The Night Bus
Page 4
***
The days dragged and the shifts seemed to be an endless round of constantly empty stops and emptier seats.
On this particular night Harry got a change, all the regulars on board, all except Mr Parsons in a most jovial mood. Even George who was normally fairly insular seemed quite chatty when he got on board.
"Evening Harry, usual stop please. It's nice to see you man!" he said.
"Hello George." Harry smiled, even if he didn't feel happy. Always project a positive image for the customers.
As Harry was motoring down the quiet road, making great time even for him he felt the twinge in his chest. The tightness, the feeling of an electric shock. It was suddenly hard to breath. What little was left of his degrading vision fogged and dimmed, then was gone.
Harry slumped over the wheel as the bus sped towards the terminus.
"Mr Parsons. Is Harry all right?" asked Megan.
"I think he may have just joined us, young lady." replied Mr Parsons, still as stiff as ever even in such extreme circumstances.
Mr Parsons stood up and walked to the cab, Harry was definitely gone. He opened the cab door and pulled Harry from the seat. The bus slowed to a stop.
"We can't be late." said Mr Parsons, as he carried Harry to his own usual seat, setting him down on it. He went back to the cab and completed the journey to the terminus.
"Last Stop. Everybody off. And I mean everybody." said Mr Parsons.
***
The following day in the depot canteen the stories were going around like wildfire.
The Night Bus had crashed.
The Night Bus had been stolen.
The Rookie took an empty seat opposite an old-timer. "Hello, I'm Edmund. It's my first day as a driver." The old-timer shook his hand and smiled.
"You picked one heck of a day to start, young man. It sounds like they found the old Night Bus, turns out it'd been taken from the Transport Museum. It was parked inside the cemetery, right next to the church. Funny thing was, the gates were still locked, the wall was intact and the motor was still running with the driver dead at the wheel. But the people at the Transport Museum say it hadn't run for over 30 years."
The old-timer excused himself politely, saying he had to make his next run so Edmund went and joined another table. The Night Bus was being discussed at every table it seemed, and Edmund eventually chimed in with what he'd not long been told. It seemed that he was sharing details none of these people knew.
One of the regular drivers looked extremely hard at him. "You mind if I ask who told you how it happened?" he asked Edmund.
"Sure," replied Edmund pointing at the table he'd not long been sitting at. "I was with an old-timer just over there who told me everything. Very nice chap he was too. Said his name was Harry."
THE END.
____________
Authors Notes:-
I like horror. I blame Stephen King and James Herbert. And Shaun Hutson. Mr King is the reason I write these authors notes after most stories, he does it and I liked the look of them so nicked the idea.
I started writing this after I went for a check-up at the opticians only to be told I needed reading glasses.
A few things explained.
Number fifty-six wasn't chosen randomly. It happened to be the squadron my good buddy EJ served on. So that reference is for you matey.
Harrys name is Burton because I used sit at the back when I did German in Secondary School with a guy called Paul Burton. We (well, I say we, I mean me) always got in trouble for not paying attention and talking.
And Martin is named after my old Cov Uni buddy Martin Henry. Even if he didn't want me to.