College age son sent me a text.

Ah, the classic college-age conduit: a blurry text from a kid who just saw something on the way to class. The fact that it vanished by the time he returned is either the punchline or the proof. We here at Weekly Weird News know that the truly paranormal never respects a bus schedule—it exists only for the brief window when you're too groggy to properly process it. This brief, cryptic transmission matters because it reinforces a vital rule of cryptid engagement: always trust the dog. Dolly, the big fraidy cat, is the real barometer here. She knew. The son just happened to be the messenger. Whether it was a tall, pale figure, a shimmering anomaly, or a very ambitious campus squirrel, the universe winked and then deleted its message. This connects to a broader pattern of "transient campus anomalies" reported along commuter arteries nationwide. The bus stop is a liminal zone, caught between dorm and lecture hall, where the veil is thin. Mark my words: this was a textbook "Bus-Bound Banshee" or possibly a "Pavement Puca" doing its morning reconnaissance. So sleep easy, Dolly. You did your job. And to the son: next time, send a photo before the universe hits "undo."