We Got on the Wrong Bus

After Edward Gorey

It seemed strange the driver didn’t ask for our bus pass. Instead he shook a box full of finger bones and growled exact change only.

Cleo sat down by the hooded figure near the front. She didn’t want to offend anyone by mentioning the smell.

Tyrone stepped over the pink-clear puddles that oozed over the center isle from the seats. He said ahem and I prefer to stand.

The chanting bothered Willem, but only when she took out her earbuds and glanced around at the faces under the hoods.

A skeletal hand was left on the seat Charise wanted. When she poked it, it scrambled under her feet.

Bones to Dust, read the sign above the driver, but Paro couldn’t see very well to read the rest; the purple fog was too thick.

Jacinto thought he heard the giggle of children, checked the seat behind him and saw an empty baby carrier.

Katy pulled the cord and heard brakes screeching, but the bus didn’t stop. Neither did the screaming.

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