If The Gravestone Could Speak #5
The voice belonged to a short man with curly red hair, a mathematics teacher from the school that they attended, but Alex had only ever seen him once before, and couldn’t remember his name. He looked ready to explode, furious with all the noise and commotion behind.
“FIND YOUR SEATS, AND SIT DOWN,” he shouted once more, pointing a chubby finger in the direction of Peter and Alex.
Eventually, after more insults from the cheerleaders, they reached the back of the bus and collapsed on the seats. There were other people sat at the back too, people with big round glasses, or unbranded clothes and messy hair. Jessica would have described these people as nerds, but to Alex and Peter, they were just plain normal. Every one of them was sat at the back for the same reason: to avoid the cool kids.
“There’s an alien marathon at the movies tonight,” Peter said, the burning in his cheeks finally subsiding, “do you fancy going?”.
Alex, only half listening to his friend, had started watching the trees drift by outside. The bus was speeding down the road faster than usual, trying to make up for lost time.
“Maybe,” he replied casually, still daydreaming.
They were no longer driving through the wealthier part of town; the houses lining the street now pre-dated even the first world war. Alex had never really looked closely at the people here; there was never anyone to look at. In this neighbourhood, lived an aging population, the pace of life much slower than usual.
Most people here weren’t even up and dressed yet, instead, asleep in bed, happily retired. One house though, was a hive of activity, number 13.
“Ah,” Alex yelled suddenly, brushing his hands subconsciously against his legs, an indescribable itch running along his back.
Peter had flinched at the sudden outburst, turning to look at his friend with an irritated expression on his face.
“What are you shouting for?”
“There is something wat…” but Alex’s words trailed off into faint whispers as he felt the same cold stare as last night. On the top floor of number 13, through blacked out windows, he felt the presence of the shadow watching.
Ducking low against the seat, Alex tried to hide. People had started to stare, a few were brazened enough to point a finger at him and gawp. Nobody else had reacted in the same way; in fact, nobody else had reacted at all. ‘How can they not feel that cold stare?’ thoughts racing, he turned to Peter, and was surprised to see the same bewildered expression on his face as well.
“Can’t you feel it?” he asked, trying to sound calmer than he felt.
“Feel what?”
“The shadow!” Alex pointed to the window, at the black three-story house outside.
The bus had been forced to stop as a procession of cars were trying to park on the drive of number 13. People dressed in black suits with sombre faces were stood in the front garden chatting amongst themselves. In all the times that the bus had driven them past number 13, it had never looked so clean. The garden, normally waist high with weeds, had been cut and tended to, while the old wood exterior had a new vibrant look.
suffer from the past, to long for the future, but to forget the present.
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