Passengers Must Remain Seated

CW: Horror

The bus was late again. It was always the way, especially when the cold drizzle of an early November day chased the sun from the sky and bathed the land in grey misery. There were no pretty flowers left to bob along either, save the odd dandelion or two poking their noses up from between the broken paving slabs. The bus stop Gemma stood next to didn’t have a covered area either, no sturdy old green metal and glass with a bright yellow seat which was purposely left too narrow to sleep on.

Gemma shuffled from foot to foot. Her bag was heavy, not just the usual books, laptop, pencil case and so on, but a bottle of water too – the doctor had warned her to drink more pure water. The drizzle was soaking right through her fabric coat too… she knew she should have bought the rain mac instead. Gemma sighed and leaned against the waist-height electrical box behind her; put there to serve the street and complete with big warning stickers informing potential tamperers that the contents could kill them. Gemma sighed again, and looked at her watch. She was going to be late! It was already quarter to nine! Usually there was at least another potential passenger to talk to but the street was eerily quiet, empty. With the earlier mornings, the light was dimmer too, a tiny bit of fog below in the valley below but that was pretty usual for November! Gemma sighed, rummaged in her pocket and pulled out a polo. The sweet was sharp and cool, something to bring a tiny molecule of warmth into an otherwise cold day.

Finally, down through the mist, Gemma caught sight of a dull orange glow. It came closer and then the front of the bus appeared. Robust square face set with red paint and those two glowing eyes. The destination read “00 -----” but that was pretty normal too, Gemma’s stop being the second one. Sometimes the drivers forgot to change it too so it would stay that way right through until the shopping district down the road. Gemma watched as the bus crawled past, not stopping just yet but off to turn around first, to begin the route from the first stop. Sometimes the driver would let her on early due to the rain but apparently not this time! Gemma checked her watch and then rummaged in her pocket for her headphones.

The rain started again, just a drizzle but the kind that gets you soaked. Gemma glanced back at the road, the colours seemed to be muted, taupe and olive, mauve and sage rather than bright emerald greens and sky blues that this cheery estate usually boasted. All of the curtains were closed too, despite that it was nearly nine! Where the hell were all the other passengers? All the “yummy mummies” and the old ladies off to do their shopping at the shopping district which was just too far for weary old legs? It was a Tuesday, not even like it was a weekend! What a dreary day. In the distance Gemma heard a squeal of tires but then the warm orange glow returned, and the bus appeared again, on her side of the road this time. The destination hadn’t been changed but that didn’t matter, there was only one bus from this stop. Gemma stepped forward and stuck out her hand. The gesture was one she’d used every Monday to Friday for the past year aside from the two weeks she’d spent in Japan – a holiday she’d saved years for in her little retail job. At first she thought the bus wasn’t going to stop, but then came the well-known squeak of the old brakes and it pulled in before the stop. Gemma waited for the hiss of the doors, the creak as they slowly opened and then took the step up onto the platform, before the driver. The driver was a skeleton. Not literally of course, but the old chap could certainly use a hot meal or two. His cheeks protruded, his eyes were sunken and dark under a large brow. He had a bit of stubble, grey – almost blue where it sat against his sallow cheeks.

‘Town, please,’ Gemma said softly, tapping her card on the contactless censor.

The old guy tapped a couple of buttons and then nodded.

‘Did that work? I didn’t hear it beep?’

The driver nodded to where the ticket was printing itself. He still didn’t speak.

Gemma managed a brief smile and pulled the ticket, thrusting it into her pocket alongside the one from yesterday and sat herself down on a hard and uncomfortable seat. Over the past few years, Gemma had expanded in girth slightly and the seats irritated her, moulded and comfortable for those with a BMI under twenty five, but uncomfortable and achy for anyone else. A glance showed her a good few passengers – maybe they’d all gone down to the other stop. None of them were familiar though, Gemma had come to know a few of her fellow passengers by face but these were all strangers. On the seat in front of her, reading a book, was a teachery type, brown hair in a bun, sensible jumper, no coat. She was ignoring the world, or so it seemed. Across from her, sat in the sideways seat at the front was a young man carrying a motorcycle helmet. He was in full racing leathers too – he looked tired. There was a young woman across from Gemma, red hair, dull eyes and perfectly made up – like one ready for a night out. The rest were more standard, an elderly lady with grey curls clutching her purse, an old man with a robust frame and a white moustache. The back had a workman in a boilersuit and another older lady, her hair was still brown but her cardi was misbuttoned.

Gemma sat back and put in her headphones, soothed by the heavy strains of guitar which echoed inside her head. She got a little bit of anxiety some mornings catching the bus, always had. The music was a good coverall for her fluttering heart, a blanket to snuggle beneath; safe and soothed. Gemma allowed her eyes to close, too anxious to actually sleep, but lulled into a more relaxed state. For a time, she half-dozed.

Then suddenly she woke up.

Surely the bus should have made it’s first stop by now?

Gemma glanced about, yeah, they were well past the shopping district! She glanced over at the other riders, none of them seemed to react at all. The old lady still clutched her bag, but she was looking out of the window now. The guy in the bike gear was playing with his phone, frowning at it, and the redhead seemed to be taking selfies. There were no kids on the bus, Gemma suddenly realised. The usual clutter and cries of toddlers not wanting to be constrained to boring old bus seats was oddly absent. Gemma glanced at her watch, five to nine. Yeah, this was the bus which was usually heaving!! Gemma frowned and cast her eyes around her, then pulled another polo out of her pocket. The sweet was something hard and solid to bite down on. Gemma worked up a bit of saliva and then paused. There was no crushing sweetness, no sharply cool taste. She looked down at the packet, the paper and foil ripped to almost halfway down. What the hell? She bit the sweet, making a loud crunch and chewed almost furiously. No, nothing, she could feel the sweet in her mouth, her tongue examining the hard edges, but she couldn’t taste the flavour! She swallowed and then pulled out another – maybe that one got a smaller dose – or missed – when they were adding the mintiness? Nope, the next one was the same, and then the next. Gemma frowned again, and glanced at her watch. It was still reading five to nine. She tapped it and then sighed to see the hands had stopped. She glanced around again. The guy in bike gear glanced up at the same time too, he wore a similar frown. He seemed about to speak to her, but then closed his lips again. He shook his phone, then sighed and put it away. He didn’t seem very happy. The teacher in front of her shuffled and sighed. Gemma glanced over the woman’s shoulder and frowned again, there didn’t seem to be any words in the book she was reading – just plain blank pages. Gemma stood, catching the attention of all the passengers. She went back to the skeleton driving the bus.

‘Hi, I want to get off!’

The guy flat out ignored her, his eyes dead ahead.

‘Please – I need to get off!’ Gemma whispered.

The driver flicked his eyes to her and the moved them back to the road, he raised a hand and pointed to the sign by the sign beside him.

• Passengers must not speak to the driver when vehicle is in motion.

• Passengers must press the bell as their stop approaches

• Passengers must not stand further forward of this notice.

• Passengers must remain seated.

Gemma read the words quickly, but then took herself back to her seat and pressed the bell. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could hear voices suddenly – hadn’t she always heard them though? Whispers in some cases, cries in others. A jumble of noise and echoing static. In that echo she heard her mother, her father, others – strange lost voices. Gemma felt her bottom lip quiver. She’d lost contact with her parents after they’d split up. They still lived in the same city as she did but the anger and venom which had bubbled in the wake of their divorce, and then the consequent custody battle had poisoned her against them both. Gemma was better off alone, better off in her own little bubble. She glanced out of the window again, was it getting … darker? No, that couldn’t be right. She glanced at her watch again but it was still broken.

Another loud ping took Gemma’s attention. She swung her head about to see that the “Bus stopping” sign was lit up. The biker was pressing the bell, over and over, but aside from that one ping, it was soundless.

‘Let me off!’ he cried out suddenly, ‘Please! Stop the bus!’

Nothing. Gemma glanced over at the impassive driver; bone-white skin, vacant expression, the hood of his hoodie pulled up to protect against the cold. A shiver ran through her.

‘And me!’ she cried out, ‘Let me off too!’

‘Sit down dear,’ the old lady from behind spoke. Her voice was as gravelly as one who’d smoked her whole life. Her eyes seemed sunken too, now, deep in her skull.

‘It’s easier if you sit.’ The redhead chimed in. She smiled and the expression sent centipedes up Gemma’s back.

‘I want to get off!’ Gemma said again. The biker had moved to the front of the bus. The driver did not let up on the accelerator, but his bony old hand came out to point at the sign again. The biker ignored him, pulling at the doors, straining to rip them open. As finally they parted, the driver put on the breaks. Gemma jumped out of her seat at once, ready to follow the biker as he stepped out into the misty morning. One of her headphones was caught though in the gap between the seats, though, causing her a moment’s pause and by the time she’d freed it, the doors were closed again and the driver moving on once more.

‘Please!’ Gemma tried, feeling frantic, ‘Please, I think I am on the wrong bus!’

‘We all say that, dear,’ The teacher said, then looked up at Gemma. Half of her face was missing… no, not missing, just lost in darkness, surely? The dark shadow which was whispering its way across the empty seats. Gemma glanced to the puddle of blood where the biker had sat. No, not blood, surely? Just a dark part of the seat’s pattern. She stood, trying to get closer, and rang the bell again with her finger. Like before, the sound echoed through the bus, bringing with it the childish memories of the school bell, of the buzzer at work which meant a customer was waiting. Gemma sobbed, she cried and she bent over. The shadows began to lick at her legs.

Weren’t there more passengers?

She spun about, the workman’s hat sat abandoned on the seat at the back. On another was a clutch purse and a tissue. There were no other passengers on the bus.

None, just her and the half-face teacher. Gemma glanced back to her too, and she wasn’t there either.

‘Please! I am on the wrong bus! I am!’ Gemma screamed, suddenly realising it. The skeleton who was driving turned to look at her. His eye sockets were so deep, his lips non-existent in his bony old face. If he could have smiled, he would have.

‘Best you get off then,’ he said. His voice sent a chill down Gemma’s back, it was low, gravelly and echoed with a memento mori of darkness. It was an abandoned coffin. It was graveyard dirt.

Gemma ran.

The shadows tried to trip her up and the seats seemed suddenly to span for an eternity. Gemma just kept on going, her feet slipping on the floor, her earbuds snapping as her bones seemed suddenly so hollow. She screamed as behind her eyes, headlights came closer and closer, the squeal of breaks, old bus brakes, and then the hot rubber of tires. Gemma braced herself, putting up her hands as the world seemed to spin, or was that just her? And then there came a thud, a grinding. Gemma grabbed for the door. She began to push. The last thing she heard was the sigh of the skeleton who was driving the bus as her body made the impact with the road beyond.

And then there was a light.

A falling, weightless sensation.

Then the gravel of the road.

In the distance, a siren wailed.