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The Bus Stop

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Wragg

Chronicler of Crux
Staff member
The Bus Stop

I first heard her while I was waiting for the last bus back into Cruxton:

“Help me! Please! Get me down!”

She sounded so close, just behind the bus shelter. “Hang on! I’m coming!”

There was a decent moon, and I had the light on my smartphone. “Hello? Where are you? I’m here to help you!”

Silence. I looked up in the trees, startling a pigeon which flapped out straight at me, which gave me a nasty case of the heebie jeebies.

“Miss? Hello? Did somebody call?”

An owl hooted.

“You’re quite right, Owl, I must be a twit to woo a woman who lives in an old farmhouse.”

The owl did not seem impressed by my pun, and he flapped off in pursuit of an unfortunate mouse. Even in the poor light I had to conclude that there was nobody there. I wondered about calling the police, but then I heard the sound of the number 16 grinding up the hill. As it came around the bend the headlights illuminated the whole area. Nothing to see.

I stuck my arm out. The bus stopped, I got on, and that was that. As I settled into my seat on the all-but empty bus I reasoned that if I will stand at bus stops in the middle of nowhere at dead of night I was sure to get myself spooked, especially at the end of October. Which did nothing to alter my plans to be back in Melanie’s arms tomorrow evening.

And indeed I was.

I’d had no plans at all to begin an affair with anyone after my wife had left me a ‘Dear John’ text message one day and gone off to Cambridge to live with a chap who worked as an electrician in one of the Science Parks. I’d been philosophical about it, if she’d fallen in love with an electrician then good for her, perhaps he’d get her sparking again, something I’d failed to do for about five years, and indeed something she’d failed to do for me.

Which made Melanie simply amazing. I’d forgotten how incredible it was to be in love with someone who actually wanted to be with me. It had been her who had come to me, who had said that she was sorry to hear that my marriage had broken up, who had bought me coffee in a little shop just around the corner from the office where we worked. Her who had told me about her loveless marriage to a brute named Alan, her who had invited me to a delicious meal in her old farmhouse about four miles outside Cruxton, and her who had invited me, even more deliciously, into her bed.

So it was that my existence had turned from hellish to heavenly in a few short weeks. Two things only besmirched my blissful existence: I had entirely failed to convince a magistrate that I should retain my driving licence after I had only realised the existence of a speed camera once I’d driven past it half a dozen times somewhat in excess of the unreasonably slow speed limit, and therefore I relied on the number 16 to get me home from her place. The second blot on my happiness was that staying at hers all night was not an option; her husband worked a late shift at Cruxton Meat Supplies and had the temperament and the experience to distribute parts of my anatomy all around the countryside if I should be unwise enough to remain in his wife’s bed until his return from work.

After a deeply satisfying near simultaneous climax, Melanie was laying with her head on my chest tracing rings around my left nipple, which both I and my nipple were enjoying immensely.

“I love you, Wraggie.” She always called me that. I didn’t mind too much.

“I love you too, Mel.”

“Will you come tomorrow night?”

“Several times, I expect, judging by tonight’s experience!”

She hit me with a pillow.

“You have to go. Alan will be home in half an hour, and I have to clean up.”

I kissed her, long and deeply, wondering if there was just time for another quickie, but she pushed me away. “Go! You know what he’s like!”

I got dressed, putting my socks on last. She hated to see a man with just socks on. I hated to see her magnificent breasts disappear inside her bra, but unfortunately they did just that as I watched.

“OK, off I go, back to my spooky bus shelter for thirty spooky minutes.”

“Spooky? Don’t tell me you’ve heard her?”

“I heard someone. Who is she?”

“I don’t know, but I do know that we’ve had several late night callers here who swore that they heard a woman pleading for help. We’ve had the police out several times; they don’t come now, they threatened to charge me for wasting police time the last time. I’ve never heard her myself, but I do get a chilly feeling down by that bus stop.”

“Well, that’s cheered me up, but at least I now know that calling the Old Bill isn’t an option. See you tomorrow, darling!”

One last kiss, and then I left her, plodded along her long drive, and then along the verge to the bus stop. I got to the bus shelter, used the light on my phone to check the soles of my shoes for dogshit. Happily, on this occasion, there was none, so I settled down to await my bus. After ten minutes, I checked the time by my phone, only to discover that I’d actually only waited two minutes. It gets you that way. Time actually and demonstrably slows down while you are waiting for a bus.

“Help me! Please! Get me down!”

I had a quick look behind the bus stop, but this time I was completely certain that someone was having a laugh at my expense. I shone my light around the inside of the bus stop, looking for speakers or cameras. I found none, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

“Pack it in! OK, you fooled me last night, but tonight’s different, OK?” Grumpily, I sat down on the bench.

A single car passed, heading away from Cruxton. Suddenly, the driver hit the brakes, and the car slewed across the road in a cloud of smoke and squealing brakes. Concerned, I rushed over to it. I could see a woman’s white face gazing out in utter terror. She took one look at me, screamed, slammed the car into gear, and roared off, tyres squealing as she forced the car around the bend.

“What the fuck,” I wondered aloud, “was that all about?”

I turned and made my way back to the bus shelter, considering that some people would make better drivers if they didn’t take drugs before taking the wheel.

“Help me! Please! Get me down!”

“Oh, shut up, for God’s sake!” I checked the time. Still 15 minutes to wait. I yawned.

Then I heard the sirens. Two police cars coming out of Cruxton as if all the devils in hell were after them.

‘They must be chasing that crazy woman,’ I reasoned. Well, at least some things were happening to pass the time.

The cops came into sight, putting on quite a display. They sure as hell were in a hurry!

To my amazement, they, too, screamed to a stop. The doors opened, and the occupants were out in a fraction of a second.

“ARMED POLICE!!! GET YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!!!”

I put my hands up. It seemed to be the sensible thing to do. We could argue later.

“GET DOWN ON YOUR KNEES!!!”

This was even less to my liking. But what choice did I have?

“ON YOUR FACE, KEEP YOUR ARMS WELL OUT FROM YOUR BODY!!”

I complied, felt them pulling my arms behind me, and then my wrists were securely cuffed together. Unseen hands patted me all over looking for weapons.

“He’s clean!” reported one of them. They hauled me to my feet. “What’s your name?”

“John Wragg… is it a crime to wait for a bus after dark?”

“Funny man. John Wragg, I am arresting you on suspicion of attempted murder. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you fail to mention when questioned something which you later come to rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but….”

“What have you done with her?”

“What have I done with who?”

“The woman!”

“What woman?”

“Don’t piss me about, matey! She needs to be taken to hospital! Now! Where is she?”

“Now, you listen to me, officer. I’ve had enough of this stupid game. If you’re playing some kind of joke on me then I’m not laughing. I have been sitting here for about twenty minutes. I am awaiting the number 16 bus to Cruxton. A few minutes ago a crazy woman nearly crashed her car, then drove off like a maniac. I swear, I never even got to speak to her, let alone harm her! Whatever she told you isn’t true!”

“She told us you were sitting in front of a crucified woman!”

I gaped at him. “Are you serious? You mean, a woman on a cross?”

“Sorry, has ‘crucified’ got too many syllables for you?”

“Now who’s being funny? How many crucified women do you see around here?”

More police cars were arriving, now there were half a dozen. One of them waved the bus past the scene. Police were hunting high and low, counting the number of crucified women in the landscape, but coming up short by one.

“Nothing to find, Sarge!”

There had been a lot of noise and bustle. Mel and a man who I assumed was her husband were stood at the end of the drive, watching what was happening. Mel gave absolutely no sign that she knew me. But at this point the proceedings came to a slightly embarrassed pause, and there was a moment of silence.

“Help me! Please! Get me down!”

Melanie screamed, a sound that made the blood in my veins freeze. She pointed, in utter horror, at a point just behind the bus stop.

“HELP HER! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! DO AS SHE ASKS! GET HER DOWN!”

A policewoman was racing across the road, yelling into her radio, “We need an ambulance, Cruxton Road, just past the turn for the Abbey. HURRY! We need the fire service too!”

Melanie and the policewoman were the only females on the scene. The rest of us mere men just watched as the two of them seemed to be grappling with something.

“Come on you idiots! Don’t just stand there, we need some help here!”

“Oh thank God, please hurry! Get me down!”
Then I heard an almost imperceptible hissing noise, and Melanie almost fell into the policewoman.

“Oh no, she’s gone!” said Melanie.

But there then came a sound that we all heard, and it made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. It was a wail, a sound of such hopeless despair the like of which I have never heard before or since. It was the sound of a soul, lost in eternity, dammed to hang in agony for all time. Cursed to be seen only by women, heard by men and women alike.

What kind of evil was this? I’d have crossed myself, but for the handcuffs.

And then I saw something else. One man, and one man alone, was smiling. Melanie’s husband.

“Ohhh God!!! Somebody DO something! That poor woman!” Previously, I’d only know her to be happy, loving, full of joy. But now Melanie’s voice, filled with despair, sounded horribly familiar.

Only then did I realise the awful truth. That voice I’d been hearing, last night and tonight. That dreadful wail of despair, now lost in the sound of an approaching ambulance siren.

It was Melanie’s voice.

The end
 
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“Are you serious? You mean, a woman on a cross?”
Is this an unusual occurrence in the Cruxton area? :confused:
Very enjoyable and thought-provoking - you do this supernatural stuff rather well, Wragg! :D
 
I turned and made my way back to the bus shelter, considering that some people would make better drivers if they didn’t take drugs before taking the wheel.

“Help me! Please! Get me down!”
Madiosi-2019-269-busstop.jpg
“Oh, shut up, for God’s sake!” I checked the time. Still 15 minutes to wait. I yawned.
 
I turned and made my way back to the bus shelter, considering that some people would make better drivers if they didn’t take drugs before taking the wheel.

“Help me! Please! Get me down!”
View attachment 769326
“Oh, shut up, for God’s sake!” I checked the time. Still 15 minutes to wait. I yawned.
Madi, words fail me...

That is, quite simply, incredible!

Thank you!

:beer:
 
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