Silent Route

Table of Contents

It started showing up around midnight. On the cracked streets and under the broken lamps where the homeless huddled, a white van rolled by without sound. Its headlights were dim but steady, and its engine gave off no growl just a low hum, like something breathing.

Those who were awake claimed it would stop beside them, the door sliding open with a smooth hiss. Inside were crates: steaming bowls of soup, loaves of bread, bottled water, blister packs of pills. Everything was neatly arranged, wrapped, and free for the taking.

But there was never a driver. No silhouette in the front seat, no shadow moving within. When asked, the men and women who had taken food said the van simply “waited,” as if patient, until they had chosen what they wanted. Then, once the door closed, it drove off, gliding into the night.

At first, the city was grateful. Outreach workers saw fewer corpses in the morning. Some who had been sick began to heal. Word spread among the shelters: Look for the van. Trust the van. But then came the changes.

Those who ate from the crates stopped returning to their usual corners. The familiar faces on benches and under bridges vanished one by one. Shelter volunteers noticed it too. Numbers dropping, but no trace of where they went.

One man, Terrence, tried to follow it. He swore the van turned into an alley too narrow for vehicles, and when he chased after it, the alley was empty. A week later, he was gone as well. The city papers finally ran a story:

“Phantom Van Feeding the Homeless.” 

Some laughed, some called it charity, some called it superstition. Yet every night, the van continued its silent rounds, unbothered. A police officer once pulled it over. Witnesses said he approached with his flashlight, leaned to peer inside—and froze. His light fell to the pavement, and when his partner rushed up, the van was gone, the officer nowhere in sight.

Now, when people talk about the van, they lower their voices. They say it isn’t feeding anyone. It’s collecting them. Stocking up, like a larder filling slowly. And if you’re walking home late, and you hear that low hum behind you—don’t look back. Because it only stops when you do.