, and decided I should write it up here and see what everyone else thinks.<br><br>A few months ago, I moved to a new city for college. It’s not too big, not too small, but big enough that I have to drive a car to get around most of the time. My parents thought it would be a good idea if they drove me there instead of flying, because I have a lot of stuff to bring. So we made arrangements for them to drive me, and they asked if I would drive slowly and stop whenever I wanted to stop so they could stretch their legs.<br><br>I don’t mind driving for long periods of time, and I’m pretty familiar with the route, so it seemed like a fair trade. We set off in the morning, and I drove. Every few hours or so I’d pull over so my parents could get out, stretch, eat, whatever they wanted to do. It was actually really nice having them around for a while, because we were all excited to see each other.<br><br>One stretch of road takes you past a lot of suburban neighborhoods. There’s not really much else along there, no shops or restaurants or anything, so when I passed through that part, I drove at a slow pace. There was a bus stop there, and I slowed down a bit so I wouldn’t block the whole road, just in case a bus was coming. I was sitting there, and I looked over into my rearview mirror, and there was a man standing next to the bus stop.<br><br>I don’t really know why I did it, but I started staring at him. He was a pretty normal-looking guy, tall and thin, and he had long, black hair. He had a few days’ worth of stubble on his face, but it didn’t look like he was a homeless guy or anything. He was just... a guy. He stood there and watched me as I watched him, and I kind of got this weird feeling.<br><br>I really don’t like this feeling, but I can’t really explain it. I know it sounds stupid, but it’s just something about being stared at when I’m staring back. So I pulled over and stopped. I just didn’t want to look like an asshole anymore, you know? My parents looked at me like I was crazy. “Why are you stopping? There’s no bus coming!” I just told them I wanted to see if it was okay if they stretched their legs. I think they believed me. My mom got out and started walking around the car and stretching, my dad stayed in the car and read a book.<br><br>I stayed in mine too, and started talking to the guy. “Hey. Do you want to stretch your legs?” I asked. “No, it’s okay. I’m good.” And he stood there. I didn’t really know what to do with myself anymore, so I decided to keep talking. “Are you from around here? I’m not.” He didn’t say anything.<br><br>I kept trying to make small talk, but he just kept saying “no” to everything I asked him. Finally I asked, “Do you want a piece of candy?” And he said yes. I reached into my glove compartment and pulled out a Snickers bar. I opened it and offered it to him. “Here you go. Thanks for not freaking me out.” And that’s when he started to freak out.<br><br>I don’t really know how to explain it, but he started to get really angry. I remember he started to shake, and his face got all red and stuff. He started to walk closer to me, and he said, “No, you don’t understand.” Then he pulled out this tiny little knife from his pocket, and he held it in front of my face. “You don’t understand. You think you’re funny, but you don’t understand.” My heart started racing and my palms started to sweat, and I was just completely terrified.<br><br>I couldn’t move. I couldn’t say anything. All I could do was stare at that knife, and I thought for sure it was going to be the last thing I ever saw. Then my dad must have heard what was going on, because he started yelling. “GET AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER! GET AWAY!” My dad’s really loud voice kind of snapped me back to reality, and I started screaming too. I don’t usually scream when I’m scared, but I couldn’t stop myself. The guy started to back away, and he said “I’m sorry” before he turned around and ran away.<br><br>I jumped back in my car and locked all the doors. My parents were screaming and yelling at me. “What did you do? What did you do?” My mom asked me. “What did you say to him?” And I started to cry. “I don’t know. I was just talking to him. I thought it would be okay. Please don’t be mad at me. I’m sorry.” I don’t usually cry, but I was so scared. I started driving again, and my parents didn’t say anything else to me for the rest of the drive.<br><br>It was about a half hour or so later when they finally started talking to me again. They asked me what happened, and I told them. They said they were sorry, and they didn’t mean to yell at me. I said it was okay. We drove in silence for a while after that.<br><br>I don’t know if he was caught. I don’t know if he was ever found. I don’t know if he’s still out there. But every time I think about him, and that knife, I shudder. And every time I drive down that road, I see him in my mind. And I don’t want to let’s not meet again.