もっとキャンプファイヤーストーリーを

The title is The Last Stop
The type is Ghost Story
The audience is Teens
The Length is Long (8-10 min)
The full text is this: Everyone in Belltown knew the number thirteen bus stopped running at midnight. That is, everyone except the girl waiting in the rain beneath the broken streetlamp.
Noah noticed her as the bus rolled past Belltown Cemetery at 12:07 AM. She stood perfectly still in the rain, wearing a pale blue school uniform that hadn’t been in fashion for decades. Her dark, wet, hair hung over her face and she raised one hand toward the bus.
The driver slammed on the brakes.
“Why are we stopping?” Noah asked.
The bus driver, Mr. Vale, stared at him in the mirror. “Someone rang the bell.”
Noah looked around. “No one rang the bell, Mr. Vale. I’m the only one here.”
Outside, the girl climbed aboard.
She dropped something heavy into the fare box.
Clunk.
Then she walked down the aisle and sat directly across from Noah.
The doors folded shut, and the bus moved on.
Noah tried not to stare, but he couldn’t ignore the cold that rolled from her seat like fog from an open freezer.
“You shouldn’t be on this bus,” the girl whispered.
Noah turned.
Her face was pale, but ordinary. Almost. Rainwater dripped from her hair, although her clothes were completely dry.
“Neither should you,” he said. “The last bus was supposed to come at 11:30.”
“This is the last bus.”
Something in the way she said it made his stomach tighten.
At the front, Mr. Vale drove without blinking. The road ahead was empty, shining black beneath the headlights.
Noah glanced out the window.
Hadn’t they passed the same boarded-up gas station three times?
He stood. “Mr. Vale, you missed my stop.”
The driver said nothing.
Noah walked toward him and froze.
Mr. Vale’s hands rested on the steering wheel, but they weren’t moving. They weren’t even gripping it. They lay there stiffly while the wheel turned by itself.
In the mirror, the driver’s reflection was smiling, but Mr. Vale wasn’t.
Noah stumbled backward.
The girl caught his wrist. Her fingers were as cold as ice.
“Sit down,” she whispered. “It doesn’t like passengers walking around.”
“What doesn’t?”
The lights inside the bus flickered off.
In the darkness, something scraped across the roof.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
The lights returned.
Long fingerprints streaked the windows—on the inside.
Noah dropped into the nearest seat. “What’s happening?”
The girl looked toward the front of the bus.
“Thirty years ago, the number 13 bus crashed during a storm. The driver lost control near the cemetery. Twenty-nine people died.”
“Twenty-nine?”
Every year, on the night of the crash, this bus comes back. It collects the passengers who were on the bus, plus one more person.”
Dark shapes now sat in previously empty rows.
A woman with broken glasses. A man holding a soaked and torn newspaper. A little boy hugging a wet red backpack. None of them had been there before.
He counted. There were 28 more people.
Noah turned to the girl.
“Twenty-nine” she said quietly. “With me.”
The bell rang. Ding. Ding. Ding.
The bus turned onto Cemetery Road.
“What happens when we reach the last stop?” Noah asked.
“You’d better get off of the bus before we reach the last stop,” she said.
The cemetery gates appeared ahead, standing open. Beyond them waited a road that shouldn’t have existed, descending between the graves into a darkness deeper than night.
Noah grabbed the emergency handle beside the rear door and pulled, but nothing happened.
The smiling reflection in the driver’s mirror widened.
“You can’t open it,” the girl said. “Not without paying the fare.”
She opened her hand.
A heavy blackened coin lay in her palm. It was the same coin she had dropped into the fare box.
The bus crossed through the cemetery gates.
The girl pressed the coin into Noah’s hand. Frost spread over his fingers.
“Put it in the coin box,” she said. “Then pull the handle.”
“What about you?”
She looked toward the shadowy passengers. “I don’t get to leave.”
Noah ran.
The figures turned their heads as he passed. The little boy reached for him. The woman with broken glasses opened her mouth, and rainwater poured out.
The scratching thing on the roof began to pound.
Noah reached the fare box and dropped in the coin.
Clunk.
Every light shattered.
He pulled the emergency handle.
The front and rear doors burst open.
Wind tore through the bus. Noah was lifted from his feet and tossed out onto the rainy roadside.
Behind him, the bus careened between the graves. For one second, he saw the girl standing in the rear doorway, staring. Then the bus vanished.
Noah woke at sunrise beside the cemetery gates. A police officer drove him home. When Noah described the bus, the officer’s eyes grew big and he went silent.
When he got home, Noah emptied his wet jacket pockets.
Something fell onto the floor with a clunk.
It was the heavy, blackened coin.
From outside came the hiss of brakes.
Then a bus bell rang once and Noah walked toward the door.

Write a short (2-3 min) haunted house story for all ages about a headless ghost who forgot where he left his head.