The Ride Of Your Dreams Part 2

January 1, 2010
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Out of nowhere, something heavy had fallen in my lap. I went to grab the stick-like object and my hands became covered in a sticky and cold liquid. Once vertical, I screamed as I noticed I was holding someone’s arm. I threw it off to the side, hitting a Frankenstein in the head. As distracted as I was, I could feel someone’s breath by my ear and I screamed when I turned to find a guy disguised as a clown, staring at me. I could tell by the guy’s build, he was young, probably around 18 years old, 2 years older than I am. His head was sweaty from running around all night and he was panting for it wasn’t easy to breathe while wearing a mask.
He said, “This is a ride from hell. Hide before you die! Listen to me, I’m serious.”
His deep voice sounded concerned.
Kassie and I sat in a state of shock until she screamed, “We’re all going to die!”
The driver giggled as she jerked the bus to the left. We ducked down under the seat, laying belly flat across the floor. Staying as close together as possible, Kassie and I started to cry, but only for a couple of minutes because we did not want someone discovering our hiding place. Curiously, I popped my head up, only to find men with knives stabbing continuously the other passengers. We were undeniably stuck in our own horror story. The gray floor was cold and covered with dirt, our bodies jumped up often with every little bump and every little scream. The guy was right, this was a ride from hell, and whoever had done this had surely gone crazy.
Suddenly light flooded over us, as we came to a clearing. Streetlights and stars made our surroundings visible. I looked across the laneway, to the other front seat, in it a little boy with blonde hair bright as the sun, around the age of 8 was dead. There was a hole right through his heart. His mother was sitting beside him, her head having been decapitated. They were still holding hands. A salty tear hit my lips and I wiped it away with the back of my hand. We could hear the footsteps of big work boots along the side of the bus.
“They all gone?” asked a raspy voice.
“Yes sir,” responded the driver.
How could we ever get off this bus without being killed?
“Kass, we need to get off, let’s run for it.”
“May, I’m scared, that lady is huge, she could definitely strangle us and we’d be out in a minute.”
“Too bad, we’re going on the count of three, one, two, and three!”
We slid across the ground, into the aisle; Kassie screamed however, it seemed to distract the lady. We ran down the stairs as quickly as possible. We ran past four men around 6 feet tall, who in turn attempted to chase after us. Luckily, they slipped in the mud and we disappeared into a sea of cars. We didn’t stop until we reached the field which contained Kassie’s car. She unlocked it a few feet away with her remote and as soon as we entered, we both began to ball hysterically.
“What are we going to do?” I asked between sobs.
“We should stop those innocent people from going on that bus!”
“Kassie, we can’t, they won’t believe us and I don’t want to go back there.”
“Fine, we’ll go to the cops, they’ll take care of it.”
Kassie was right and I felt relieved enough to smile. As she began to drive, I pulled down the visor and looked in the mirror. My shoulder-length mousy brown hair was tangled, under my blue eyes my eyeliner was smudged and my plump lips were chapped. Kassie drove carefully, exclaiming she did not want to put us in another dangerous situation. We were distressed, traumatized and astonished.
I couldn’t wait to discover who had done this. Usually I would want to solve the crime, however this time it did not interest me. In fact, crime stories didn’t seem as appealing after you experienced one, I’m sure my family would be proud to hear this. After 40 minutes, we made it to Windsor and found the closest police station. We jumped up out of the car and ran into the station. The cop at the front desk was taken aback with our jumbled talking as we tried to explain our story.
“Slow down, girls, one at a time,” he said.
Kassie looked at me and I explained what had happened this horrible night. He paged his team on a walkie-talkie and reassured us they would get to the bottom of this. The next few weeks were spent in my room, the only place where I felt comfortable and safe. When I returned to school, the slam of a locker door or the squeals of cheerleaders would cause a panic attack and my lungs felt pressed for air. Teachers sympathized and students pitied me, they were finally aware of my existence, but almost dying was the worst way to be known. That second week I had received a call from Sergeant Pilbara, telling me they caught the killer. Smith Michaels was the new owner of Reapers Realm. He had too many problems to name and had hypnotized all of his workers so they would listen to him and fulfill his dirty needs. It was Adrian Varga who had told us to hide, he being one of the few that were lucid.
Sergeant Pilbara said, “Maya, you may be one of the few survivors that night but you’re a hero for saving those who were planning on visiting.”
A hero? Me? No way. I sure hadn’t been acting like one. Feeling courageous and brave, realizing what Sergeant Pilbara had said was true because after all Kassie and I could’ve ran away without saying a word. I pulled out my Halloween costume from last year, met up with a few of my friends and went trick or treating. One horrible night couldn’t ruin some potentially fun nights, I simply wouldn’t allow it.

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