Helltown - Jeremy Bates Page 0,61

moon, an old derelict school bus sat in the center of a small glade.

She remained unmoving for several long seconds, trying to comprehend what a bus would be doing out here in the woods, and when no answers came to her, she approached it cautiously, quietly, half convinced it might disappear at any moment, like a mirage.

It didn’t disappear, of course. It was as real as the cedars, firs, and pines that had grown up around it. Judging by its beat-up, weathered condition, it had been there for a very long time. It rested on flat tires and canted to one side, perhaps a result of a broken axle. Many of the windows were cracked or missing altogether.

What was it doing here in the middle of the forest? she wondered again. A car, she could understand. This land might have once been someone’s property. The owner might have abandoned a broken-down sedan when he moved away, leaving it for nature to claim as its own.

But a school bus?

As Mandy ventured closer she made out graffiti scribbled along the vehicle’s shadowed flank. It was similar to the stuff they’d seen beneath the bridge: inverted pentagrams, upside-down crosses, crude drawings of Satan, a goat’s head sprouting evil-looking horns. In blue spray paint: “DANNY WAS HERE, 82!” In red: “look behind you…”

Despite herself, Mandy glanced over her shoulder. She found nobody lurking there.

She stopped before the bus’s bi-fold door, conflicted. It was cranked open, allowing entrance. It would be dry inside, out of the rain. She could curl up on a seat, wait until the rain stopped, maybe wait until morning arrived.

Then again, was the bus safe? What if the floor had rotted out and she fell through it, her legs shredded by rusty metal? Or what if the ceiling collapsed on her?

She folded her arms across her chest and glanced to her left, to her right, seeing only the thin veil of slanted rain, the dripping trees, the bent, water-sopped tall grasses and saplings.

She climbed the steps that led inside the bus. The metal groaned beneath her weight but seemed solid enough. At the top she gripped the stanchion by the driver’s compartment and detected a sickly smell, like something had died inside the vehicle. This almost made her turn around and head back outside, but she didn’t. The odor wasn’t overpowering; she could deal with it for a few hours.

She turned to face the passenger area. The shadows there were plentiful, but she could make out that all the bench seats had been removed.

She started down where the aisle once would have been. Cobwebs dusted the ceiling while others filled out the spaces where windowpanes had once resided. Soda cans and candy wrappers and other trash littered the floor. Three fluorescent green tennis balls sat incongruously next to a paperback novel swelled to twice its original size, as if it had been dunked in water and dried out. She found no decomposing wood mouse or other small rodent. Whatever was causing the smell must be beneath the bus.

Somewhat relieved by that conclusion she settled down next to a raised wheel well. She pulled her legs against her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees. Rain plinked steadily against the roof. Every so often a frigid gust of wind whistled through the missing windows.

Suddenly Mandy felt extremely small and insignificant—and alone. She could die out here, her body never discovered, and who would miss her? Her mother was dead, she had no siblings, she wasn’t close to any of her relatives, she hadn’t spoken to her father since he’d kicked her out of the house when she was eighteen. Her friends would be shocked at her disappearance, she supposed, but would they miss her, really miss her? She doubted it. Their lives would go on as usual, and they would forget about her. Maybe her name would come up now or then, something like, “Hey, did you used to know Mandy?” or “You know they never found out what happened to Mandy?” But that would be all. She would become a memory, then a name, then a girl they once knew, then nothing at all.

To Mandy’s surprise, she yawned. She wasn’t tired, she realized; she was bone weary with exhaustion. She lay down on her side, curled into a ball, and rested her cheek on her forearm. The galvanized steel floor was hard and cold but more comfortable than she would have guessed. The strain and tension seemed to seep out