Dylan the Vampire Slayer

Chapter 2 - The Bus Stop

All around her, the darkness of night settled upon the bus.  The staunch smell of body odor, stale cigarettes, and cheap perfume stained the blue fabric littered with a white diamond pattern.  It was rough against the skin like the stiff fabric of an airplane seat.  Traveler after traveler took a seat on the abused textile of the bus seats, but only this traveler didn’t know where she was headed.  Small, dim lights like tiny oranges lined the walkway to the front of the vehicle.  Slowly, she rose from the seat she occupied for who knows how long.

It might have been day when she boarded the bus, but it might have been night as well.  She didn’t know.  One sleeve of her onyx black sweater slumped down her arm, revealing the porcelain skin of her collar bone and shoulder.  It was a loose, thin fabric dangling from her frame and held tightly against her body by an elastic band around the bottom.  Faded gray washed out jeans with rips carefully placed throughout the length of the pants hugged her body.  Stepping into the aisle, she watched the ground ripple underneath her feet with each step she took towards the front of the bus.

She thought she was alone.  A young girl lay asleep, leaning against the side of the bus.  Her light brown hair was curled to perfection and pulled back from her face in a messy ponytail.  A few stray curls lay on the side of her face.  She had plump cheeks and large teeth barely hidden by her lean lips.  Her sundress was light lavender and checkered with white stripes with thin straps made of woven cotton.  Clutched in her tiny hands, she held a smooth silver cross made of a soft metal that reflected Dylan’s face as she passed.

Reaching her hand out, she placed it on the back of the seat to the right of the aisle.  The air in the bus felt heavy like dredging through whipped cream.  She could feel the cold of the night as if ice cubes covered her exposed skin.  The door of the bus held itself permanently open as if it was waiting for passengers to enter and exit.  Dylan bent at her waist, looking out the window past the seats she braced herself upon—nothing for miles.  The ground was blue from the moonlight shining down upon the dirt, rocks and vacant emptiness the surrounded the bus.

She gasped in a desperate breath of air when she felt the cold, bony fingers entwine around her wrist.  A woman, barely clinging to life, filled the seat where she rested her hand.  Her skin was leathery and wrinkled.  The hair on top her head was frizzy and white as pure snow.  Dylan stared back into her bright brown eyes.  They cut right through her.  The bones of her cheeks obtruded from her face as her jaw dropped open.  Tiny gurgles escaped her throat as if she was trying to speak.

Slowly, Dylan reached a shaking hand towards the elderly woman.  She wanted to help her.  Releasing the grip around her wrist, the woman grabbed onto Dylan’s outreached hand and pulled it to her chest.  A single tear dropped from her eye and rolled over the wrinkled skin of her cheeks like a glass marble down to her floral printed nightgown.  Dylan’s chest felt tight as she tried to breath; each time she sucked in an icy breath her chest sunk as far as her stomach.  With her other hand, the woman pressed a wooden stake against her chest, next to Dylan’s hand.

“Why do you fight it?” The elderly woman gasped.  Each word was followed by an uneasy gasp forcing it way out of the woman’s lungs.

Opening her hand, Dylan took hold of the stake.  It was smooth to the touch and twisted around like a corkscrew.  The tip was sharp and glistened against the tiny bit of moonlight shining into the dark bus.  The woman in the seat relaxed her grip around the stake and Dylan’s hand, her limbs falling limp at her side.  Her heavy eyelids closed from fighting to breath.  Dylan brought the stake close to her body and cradled it in both her hands.  The blackness of the dull polish on her nails blended against the rich knots nestled in the stake.

Gradually, Dylan stood up straight.  Looking over her shoulder, the seat a little girl once occupied was empty.  All that remained was the faded and worn bus seat.  The foam padding underneath concaved after collapsing under the constant weight and pressure of passengers.  Dylan turned her head back to face the elderly woman.  She was gone too.  The bus was vacant.