Stop Requested

by Raven Eades

This story was written as a companion piece to psychochick3's piece (also hosted on Fiction Press; you can find her if you enter her screen name in the search :)) for Halloween. We both wrotea story in response to the following premise: A bus driver has the graveyard shift on a particular route. Every night at the same stop, the "request stop" is lit and he stops according to protocol. Only thing, there's no one there. Why? It doesn't matter what bus it is; the same thing always happens at the same stop.

Comments and suggestions are most welcomed in the reviews; this is the first draft and will be edited further. :)

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Randy Hopkins was a bus driver. He had a wife and two children (a boy and a girl, Andrew and Julie) and an average, middle class income. Every evening after the children went to bed, he kissed his wife goodnight and left for his shift at the bus station.

Graveyard shifts, regardless of work or line of employment, are never easy on the body let alone the psyche. Randy drove his bus staring at ten o’clock in the evening until five the next morning. The pay was good (which is why he chose it), and he was able to see his children when the got home from school. However, Marian, his wife, worried about the circles under his eyes. He would only laugh and kiss her before saying it was all worth it.

Tonight was hard to remember it was all worth it, which was why Randy kept muttering it to himself. During the first run on his new circuit, two drunken vagrants had come on board. He had barely finished taking their fare (which took three attempts before they managed to get it in the slot) before they noisily threw up on th seats. Dropping them off at their stop, Randy paused at the terminal to get some Mr. Clean and a mop. The night guard only smiled sympathetically as he gave the key and pointed the way to the janitor’s closet.

Forcing his gag reflex down, Randy muttered a prayer between clenched teeth and tried to think about drunkards in the Bible that Jesus had helped. For all he knew a few of them had thrown up on the Son of God before pleading for forgiveness. Randy tried especially hard to think of that when the smell of stomach acid, spoiled milk, and cleaning soap wafted through the bus. He grabbed a bottle of air freshener from the cleaning closet before giving the night guard back his key and vigorously washing his hands.

When he eased back into the driver’s seat, Randy radioed in his position and time before turning around to take the opposite route back. He sipped his coffee and tried not to be bitter about the break he lost cleaning the bus. New routes had some special christening no matter how unusual they were. It was part of the code. When he had a paper route in college, the first night he accidentally dropped a whole pile of tomorrow’s news in a soggy, winter puddle. His supervisor was hardly happy, but cut him a break since it was his first night.

Mud, vomit – what did it matter? The work got done and the paychecks came in. At least Marian didn’t have to keep cleaning houses like she used to. Now she could focus on her painting. He smiled at the thought and felt his shoulders relax the first time that evening. One of his favorite things to do was to come home and find her in the painting room. She woke to greet him when he came home and to get a few hours of art in before the children were awake with thousand questions and needs. He would stand in the doorway and watch; she would paint and smile. She was unusual in loving company while creating. Her best work (so she said) came in the early hours while Randy watched. Next Friday her first exhibition was in town and she had floated around the house the past few weeks with nervous happiness.

Ding. Stop Requested.

Randy puled himself out of his thoughts to see the red signal lit overhead. Frowning, he glanced back at the bus through his rearview mirror. Empty. Yet – and he couldn’t explain it to himself even as it happened – it felt like the bus was just as crowded as a day shift during five o’clock in the evening. He slowed the bus down for the stop light (which was situated right by the bus stop requested). Shrugging, he pulled the door lever. With a hiss and a thunk the front and back doors slid open, but no one got out. The stoplight ahead turned green. Randy shut the doors and accelerated the bus forward. Without meaning to, his mind turned to ghosts and haunted houses – a little too easy with Halloween right around the corner. Goosebumps shivered on his arms as Randy banished the thoughts with another prayer burst and round of “it was worth it.”

When he got to the end of that shift, he reported a malfunction in the stop system on the bus and requested repairs.

The next night Randy drove a different bus. He heard a preliminary report about the brakes being slightly worn, the oil low, but no wiring malfunctions in the bell pull system. Randy only shrugged and took the other bus for the night. Maybe it was just a freak accident, another initiation into the new route. In any case, Marian had made him a small snack bag for the night and Julie, his daughter, had drawn him a pony with rainbows and smiley faces. He taped it to the dashboard for the evening where he could see it often.

Tonight there were no vagrant drunks, though a young girl in her twenties got on with a wary face. Randy smiled kindly at her and said, “Good evening,” as she strode to the back of the bus. He shut the doors again and began roaring down the street as only a large vehicle can.

One thing Randy loved about the graveyard shift was the quiet of the night. He had been on the day crew several years until Marian felt she should begin painting again. They talked it over, prayed, and decided that they could manage with just Randy’s income – especially if he could transfer to the night shift.

At first it had been an odd transition without the hustle and bustle of the business day. He missed the high school students: giggling, flirtatious girls and self consciously aloof boys. Most professional types in three piece suits graciously ignored him, but a few sat in the front seat to chat. College students struck an oblivious air unless they begged for fare when school-issued passes were allegedly forgotten. But most of all he missed the daylight and the way it would shine through the huge front windows as he drove. Randy always felt like he was flying when driving the bus, mainly because he sat so close to the window that the dashboard disappeared and all that he could see was the street zooming by underneath.

Slowly though the beauty of the graveyard shift also spoke to Randy’s heart – quietly of course, like everything else in it. He was lucky to have forty passengers the whole night and many of these were working odd hours like himself. A few, he could tell, were on errands far less savory and he tried to give these an especially kind smile. Most – especially the women – would only glance away before shuffling to the back to sit down.

Randy approached the mysterious stop of the night before when the light went off. Ding. Stop Requested. He breathed a sigh of relief and slowed before opening the doors. Glancing into his rearview mirror, he waited for the twenty-something year old girl to gather her things and leave. She continued to sit reading her book, not paying attention to much else. Randy felt the same goosebumps of the night before as the doors hissed shut and he continued along the loop.

The rest of that week, the Stop Requested sign lit for the same stop no matter what bus it was or what passengers were on board. The first few nights there were one or two people who trickled off, but most nights the signal lit when no one was on save Randy himself. Those times he would have ignored the signal, but the stoplight was always red so he was forced to stop there anyway. While his hand rested on the door lever as he debated what to do, the switch would pull open of its own accord with the doors thumping out. Randy’s mind returned to thoughts of disembodied forces, haunting, ghosts.

When he went home that morning, he saw Marian painting in her makeshift studio. The morning light streamed in and brought out the golden flecks in her brown hair. She smiled as he came in and said good morning. When he only ‘hmm’ed her in return, she glanced at him and asked if anything was wrong.

With some hesitance (and much avoiding of the subject), Randy finally told her about the mysterious going ons. Her eyes widened as he spoke, but for the most part she just nodded and bit her bottom lip. Putting her paintbrush down she asked what he planned to do. Scratching his head, he said that he didn’t know for sure – but he thought that he might call Frank Maloney to ride the circuit with him that night, for back up.

Marian shook her head and joined him in the entryway. With a tight hug, she only whispered for him to be careful and prayed up in case.

Frank Maloney was an old time friend of the family who had known Randy and Marian when they were still dating. Through the many trials and joys of marriage, parenting, and life in general, Frank remained a solid pillar and spiritual grounding for Randy. Frank’s wife Judy also got along well with Marian and the kids. Randy often woke up from his daytime sleeping to find Judy in the kitchen while Marian helped the children with their school things. Judy always greeted him with a cheerful, “Hello, Stranger!” before handing him a fresh cup of coffee.

Later that day – at about 11 – Randy called Frank, waking up specially from his usual hours of rest for the call. Frank answered in his rough drawl, the tone warming when he heard who was on the other end. With a slow intonation he asked after the wife and kids before getting to the meaning of the call. While Randy explained the situation, Frank ‘hmm’ed and ‘You don’t say?’ed in all the right places. When the story was done, Frank beat Randy to his request asking if he could ride the circuit with him that night. Randy breathed a sigh of relief and said he would pick Frank up at 9:30 that night.

That night Frank sat in the seat across from Randy where they both could talk and pass the time while Randy made his stops. Traffic was light as usual, and the bus driver found Frank’s company surprisingly welcome after so many quiet nights. They caught up and talked about family, baseball, fishing, woodwork, Biblical ways of disciplining children, how fast teenagers were growing up nowadays, among other things. Randy shared some of his struggles with his late shift and with life in general; Frank nodded while he listened, encouraging Randy and speaking truth from personal experience.

After a few minutes of silence, the stop approached in the distance and Randy grew quiet. Frank turned his attention forward and both men watched the quickly nearing stoplight. The light flashed yellow the same time the Stop Requested dinged. Frank’s breath caught and he began to mutter under his breath. Randy also found his mind grasping for words as Frank’s tension began to build and escalate with his own.

Easing the bus to a stop, Randy shifted the vehicle into park being careful to not touch the door lever. Turning to Frank, the older man gazed at him somberly before speaking to the dead air.

“Listen now, whoever or whatever’s on this bus, I just want you to know now that I’m standing here with my brother Randy Hopkins. If you’re malicious spirits on some mischief, we’re standing here by the grace of God and we have the authority of Christ’s blood. So if you’re planning any harm or evil intent, we’re telling you to get out and leave on the Lord’s authority.”

The air hung for a moment as if charged. Randy held his breath. The space inside definitely felt stuffier than it had a moment ago. Swallowing hard, he looked at Frank and saw beads of sweat standing out on his forehead. His eyes blazed with blue fire while his voice spoke with more strength. “Now look here, we won’t have any of this. By the authority of Christ, show us what you are.”

For a moment nothing happened. Randy glanced back and forth from the empty bus to Frank’s intent face before he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. Slowly, like invisible ink appearing into view, the bus filled with blazing white light. Between his squinting eyelids, he could barely make out the hazy outlines of enormous, glorious people filling the bus. They sat in groups of two on the seats; each had a fiery sword and solemn faces. Their heads were only three feet away from the ceiling even as they sat. Randy wondered how so many could fit on the bus. One giant stood in the isle a foot away from Randy and Frank with an equally serious face and authoritative air.

“Men of God,” the being said. He didn’t shout but Randy felt his ear drums ring. “We have been called to this place to fight for the saints. Open the door so we can depart.”

Randy fumbled for the lever and only managed to open the doors on the third try. With a tremendous whoosh!, he felt the bus empty with a flash of sudden radiance. His eyes watched brilliant spots flare and dance in the distance until he blinked. The usual darkness of the neighborhood sat in the distance with normal crickets and occasional breeze.

Frank and Randy look at each other wide-eyed until Frank laughed and slapped his knee.

“Lord alive, Randy! I never thought that angels would use a bus to go into battle!”