The bus was empty when Mike got on. He went straight to a seat and pressed his nose against the window. Standing outside were his mom and dad and little sister. Their voices were dimmed by the noise of the bus' engine.

"Be good," Mike's mom said, brushing a tear from her eye. "Listen to what gramps tells you," his dad said.

The bus driver sat henind the wheel and closed the door. The bus was quiet except for the engine's hum. The bus pulled away. Mike watched his family as long as he could. When they were out of sight, he settled himself for the three-hour ride to his grandparents' house.

"It looks like we're the only passengers on this trip," a voice said from somewhere in the bus. Mike stretched to look around. The driver was the only other person on the bus. "Are you going to stop for more passengers?" Mike asked the driver, but the driver didn't answer.

"Your town is the last stop before Taylorville," the voice said. Mike stood up so the bus driver would be sure to hear him. "Is there going to be somebody else getting on?" he asked hopefully. The bus driver didn't answer.

"Looks like we'll be riding together for a while," the voice said. Mike hadn't taken his eyes off the bus driver. The driver's mouth hadn't moved. It wasn't the bus driver who was talking. Mike shivered, and pulled his jacket tighter.

"I never did figure why they leave that air-conditioner set so cold," the voice said. "Why, a fella's likely to freeze back here." Mike looked slowly around. There was nobody in the next seat. There was nobody across the aisle. Goosebumps covered the back of his neck. Whoever was talking was right behind him. Mike sat as deep into his seat as he could. He didn't dare turn around. The bus reached the main highway. It picked up speed. Soon it was racing through the countryside. Mike stared straight ahead. He'd look at the back of the seat in front of him for three hours if he had to. But he would never turn around.

"This your first bus ride alone?" the voice asked. Mike clenched his teeth. He had hoped the person had forgotten about him. "No," he whispered.

"It seems like I've been riding buses forever," the voice said. Mike swallowed hard. "Why doesn't he be quiet?" he thought. He closed his eyes tightly. "Don't talk, don't talk, don't talk," he said to himself. He waited. The bus was quiet. Mike relaxed.

"Yup, you could say riding forever and you'd about have it right," the voice said. Mike winced. He didn't want to seem rude. Normally he was friendly. But he didn't want to talk to anyone he couldn't see.

"When I first got on, all we had was little two-lane roads," the voice said. "People today would laugh if they saw what was called a bus in those days." Mike shuddered when he heard in those days. Something about the voice seemed very far away. "Maybe he's not right behind me," Mike thought. He poked his head around the seat back. The seat right behind him was empty. Mike glimpsed into the big mirror above the driver's head. It was tilted so the driver could see all the seats in the bus. They were all empty. Mike eyed the seat behing the driver. "I'll move up there," he thought. He picked up his lunch and slid to the aisle seat. The bus swerved as it went around a curve.

"I wouldn't stand up until we're going straight," the voice said. "I've seen grown men get knowcked down, son. You'd better wait." Mike sat back in his seat. The bus weaved and turned. Each time Mike thought he could make a move, the bus lurched. They were in the mountains. The road wouldn't be straight for the rest of the ride. Mike hunched next to the window and stared out. The sun hung on the rim of the horizon. Soon it would be dark out. . . and so would the inside of the bus. Mike's stomach rumbled. He eyed the lunch at his side. He slipped a hand into the bag and pulled out a cheese sandwich. Its edges were dry, but he didn't mind.

"Cheese. That was one of my favorites," the voice said. "Any kind, anytime, I always used to say. Good for you too." Mike couldn't swallow. The first bite jammed against the roof of his mouth like a wad of peanut butter. He wasn't hungry anymore.

The inside of the bus was as dark as a clothes closet. There was a light high over each seat, but Mike would have to stand to turn it on. He didn't dare risk it. He stayed, huddled next to the window. A dim light flickered in the window. Mike cupped his hands around his face and put his nose to the glass. The light wasn't outside. It was coming from the seat next to him. Mike swallowed hard. The lump of bread and cheese hurt all the way down.

"I thought you'd never get that down," the voice said. "Say, young fellow, you aren't scared of me, are you?" Tiny beads of sweat popped from Mike's upper lip. His eyelids started to twitter. His heart raced as if he'd been running.

"Scared?" Mike gulped. "Who, me?" The voice laughed. "Of course I mean you. You're the only passenger on the bus." That did it. Mike had thought there was someone else on the bus. Now he knew there wasn't. But he knew there was something on the bus.

"Lots of folks have that reaction the first time they ride with me," the voice said. "Can't say I blame them. What with my 'condition' and all." Now the voice was so close Mike could hear breathing. Mike's eyelids were fluttering so fast he could barely see. He couldn't stand the suspense any longer. He turned to the empty seat beside him. It wasn't empty!

A man the same age as his grandfather sat beside Mike. He was dressed in a black suit. He wore a white shirt and a black tie. A black hat rested on top of his head. The man held a package on his lap. The package was wrapped in heavy paper and tied with rope. But what gripped Mike's attention was he could see right through his body!

The man smiled. "Not everyone can see me, you know," he said softly. "Now, take the bus driver. He can't see me in his mirrow. And he wouldn't see me if he was sitting next to me, either. Only special folks get to see me and others just plain don't.

"Some of us are just lucky, I guess," Mike thought. "I guess you're one of the lucky ones, Mike," the man said with a laugh. "I know your name' cuz I heard your folks when you got on." He put out his hand. "Shake, Mike. Mine's . . . " the man paused. "I guess it doesn't matter," he continued. The twinkle in his voice was gone. He sounded very sad.

Mike furrowed his brow. He knew he should be scared out of his wits. But he wasn't. The man wasn't scary at all, except for being invisible. "Why doesn't your name matter?" Mike asked.

"It never has," the man said. "Not since I started riding." A brief smile crossed hi lips. "oh, it mattered before, of course. But things were different then, if you know what I mean." He moved his arm so his hand passed through his own chest. "You do know what I mean, don't you, Mike?"

Mike's eyelids had stopped fluttering. He still couldn't believe what he was seeing. "I. . .I think so," he said. The man nodded. "I'm a ghost," he said. "That's the long and short of it. It wasn't my idea, but that's the way things worked out." "What do you mean?" Mike asked. He was growing bolder by the mile.

"When it happened, I was a person just like you," the old man said. "Not as young, but just like you." "When what happened?" Mike asked eagerly. The man's lips turned down. His eyes grew cloudy. "I had a grandson about your age," the man said. "That was about fifty years ago, though I haven't been keeping track klately." He looked wistfully out of the window into the darkness. "The boy took sick and I got on a bus to visit him. I vowed I'd get to that boy and make him better." He picked up the package on his lap. "These are some things his grandma made. Fresh jelly, homemade bread, and a Mason jar of soup that cures about anything."

"Did it?" Mike asked. He'd forgotten completely that the man was a ghost. The man shook his head from side to side. "Never had a chance," he said. "Bus turned over ten miles from the boy's house and you can see for yourself what happened." Mike gulped. "Did the boy get better on his own?" he asked.

"He's still waiting," the man said. "You see, when a man makes a vow that something is going to happen, nothing can change until the vow comes ture." "You mean the boy is still alive?" Mike said in disbelief.

The man nodded. "Not like you think," he said. "We're both trapped in a place we can't get out of. He's waiting for me and I'm trying to get to him." "Why don't you?" Mike asked. "Time got curved somehow," the old man said. "We missed each other so now our roads go side by side and never meet."

The bus began to slow down. "Taylorville," the driver called to mike. "This is your stop." The old man looked straight into Mike's eyes. "You could help, you know," he said. "How?" Mike asked.

The old man placed the rope-tied package in Mike's hands. "By taking this package with you," he said. Mike was uncertain. "OK," he said. "If you think it will help get you and your grandson untrapped." He took the pacgage. A strange feeling came over Mike. He began to fade. He grew dimmer and dimmer. In an instant he was gone. In his place was the old man.

"I know it will," the old man said with a smile. The bus stopped. The door opened. The old man stepped out of the bus. The bus pulled away. In the back window was the face of a young boy, creaming to get out.

That night the old man wearily climbed the stairs in an old house. A candle glowed in a small room. A sick boy lay in bed, propped up on a pillow. The boy smiled. "Grandpa," he said. "I knew you'd come." The old man put the package on the bed. He took the boy by the hand. "Come with me," he said.

The boy got out of bed and joined the old man. The dim light from the candle shined through both of them. The old man led the boy through the wall into the night outside. "How did you do it, Grandpa?" the boy asked. "A nice young man on the bus changed places with me," he said as they disappeared from sight.

Many miles away, the bus roared through the night. Sitting in the back was Mike. There were other passengers on the bus, but nobody saw him. He would ride the bus forever until someone changed places with him.