Ghost Bus Tour

A man with ruddy cheeks smiles warmly at me from behind the scratched plexiglass barrier. He slides a single red ticket across the dividing metal tray which serves as the bridge between his world and mine. “ADMIT ONE,” it states. The red ticket is followed by a small black plastic rectangle with antiquated earbuds wrapped hastily around it. All this cost me only five dollars.

“Just you wait over there.” He points to a green metal bench adjacent to his home-crafted stall. “Get on the next bus that comes along, pop in those earbuds. Between every stop you’ll hear a story- a real story- about a spooky ghost that roams this very town.” He gives a conspiratorial wink. “The bus’ll take you on a loop, about an hour. When ya get back, just pop the tour guide into the receptacle.” He points to a rusted blue mailbox with a laminate sign taped to the front: “Used Guides.”

“Thanks,” is my stoic reply. It’s all the enthusiasm I can muster, though I hope I haven’t dampened the old man’s spirits. He seems nice. I shove my hands into my jacket pockets and take a seat on the bench. The view is enchanting; as the sun sets on this small New England town square, the golden twilight rays illuminate the swirling autumn leaves. It’s surprisingly busy, though none of the residents seem to be paying any attention to the man I was just speaking to. He sits in the single stall with the well-worn sign: Ghost Bus Tours.

“Oh, and one more thing!” the man calls out to me, his voice muted from behind his barrier, “We’ve heard tales of a spooooky demon bus roaming this route.” He wavers his voice when he says “spooky,” and now I wish I had dampened his spirits. “Beware the dark bus, with no route, and the faceless driver. Those who get on… never return.”

“Yeah,” I say, “I’ll keep an eye out.”

I sit on the bench and unwrap the cord around the electronic tour guide. I put the earbuds in my ears. There’s no sound, but I find the silence comforting. I pull out my phone and idly browse through my litany of apps, recalling nothing of what I see.

Before long, a bus arrives. It stops with a forlorn hiss. It’s surprisingly modern and entirely rectangular. The seats are a deep blue, covered in swirling patterns of multicolored shapes, and the handrails are painted a bright orange. The driver sits behind his own plastic barrier, though despite the warmth of the bus he wears a scarf around his neck and a thick coat. His face is wind-worn and wrinkled.

I pull my ticket from my coat pocket, and he waves me on without a word. The bus is empty, so I pick my seat at random. I lean my head against the cold window, and as the bus hisses to life and rumbles forward, I feel the vibrations gently against my skull.

The electronic guide crackles and starts to speak. I’m startled, but I don’t show it. A voice begins to drone about a house that is coming up on the left. This house is apparently the oldest building in this historic town, built sometime before the revolutionary war…

My mind begins to drift, and before long the thoughts return to me unbidden, and I can’t resist thinking them, exploring them like a tongue prodding a sore tooth. It has been three months since Maria left me, but I find myself reliving the last few weeks of our relationship over and over again, trying to find the point where I could have saved us.

My hand slips into my pocket and finds my phone. I press the power button in a habit so instinctual I barely realize I’m doing it. The screen lights up, displaying an utter lack of messages. Not that I should be surprised. She hasn’t texted me in months. My gray purgatory continues as I lean my head back against the bus window, and try to focus on the ghost tour that I had hoped would distract me, even for a little while.

The stories play through the plastic earbuds one after the other. I can barely focus. Every now and again someone gets on the bus. Most of the people getting on are elderly. That’s normal for this small town; the young folks leave pretty early. None of them have electronic tour guides, and I haven’t seen any other tour booths.

Eventually, the bus starts down a route that leads into the autumnal forest, and the lights of the town quickly disappear behind us. The tour guide crackles to life in my ears and begins to drone on about some early settlers that were slaughtered in the woods. This time, I’m able to sink into the story, and allow the imagery to fill my head. The forest drifts past as I listen to a gruesome tale told in a cheerful voice.

The bus brakes suddenly, and I’m startled from my concentration. We’ve stopped, somewhere deep in the woods. The small group of elderly folk stand up slowly, and begin to shuffle off the bus in a grim procession. After some time, the last of them has stepped off, and once again I’m left alone on the bus. Alone, except for the driver, who turns to me. He says something, but his voice is muffled by the plastic buds in my ears. I take them out.

“What was that?” I ask.

“End of the line, everybody off here,” he says in a gruff voice.

“Uh…wait,” I say, confused, “I’m on the ghost tour. This is meant to be a loop? I need to get back to town.”

“Yup. ‘Nother bus’ll come by soon, opposite direction. Can’t take anyone further than this. Regulations.”

“You sure?” I ask nervously. The sun has set so far that only a thin ribbon of light is visible through the treeline.

“Yeah I’m sure. You can’t go any further.”

The last words are spoken with such cold certainty that I rise without a question, and walk slowly from the bus. I step off onto the dirt path next to the cracked pavement. Before me is a similar rusty green bench. Next to it is a bus sign bolted to a long thin metal rod, and both the bench and the sign are illuminated by a solitary orange sodium street lamp.

I turn back to the bus driver, but as I do the doors slide closed behind me, and the bus takes off at a speed that seems far quicker than before.

I sit down on the bench. I listen to the tour guide, but there’s only static. I take the earbuds out, wrap them hastily around the guide, and put them on the bench next to me.

I find that I am strangely calm. The dark wood around me seems peaceful, and very quiet. Thick trees, dark green and black, form a wall on either side of the road, their fall colors muted by the fading light. While the night is chilly, it’s far from cold, and once I snuggle down into my jacket I feel cozy. The orange glow of the sodium lamp gives the bench a somewhat otherworldly atmosphere, and I feel far away from all the trouble and melancholy which has been haunting me.

I realize that I hadn’t seen where all the old people on the bus had gone . Maybe there is a nursing home around here, or a private taxi had picked them up?

I lose myself again in my thoughts, and after some time I realize, pleasantly, I haven’t thought about Maria in some minutes. I haven’t even checked my phone. Even thinking about not thinking about her doesn’t seem to break the peace I’m feeling. There’s a lack of pressure in my chest, as if for the last few months a hand had been squeezing my heart, and it has finally decided to stop.

Then, I can hear heavy footsteps in the dark. My body jerks to attention and cold adrenaline flushes through my veins. I can make out a figure approaching, from the same direction my bus had come. The orange light above me had been so comforting, but now it blinds me to the world beyond my bus stop bench. Squinting my eyes, I can make out a bulky silhouette, much taller than myself. It’s footsteps are slow and deliberate.

I want to leap up, and get ready to run. But this is a bus stop, and the shadow might have come to wait for the bus. As it grows closer, I tense my legs and lift myself slightly from my seat, ready to bolt, just in case.

Even in the gloom and under his bulky hoodie I can make out large biceps and broad shoulders. Then, he pierces the streelamp’s barrier of light, and I can see his face. The gears of my brain briefly seize, and start running in reverse.

“Allan?” I ask incredulously.

I know this man. For all his height and musculature, he is my younger cousin, and I have just found him in the middle of a New Hampshire forest.

His face mirrors my own serendipitous surprise.

“Yo! Tom?” he says. I stand, and we try to embrace. He goes to grasp my hand, and I go to hug him. We stop, smile awkwardly, and then compromise, embracing in a half hug and patting each other on the back.

“What the hell man?” I say, “I thought you weren’t coming this year.”

“I really wasn’t planning to,” he says, “but Justine convinced me. It was a hard drive too. Those roads are icy.”

I nod. My next question bubbles up in my throat, but I need to ask it despite the awkwardness it might create.

“You’ve seen Andy then? How did that go?”

Allan shakes his head. “Not yet. But I didn’t really come up here to see dad. I came to see the rest of you.”

“Ah,” I shrug, “Well. Speaking as the rest of us- it’s good to see you man.”

He smiles, a little sadly. His face is shadowed by the light directly above him. It gives him a skeletal appearance, but I can see the warmth in his eyes.

“By the way,” I say, remembering my surroundings, “what the fuck are you doing out here? At night?”

Allan shrugs again, nonchalantly. “The town center isn’t so far from here. Just a mile or two that way. I grew up around here, I know this place pretty well.”

“Huh. Alright. Where are you going?”

“Just somewhere I need to go. Mostly to clear my head. I almost took the bus, but I decided to walk. It’s peaceful out here.”

“You might’ve gotten on the same bus I did if you had.”

“Yeah…why are you out here?” he asks, confusion written on his face.

“Oh, just this stupid ghost bus tour. Tourist trap. I bought a ticket in town. Mom was being… mom, and I needed a distraction.”

I can’t precisely tell in the gloom and sodium-induced haze, but his face looks almost relieved.

We talk for some more time. He knows about Maria, but we haven’t talked in some months, so I give him the details about the breakup. I know some people don’t like talking about their sources of misery. I can’t seem to shut up about mine.

Eventually the conversation turns to Ed, his younger brother. I saw Ed just this morning. Allan seems happy about this, and he presses me for information on Ed. In the face of his relentless questions, all I can do is laugh and shrug.

“He’s your brother, Allan. Why don’t you talk to him?”

Allan turns away from me slightly. “No… I… the last time we talked, we got into it. I told him I wasn’t coming up. He’s angry that I’m still angry at dad.”

There’s little to say to that. I sit back and let the silence fill the space between us.

“Hey man,” he says suddenly, “when you see him tonight or tomorrow, can you tell him something for me? Tell him I’m sorry. And that… I love him.” The last part is said quietly, almost shamefully.

"Sure, Allan, but why don't you just tell him yourself? You’re here."

"I dunno, I think he's not picking up my calls. I guess I just can't get through to him."

“We’ve got this lunch thing tomorrow, you’ll see Ed there, right?”

“I’m not sure I can make it.”

He doesn’t offer more of an explanation, and I don’t push the issue. I know what happened between him and his father, generally speaking, but I don’t know the full depth of his feelings.

“Yeah, I understand. No worries,” I say.

We sit there in another uncomfortable silence, until a thought occurs to me.

“Allan, why don’t I come back with you tonight, and hang out wherever you’re staying? It’s been a minute. I’d like to catch up some more.”

He laughs loudly, as if I’d just made a hilarious joke. “That’d be chill man, but I’m staying super far away. You won’t make it back in time.”

“I can crash on your couch?”

He puts a beefy hand on my shoulder. “I’d like that man, I really would, but it’s just not happening tonight. We’ll see each in the future. I promise you.”

I feel a chill down my spine. I’m standing on the precipice of a complicated history, and I decide once again not to push the issue.

“Me too, Allan. I’ll make sure it happens. I’m still in Boston for a few more months.”

Our conversation meanders for a little longer, and as it slows down, Allan stands up suddenly, and pulls the zipper of his hoodie up to his chin.

“I think it’s time I leave,” he says, “I’m still pretty far from where I’m going.”

“Yeah, of course, Allan. It was good to see you.”

“It was good to see you too, man. Remember what I told you to tell Ed.”

“I promise.”

We embrace warmly, this time with ease. Without another word, he plods off into the distance continuing in the same direction he came from.

I wonder where he’s staying. Clearly not his childhood home, that’s where I’m staying. Maybe he’s got an old friend with a house nearby. That’s the thing about these small forest towns. You might think that you’re surrounded by miles of wilderness, but really you’re only a couple hundred yards from a Dunkin Donuts or a public pool.

I sit for some time, and doubt creeps into my mind, that the bus is actually coming. I pull my phone from my pocket, and I press the power button. Then I press it again, and again. The screen refuses to light up. It’s dead.

“Shit.”

I take a breath and reassure myself. The bus might be running late. Besides, Allan got here easily enough. I can just start walking the way he came, and I’ll be fine. I hope.

The forest is so still, that when I hear the oncoming bus, I can also feel the vibrations through the ground. I relax, relieved. I can go home, and charge my phone. Maybe Maria has texted me in the meantime. I know she hasn’t, but the thought is a nice one.

The bus comes from the same direction Allan had. The headlights are on, but it has no destination displayed on its head board. The inside is very dark. The internal lights aren’t working. I stand instinctively, and finger the ticket in my jacket pocket in anticipation. The bus draws up beside me, and stops with an angry hiss.

A thought occurs to me. This bus had come from the same direction Allan had. The same direction my first bus had. I frown in confusion. Maybe this is the wrong bus?

The old incandescent light overhead starts to flicker. The bus doors creak open with a harsh screech. The bus is empty, except for the driver. The interior is unlit, and I can only perceive the driver’s vague silhouette. I stay still, and try to peer through the gloom. Just as I think I can make out the driver’s face, the bulb overhead emits a loud plink! And goes out completely.

The silhouetted driver turns to me. I hear a groan. It’s slow and deep, like the exhale of a large beast. The driver starts to smile. I can see the smile, though the rest of its face remains cloaked in shadow. It’s a toothy, lipless grin. The silhouette seems to grow deeper and blacker than the darkness surrounding it. It’s form is still indecipherable, but I can see It gesture towards me, beckoning for me to get onto the bus. I don't want to get onto the bus. I want to scream, but my lips don’t move. My flesh prickles, and my body seems to shrink before the doorway, or perhaps the doorway grows larger around me. I am compelled to move forward, and I take a step, unbidden. I grit my teeth, and all I can do is clench my fist so tightly that my nails dig into my palm.

Sharp pain blossoms through my hand, and that pain is enough to clear my head briefly. My lungs draw a deep, starving breath.

This is the wrong bus. I need to go in the other direction. Tomorrow is my last day in this town, and my last chance to bring Allan’s message to his brother.

The paralysis gripping my body weakens, and I take a small step backwards, shaking my head feebly.

The smile fades, and the driver turns from me. The bus doors close. The bus drives away. As the brake lights disappear into the dark forest, I feel the adrenaline and fear fade from my body, and my fast-beating heart slows. The whole thing felt like a dream in passing. The sodium light overhead emits another plink! And comes back to life.

I laugh into the dark. It sounds high-pitched and forced, but it comforts me. Perhaps that was a ghost bus tour special. What would have happened if I got on the bus? They’d probably jump out at me, have a laugh, and take a commemorative photo.

I sit down, and take a deep breath. I try not to think too much about the dark bus. Prank or not, it was disturbingly well done. I don’t need to distract myself for long, because only minutes later I hear the rumble of yet another bus coming towards me, this time from the correct direction. Even from a distance, I can make out the well lit interior, and above the headlights the board displays “TOWN CENTER” in broad orange letters. As it pulls to a stop in front of me, I can make out people, some old, some young, sitting in the bus. The doors open, and the driver in the dark blue parka barely looks at me as I step on. I hold out my ADMIT ONE ticket.

“It’s for the Ghost Bus Tour?” I say.

He looks at the ticket with a frown. He opens his mouth to speak, but then he stops. He gives a half-shake of his head, and gestures towards the back of the bus.

‘It’s late, kid. Get on.”

I do, and as I step into the warm heated interior, I notice the frosty October chill in the air. I had not noticed the cold until I crossed the threshold onto the bus.

I follow my north-eastern instincts and quickly identify the bus seat furthest away, equidistantly, from everyone else. I settle in.

As we meander through the forest, I remember my electronic guide. My hand goes to my pocket but finds it empty. I’d left it on the bench! Shit. Maybe I could leave a note at the guide station, if they’re not still open.

I reach into my other pocket, and instinctively pull out my phone. I remember that it’s out of battery, but only after I press the power button. To my surprise, the screen flickers to life. A single “new text” symbol is displayed on the front.

My heart begins to beat a little faster. Is it from Maria? I flick my finger upwards, and the screen unlocks. It’s from Mom.

Come home soon, need 2 talk. Luv U.

I feel the brief sting of disappointment that it’s my mother, and not my ex.

But it’s a lesser sting, like a soft echo. After Maria left, every time my phone vibrated in my pocket, I hoped it was from her. And every time it was from someone else, the disappointment was a hot needle in my skin. My body has learned to recoil automatically. But now, even though I instinctively flinch, the pain doesn’t come. The breakup happened, she left. But I’m alive, I exist, and there’s a world out there of new people to see. And more importantly, a small number of them care for me, and there’s time still to be with those people. To tell them how sorry I am for the asshole I’ve been for the last few months. To tell them I love them.

I’m not sure why I feel this way. Maybe the Ghost Bus Tour was the perspective I needed. I chuckle to myself at the idea.

Eventually the bus pulls up to the stop at the town center, and the few remaining passengers get off. I do as well. I pull out my phone, and text my mom back.

Just got to the center, walking home. 10 minutes ETA. What’s up? Love you too.

I glance around for the Ghost Bus Tour booth, but it’s gone. I assume they must have packed up, it’s about twenty minutes past midnight. I had gotten the last bus back. I can see the mailbox where I was supposed to drop off my electronic guide. The printed sign has been removed, and now it’s just a mailbox.

I glance around the square. Even in the silent dark, the surrounding buildings are lit up with Halloween decorations and glowing street lights. Dark orange leaves litter the ground, swirling softly in the night breeze. Not a far walk from me is a place I know, full of warm air and good food. And people I love. Like Ed. It’s not just my love I need to give him, but his brother’s as well. Everything’s going to be okay. The square, that had seemed so gray and placid to me hours ago, now seems full of life and hope, even without the people meandering about. I grin to myself. Everything is going to be okay.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, then again, and again. I pull it out. Mom is calling me. I swipe up, and hold the cold glass to my ear.

“Hey Mom.” I say, cheerfully, and for the first time in months, I’m not faking it.

“Hey Tom,” she says, but her voice seems shaken, “please, come home as soon as possible, but I wanted to call to prepare you before you got here. Everyone’s pretty upset.”

“What’s… what’s going on?” I ask.

There’s a long, protracted silence before she speaks again.

“There… was an accident. It’s about Allan.”