Only a dream

Chapter 4

The bus ride to my school is about twenty minutes. I sit alone for only ten. An old man, about fifty or so, slumps down beside me on the red leather seat at one of the stops. He has a short, grey, straggly beard and he wears a strange navy blue tuxedo, which has long, jagged rips down the sides and is lazily sown in different places. He has a plain black fedora hat on his head, making him look more serious than his wacky tuxedo.

His eyes are a deep, dark shade of green, and they look tired and somewhat lost.

I try not to stare at him, but It's pretty hard, after all he looks a little strange. We sit I'm awkward silence for a few minutes, before looks at me for the first time.

He smiles a creepy crooked smile revealing a row of interesting teeth, some yellow, some white and some missing entirely; he kinda reminds me of a jack-o-lantern. Well, a jack-o-lantern in a fedora, that is.

He shifts in the seat so he faces me and extends a thin, slender arm.

"Hello, dear. The name's James McStefens," he says in a croaky, old voice, " who might you be?"

I stare at his eyes, which have become distraught, making him look a little insane.

"Uhh, I...Im...uh" I stammer, my breath catching in my throat.

James's eyes changed colour. They are now a piercing, bright blue. Like the freaky girl in my dream.

"Well?" He asks, his disturbing smile disappearing, "what's your name?"

I take a shaky breath. This guy gives me the creeps. His eyes changed colour, is that even possible?

"Excuse me girlie, but Im awaitin' a name," he remarks with a slight scowl.

I stare at him, my mouth open, ready to say something. But I don't. I can't. Not the way he's staring at me. Like an angry lion, a hungry vulture, a mental patient.

"What is your name, young lady?" He growls.

I shiver, inhale sharply and whisper, "Samantha. M-my name is Samantha."

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Why did I give this creepy James McStefans guy my real name! He could be murderer, a nut job, a creep! Well, he already has proven to be a creep, but still. What is wrong with me?

"Hello, Samantha!" James laughs, throwing me out if my self-scolding, "I know you!"

What? No. He can't know me. I just told him my name! No. No. No.

"How do you know me?" I say quietly. I'm shaking slightly.

James laughs again, "I've been thinking about you!"

His laugh is quite unsettling, it's rusty and low. It almost sounds like a cough sometimes.

"What do you mean, you've been thinking about me?" I whisper nervously. I'm not sure if I wanna know the answer.

"You were in my dreams, muffin! Like I was in hers!" He starts laughing again, but has to stop. He's wheezing, like laughing hurts for him.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, louder them before.

"I'm talking about your dreams. Her dreams. My dreams. We are all connected."

He's beginning to scare me. "Who are you!" I yell. Loud. Everyone else on the bus to stare and I feel my cheeks get hot. I'm probably redder than a tomato.

But James doesn't seem embarrassed. He seems angry. He slumps his old, thin body towards me slowly, and I have to back against the window so he doesn't touch me. He looks into my startled green eyes coldly. His own eyes are flicking furiously from dark green to luminescent blue. They're like a candle flame, flickering back and forth softly, or they're even like the long, forked tongue of a snake, twitching back and forth. The though makes me shudder.

"I," he snarls softly, catching me off guard, " am James McStefans. See my eyes, child? They will be yours unless you make the right choices, ya hear? Be careful or she'll getcha like she got me!" He points to his ever-changing eyes, which are switching back and forth at record speed. I don't know what to do. I just sit and stare into his creepy eyes for what feels like an eternity.

His face shows anger, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. But his eyes show hunger. Pure animalistic, primal hunger.

"Get away from me," I croak, barely audible. He smiles his Halloween smile.

"We will meet again, then. Good luck, darlin', you'll need it!" He cackles to himself, shaky and old. Ancient, even. And with that he pops out of the seat and saunters somewhat gracefully off of the big, white transit bus and I am left staring, as well as everyone else on the bus. Some people give me annoyed glares, others show worry and pity. But nobody comes to talk to me, to ask what happened.

What did happen?

Three and a half, silent minutes later, the bus comes to an abrupt stop and I'm at my school. I spring up and practically fly down the aisle and out the doors. I am five minutes late for school.

Who is James McStefans?