Buses, Bullies, Brothers & Blades
I’m convinced the worst trauma my siblings and I endured was on those long and bumpy bus rides to and from school every day. My mother’s neglect or my step-father’s indifference really didn’t come close to the insults we experienced on the poorly supervised bus. Our bus driver was Mr. Miller and he drove bus #2, and probably had since the beginning, when the school became large enough to have a second bus. He was old but not elderly, ornery but restrained, and mean as shit when he wanted to be. Every day he wore the same green cap and for years when he opened the bus door that was the first thing I’d see right before I boarded for my hellish ride.
I’d have to climb with great effort over the large steps to get on the bus. Then I would stand at the front of that smelly old machine, completely flustered with choices and indecision. We were picked up halfway through the route and so seating was limited. There were always so many decisions, like do I sit at the front with the little kids or dare to sit in the back with the cool kids? Do I sit alone or dare to scoot in next to someone and face rejection? If I wavered too long in this decision process either my brother would punch me in the shoulder or Mr. Miller would yell, “For the love of God, take a seat already! I haven’t got all day!” No, he clearly didn’t have all day by the sound of his voice, but after he dropped us off at school then he had the morning and afternoon to sit at Dairy Queen. According to many reports by truant students, Mr. Miller and his ‘good ole boy’ buddies would sit in the same back booth and drink copious amounts of coffee. When he wasn’t reliving highlights from some high school football game he’d be complaining about the heathens he took to school that day.
Early on I’d take the first seat available on the bus and hope to make a friend or two. As I became braver I’d dare to venture to the back of the bus and sit next to one of my older siblings, Katie or Ronald. They did not like this at all. “Sarah, there’s a height requirement to sit back here,” Ronald told me as I blazed past the first five rows.
“Why can’t I sit next to you?” I’d squirm when he’d later order me out of his seat.
“Cause you’re annoying. Go sit with all the other little brats in the front.”
I’d stomp off as the bus reared around a corner, knocking me into an unsuspecting kid trying to finish his math assignment before school. Mr. Miller would yell, “Sit down while the bus is moving damn-it!” Being yelled at was by far the worst thing that any adult could do to me. It always made me cry uncontrollably. But Mr. Miller didn’t count. He only yelled and therefore I didn’t mind it.
I’d fall into the first available seat, dragging my backpack behind me and hoping that the person beside me was not the one emitting that bad foot odor.
Usually, the trips to school were less intense than the return trip home. Kids were always rambunctious by the prospects of getting home, jumping in the lake, or watching Baywatch for the rest of the afternoon. It was Texas and so the air on the bus in the afternoon was thick and hot, and the seats would burn my legs and the backs of my arms. Mr. Miller wasn’t a morning person, but he sure as hell wasn’t an afternoon person either. The eight cups of coffee made him jittery and anxious. I’d see his beady little eyes scanning the mirror above his head searching out the troublemaker in the back who was throwing wads of paper at his head. “Billy! Is that you? Damn-it, boy! Don’t make me come back there!”
“Wasn’t me boss,” the sniveling, little jerk named Billy would spout. “I think it was Ronald. He’s got a whole bag full of rolled-up paper.”
It seemed unlikely that my brother was guilty of this. He didn’t like school. He didn’t study, and therefore had no use for a bag or paper.
“Ronald, you’re going get another detention for this!” Mr. Miller charged my brother without a fair investigation. You see Billy was Mr. Miller’s grandson’s best friend, not to mention that he’d coached the boy’s in little league football and so Billy had clout.
“Oh, man,” my brother fussed “I didn’t do it!”
“Don’t argue with me boy or I’ll make it two detentions!” Mr. Miller roared as he slammed on the brakes and opened the loud bus door. A few kids got up and trotted off the bus. I took this as my opportunity to investigate and so I slipped back a few seats to one directly across from where Ronald was sitting and steaming.
“Ronald, did you do it?” I asked leaning over the aisle.
He was sitting with his knees bent into the seat right in front of him, “Shut up Sarah.” Ronald and Katie were seven years older than me and therefore that meant they were cool and I was the annoying little sister that couldn’t learn to shut up. I accepted this role and played it out diligently.
“Hey, Ronald,” Billy piped up from the seat in front of him. “Why don’t you get your knees out of my back?!” the boy sneered.
“Why don’t you drop dead?”
“You better watch your mouth or I’m gonna kick your butt.”
Ronald rolled his eyes. He wasn’t scared of Billy; it’s just that my brother didn’t really like to expend unnecessary energy, kind of like a cat. He’d also gotten really proficient at ignoring people since he was raised with three sisters. Pulling a comic book out of his back pocket, he began flipping through it and completely ignored Billy who was shooting death stares over his shoulder.
“What a stupid comic book,” the boy ripped it out of Ronald’s hands and began gawking at the pictures. “This is some stupid shit. I can’t believe you read this.”
Now I was only eight but I knew when a jerk needed to be put in his place and I thought I knew how to do it. “Leave my brother alone,” I shouted from my seat. “He’s got good taste!”
Ronald looked at me in horror. Looking back, I realize I compounded the situation, but my intentions were in the right place. “Shut up, Sarah.” He seethed through clenched teeth. It was too late.
Billy flipped around in his seat so that he was facing my direction, “Oh really?” the boy began in a condescending tone. “How do you know? Ewww…did you lick your brother? Is that how you know he tastes good? You’re sick. Your whole family is sick.” I sunk down in my seat and tried to feign interest in the scenery as it passed by the bus window. When the bus finally came to a halt at our stop my sister awoke from her make-out session and Ronald and I dragged ourselves off the bus and we didn’t say a word to each other for the rest of the night.
Although Katie mostly made out with boys to pass the time on the bus, she had many a bad bus trip too. However, Ronald and Katie both found a way to get out of riding the bus: they dropped out of school. This left me to walk to the bus stop solo, board alone, and sit listening to Billy berate whichever kid had pissed him off that day. Since my brother had stopped riding the bus Billy had gotten kind of out of hand. I never would have guessed it, but I think Ronald’s apathetic presence somehow kept Billy the Bully in check. Each day Billy would choose a new victim and we would all have to pretend not to watch as he demolished the contents of some kid’s book bag or throw some girl’s sandal out the window leaving her to hobble home. I knew my day would come and when it did I was ready, I thought. I’m not sure what I said to anger Billy the Bully, but that doesn’t really matter now. For some strange reason, he was sitting next to me in my seat. I was by the window. He probably said something about my mother, I retorted with something about his mother and he then said he was going to break my cat’s neck. Without a moment’s hesitation, I pulled back my tiny arm and shot it forward with all my might punching Billy clumsily in the side of his face. For about twenty seconds I thought I was going to get away with it. The jerk looked at me in disgust, clearly more offended than hurt by my mighty blow. I was shaking with adrenaline. It kind of felt good to empower myself against the antagonist, I thought, but not in those specific terms. In one quick movement, Billy reached into his back pocket and pulled out a knife. Empowerment didn’t feel so good anymore as I scanned my options for an exit. I could clamber over one of the seats but I’d fall into another
kid’s lap and that would be horrifyingly embarrassing, so I decided to stay really still and see what happened next.
Billy opened up the knife and stuck it straight to my neck; an evilness bouncing between his eyes. I had slipped down so far in my seat and I looked around wondering how no one was aware this was going on. They must have all been relieved that Billy was my problem and not theirs.
As he spoke with the blade against my neck spit landed on my face, “I’ll cut you, little girl. I’ll do it. Don’t you ever hit me! Got it!”
The bus came to an abrupt halt and if the blade of the knife had been sharp it probably would have penetrated the skin as it pushed into my neck from the sudden jolt. For once Mr. Miller’s voice was surprisingly welcome, “Sarah, where are you? It’s your stop. Get off the bus!”
Billy straightened up, putting his knife away. He didn’t move out to the aisle but instead made me scramble around him as I shook with fear. I dragged my backpack down the aisle and nearly fell down the steps as I exited the bus. There sitting at the bus stop, curled up in a patch of sand was Johnny, my cat, with his neck intact. He always waited for me at the bus stop and walked with me home. I guess he sensed the trauma that I endured on those trips and he made it his mission to raise my spirits each day. I threw down my bag, abandoning it in the middle of the road, and scooped the large orange cat into my arms. I’d do it again, I thought, I’d punch him straight in the face if that bully ever thought about hurting my cat.
I set Johnny down and we walked home together. He meowed about his day and I breathed a sigh of relief feeling grateful to have survived another awful bus ride.
Sarah Noffke writes YA and NA sci-fi fantasy. She’s been everything from a corporate manager to a hippie. She is a self-proclaimed hermit, with spontaneous urges to socialize during full moons and when Mercury is in retrograde. Sarah lives in Southern California with her family.
Find out more at sarahnoffke.com.
55
Deeva de Satanica: Mission 666
by Katie Cord
A revenge demon in cat form must balance Satan's bidding on Earth while keeping an angel dog and little witch out of trouble.
Hey, hey, watch it, why don’t you?
Deeva de Satanica growled as the strong hands of a stout, older human scooped her into a cat carrier before she could protest with her claws. The handlers at the animal shelter were experts at manipulating the animals from point A to B without much fanfare. They always whiffed of sunshine, urine, and death. Deeva’s senses went from one assault to another as the overwhelming smell of multiple cats invaded her nose. She shifted herself around in the cat carrier eyeing the scratches and dings. This carrier had seen better days.
It was a quick jostle from the shelter to the back seat of a car, where a young human female wedged herself between Deeva and a fat, tan and black dog who smelled of heaven and the oily, dirty musk of the canine persuasion. The smell engulfed the car. A dull, sinking feeling hit her stomach. If the dog was an angel, there was likely a really big problem, and it probably involved the humans who’d adopted her.
Why couldn’t Satan have dropped me in about thirty minutes earlier? Deeva thought to herself, or so she thought. A groan from across the car caught her attention.
Can you hear me? Are you an angel?
“Ruff, ruff,” The dog replied audibly. Deeva’s ears rang.
“It’s okay Mama. We’ll be home soon,” the girl soothed.
So, what are you protecting them from? Because maybe I could make your job easier by moving the issue out of their life. Deeva edged to the front of the cat carrier trying to get a look at the dog.
No, you can’t. I’ve been told everyone needs to stay alive. Justice must be served.
At the sound of the word justice, it was apparent she was in the right place. That word was typically a sign of bad humans or people scorned by bad humans. She was on the correct path even though having an angel in her way would make it more difficult to do her job.
Hey dog, I mean, angel, how long you been with these two?
Mama Dog laid with her eyes closed, her head and paws on the little girl’s lap, She pried one eye open.
Well, this dog, Mama Dog, has been with Heather and her mom, Justine, for about seven years. I’ve been in Mama’s body for about six weeks.
So, dog, what’s your real name? I’m Deeva de Satanica, Special Assistant to the Dark Lord in the Division of Revenge and Rage, the DRR for short. I don’t think we’ve met before. You know, we’re the ones that do all the work your type can’t stomach. Deeva wasn’t above making small talk. That was when you could get some of the juiciest information on your enemies, and gossip was just fun.
I know what you are, but nonetheless just call me Mama Dog. I’m kind of a motherly type anyway. Unlike your type, we don’t kick the soul of the animal out, we just sort of gently put it to sleep for a while. Hearing her voice will keep her anxiety down while she is in her long sleep.
Deeva wondered if Mama Dog was serious. Animals had souls? That couldn’t be right. She’d never felt anything in these bodies except the pumping of blood through the veins, heart racing, and euphoria when she instinctively killed a mouse or a bird. Cats didn’t have moral compasses, did they? All the cats she’d had a chance to mingle with, like the real non-demon inhabited cats, didn’t really seem to care about anything or anyone but themselves. It was why cats made such great bodies for demon-inhabiting, though she suspected there were a couple of demons inhabiting the smaller breed dogs. Before Deeva could opine on her existential crisis any further, the car stopped.
“We’re here!” The little girl squealed with excitement and shook the carrier. Deeva decided that maybe she could call her Heather. It might make things go easier with the angel.
As the car door swung open a whiff of rotten flesh hit Deeva’s nose like nothing she’d ever smelt before. Decay didn’t smell the same on earth as it did down under. Maybe it was the heat down there or the moisture up here, but there was a distinct difference.
Do you smell that? Aren’t you supposed to have super powers at smelling or something?
A yawn and flapping of jaws from across the car was Mama Dog’s only acknowledgement. Deeva rolled her eyes. She really hoped this angel wasn’t actually here to protect these humans, because at this point, there wasn’t going to be much it could do.
Did you hear me? The smell was overpowering to Deeva. Humans weren’t meant to be around this much death. What kind of monsters were these two?
Yeah, I heard you. I’m not deaf. But, unfortunately, I can’t smell. It’s the reason Justine could afford this fine specimen of a hound. Mama Dog is nose blind.
Great, between the smell of a hundred cats in this carrier and now rotting flesh, I’m beginning to think that God and Satan have terrible senses of humor.
Justine grabbed the carrier out of the back seat, upending Deeva. Her small cat body couldn’t handle the change in gravity and she slammed to the side of the carrier.
I don’t know if God has a sense of humor. I mean, they usually put me right where they want me on these assignments. Everything is intentional, as far as I can tell.
Deeva felt like she was going to vomit from the tossing and swaying of the carrier as they headed toward a large white Victorian farmhouse with a massive wraparound porch.
Staging things with intention can be the most amusing of all to those who are twisted.
The carrier was placed on the porch with a ceremonious thump. Deeva’s head smacked against the top of the carrier.
“We’re home!” Heather screamed at no one in particular.
From atop a tall and almost equally wide china hutch, Deeva watched as Justine and Heather sat at the table eating. The dining room was decorated in what reminded Deeva of something she’d seen probably 50 souls ago. A lace tablecloth, yellowed with age, draped over the dining room table, aged photos peppered the walls, and there was actual china being used, the delicate type with dainty swirls and flowe
rs adorning it. This didn’t look like it could possibly be their house. Though Deeva rarely spent the time to truly examine the people she was assigned to, these two were obviously not meant to live in a big white house packed with old stuff, on a farm with the smell of dead bodies everywhere.
She tried to read Justine’s aura a little better. Nothing indicated that she had performed an act so vile that a little bit of her soul was gone, although she did look tired and anxious. There wasn’t even an indication that she was beckoning revenge, which brought Deeva to the little one, Heather. The child got a bit too excited about animals but there was no indication she was the reason for all the odd smells. Deeva was slightly annoyed with all the aromas actually. Cats weren’t known for their keen sense of smell as far as Deeva had experienced. In the past, she’d used the cat’s body to make mayhem occur, whether it was jumping from high places, swirling around legs, clawing out eyes, or sitting on a chest and sucking a soul out. This nose business had to go. Heather looked up and smiled at Deeva as though she knew she was thinking about her.
“I hope Uncle Bobby likes DeeDee,” Heather said as she scooped up a small red potato and shoved it in her mouth. As she chomped down, her smile widened, making it possible for her perfect little teeth to crush the vegetable.
Mama Dog crawled out from under the table, of course, her dog instincts to keep the floor clean were still there, as far as Deeva could tell. She’d been licking every breadcrumb she could find.
Did she just say what I think she said?
“Honey, the kitty’s name is Fluffins, remember?” Justine looked up from her phone with concern.
It was just a guess, there is no way she can hear us. Deeva wondered though. It wouldn’t be the first time a child could hear them and probably wouldn’t be the last.
Hellcats: Anthology Page 99
