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The Ghoulbus
By Bethany J. Royer
The Mother of the Munchkins
The munchkins and I were standing at the corner one fine school morning
when the most ancient of buses pulled up alongside of us. Really, it
was so old the windows were dusty, a couple of moths hovered over a
back seat and there were cobwebs galore between and under every seat.
(Okay, so the latter was imagined, but still...)
A mental picture quickly followed of one Ms. Wee Emma screaming up and
down the aisle as the multiple-years worth of spiders came out for a
snack.
Those spiders had probably been waiting a long time for such a treat!
When that bus pulled up, something from the 50s easily, the girls
hesitated while I stared. There's no doubt in my mind that antique had
been hauled from an overgrown field, with rabbits burrowed beneath the
belly, birds roosted in the grill and did I mention, lots 'n lots of
spiders?
Probably took a lot of grave robbing and lightening to get that monster
moving again.
Surely Noah had ridden that bus as a child?
In fact, the Crypt Keeper was more than likely a bus driver at one
time, mashing the gas pedal to the floor as he cruised Broadway with an
evil laugh.
Can't you hear the horn honking and see those in witness from
sidewalks, storefronts and in nearby cars getting nervous? Like break
out the Bible and holy water, gotta go home and sharpen the stake
collection, uneasy over such a sight.
The bus gave something of a wheezy belch, as the doors were cranked
open. (It was either a hamster on a wheel or a rock and rope pulley
system.) The girls and I continued to stand next to the stop sign with
wrinkled brows and barn door mouths, waiting on the dust to settle from
around the bus steps.
I fully expected an enormous, perfectly round rock to come tumbling
down with Harrison Ford in the lead.
The girls looked to me with puzzled expressions. Em attached herself to
one of my arms and nearly tore it from the socket as she whimpered, "Is
that our bus?"
"I think so?"
That wasn't the answer she was looking for as we locked eyes with the
driver, who resembled Vincent Price for a mere second. Then the driver
yelled something to me, what I assumed was an apology/explanation as to
why she was driving such an old timer, but to be perfectly honest I
very rarely understand anything she says under such circumstances. The
distance that we have to stand at the stop, for safety reasons imposed
by the school, requires a lot of squint-filled lip reading. I could
only make out the words, I... the kids... and save me... before
she gave the signal for the girls to board.
I swear it was like being on shore and waving to the passengers on the
Titanic. Not only did I get waves from Brie and Em as they walked the
green mile aisle to their seats, but from the other kids, too. A few
squeezed tissues and notes from slit-opened windows. The notes promised
entire weeks worth of allowance if I got them out of there.
Celine Dion wailed somewhere in the distance...
The munchkins moved geriatrically to their seats. Brie was the only
child I could see from that point as she sat down and gave half-hearted
jazz hands from behind the filmy windows. I could just make out her
pinched brow and curled lips.
I could only assume Emma had fallen into a cobweb.
The doors closed with a squeal, the bus lurched ahead with a mighty
groan; they were off.
Have no frets, dear readers, the girls made it to and fro all right.
They even came home on their normal bus.
Though they refuse to speak of that morning's bus ride.
Something tells me the Crypt Keeper was involved.
Bethany J. Royer is a
writer, mother of two, and divorce survivor extraordinaire with a
'tude. Some of her work can be seen at County News Online, the Garden
Island newspaper and the Piqua Daily Call. Former publications include
Divorce Magazine and The Daily Advocate. She blogs prolifically at
motherofthemunchkins.blogspot.com and can be reached at themotherofthemunchkins@yahoo.com.
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