The Night Bus

S. S. Prince
 The Night Bus
A Short Story

Silvanus Sæ-gar Prince

Copyright ©2017 Spicer Publishing Company

Keewatin, Ontario, Canada
 Works by S. S. Prince

Nytheun Annals Tales Of The Theifreign

Ymæd Eras The Raven’s Dream

Of Miashunes & The Epithecesh The Kiss Of Death
The Lay Of The Epithecesh Into Darkness
Oh Heynoch Thuntmutz
Crimson Night Philosophical Essays
The Crystal Tower
Finishing The Job Rants From A Nihilist
Exiles In Terror Existence - An Exploration
Possession Syllogisms For A New World
Shadow Song The Highway
Truths We’ve Sold
Pale Runs The Ghost Short Stories
The Outcast Child
Moonchild The Little House Behind My Old Garage
The Death Of A Duke The Briefcase
Oracle Awakes The Treehouse
The Night Bus
Argentrooper Chronicles
Poetic Anthologies
The Sweet Decay
Virtuous Lies The Night Before The Final Dawn
Catastrophically Content Into The Soul Of Your Mind
When Darkness Descends The Moon Above All Other Things
Sleep In Sympathy Holding The Flames Of Chaos
Flowers Of Evil Into The Heart Of A Satellite
Harlequin Of Shame
Babylon’s Fading

www.scribd.com/S_S_Prince
www.authonomy.com
Published by
Spicer Publishing Company
Box 1257
Keewatin, Ontario, Canada, P0X 1C0

Text Copyright ©2017 Spicer Publishing Company

Immortality lyrics written by Pearl Jam Copyright ©1994 write treetage music/innocent
bystander/jumpin’ cat music/scribing c-ment songs/pickled fish. Lyrics reprinted with
gratitude, though permission is lacking.
Cover Art & Layout created & designed by S. S. Prince
Cover Photograph: Lost Highway 52 by Wayne Wilkinson c/o Wikimedia Commons.
Creative Commons 2.0 Attribution Licence.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form
or any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any
information storage & retrieval system, without the express written permission of the
Publisher, except where permitted by law.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to any persons living or dead - or to any historical
or fictional situations - is purely coincidental.

First Electronic Publishing Edition

August 2017
Vacate is the word… “Vengeance has no place,” he swears to her
“cannot find the comfort in this world…” Artificial tears…
Vessel stabbed, “Next up volunteers…” Vulnerable, wisdom can’t
adhere. A truant finds home. A wish to hold on. But there’s a
trapdoor in the sun. Immortality. As privileged as a whore…
Victims in demand for public show. Swept out through the cracks
beneath the door. Holier then thou (How? This is a myth). Think
of it. Surrendered… Executed anyhow. Scrawl dissolved, cigar
box on the floor. A truant finds home. And a wish to hold on…
Saw a trapdoor in the sun. Immortality. Cannot stop the thought.
Running in the dark. Coming up a which way sign. All good truants
must decide… Stripped and sold, mom. Auctioned forearm. And
whiskers in the sink… Truants move on. Cannot stay long…
Some die just to live…

Immortality
Pearl Jam
 The road ahead was dark, lit only by the hi-beam headlights of the bus. The air was
thick and humid and the distant rumble of thunder echoed to the west. The inter-city
passenger bus had just driven past the small town of Richer, about forty-five minutes east
of Winnipeg, and it was making its way in an easterly direction along the Trans-Canada
Highway. Night had fallen about two hours ago and there was yet to be any sign of the
waning crescent moon. The bus drove along in the humid darkness, past the thick,
uninhabited boreal forest that was the Sandilands Provincial Forest Preserve, trying to
remain on schedule.
Frank Nadeau had been driving buses for twenty-three years. He drove the
Winnipeg to Thunder Bay route four nights a week and this particular Sunday night was
his second last before he got three days off to spend at home with his family. The career
bus driver was in his early fifties, with greying-black hair that was thinning around the
crown of his head. He had a dark complexion and intent brown eyes that scanned the road
ahead, the rear-view mirrors and the bus’ gages in a regular pattern. Nadeau wore the
grey and blue uniform of the bus company as well as black leather driving gloves that
helped keep his hands from getting sore and tired. So far, the trip had been uneventful,
which was just the way he liked it.
Tonight was quiet: the bus only had nine passengers. A mother and her four-year-
old had gotten on the bus in Winnipeg. They sat in the first row, opposite the driver.
The mother was trying to get the four-year-old to go to sleep. She was a woman with curly
blond hair and brown highlights as well as blue eyes named Mary Friesen. Mary wore a
white blouse and a knitted black-red-green tartan skirt. The little girl, Joanna, had short
brown hair and wore a blue Mickey Mouse T-shirt and blue sweat pants. Jo-jo (as her

1
mother called her) was very tired, but still fought against sleeping. She was so excited to
be on the bus and she didn’t want to miss anything. The most remarkable thing about little
Joanna was that she had amazing hearing. She could hear noises from very far away and
was even able to figure out what those noises were. However, her acute hearing was the
result of her blindness - a condition she had been born with. Little Joanna never opened
her eyelids, mostly because she didn’t even realize she could, but instead experienced the
world through sound, smell and touch.
Two rows back and across the aisle, an older gentleman in his early sixties sat. He
wore a white dress shirt and brown tweed dress pants. His name was Doctor Henry
Thomas and he was a professor of Philosophy at the University of British Columbia. He
had first boarded the bus in Vancouver and was travelling to Toronto. Dr. Thomas had
grey hair that was balding and inquisitive blue eyes. He was currently busy working on
a thesis on his laptop.
Three rows behind Mary, in seat 4c, a young red-haired college student named
Nadine Attwell sat. She was in her mid-twenties and wore a black Pearl Jam T-shirt and
a ripped blue jeans that were so fashionable right now. Her blue eyes were closed, as she
had been slowly drifting off to sleep since leaving Winnipeg. Her rising and falling chest
seemed to keep time with the bus engine’s rhythm. Nadine had gotten on board in Swift
Current and was heading back to school at the University of Toronto where she was
working on a psychology Masters Thesis.
Back in row seven, on the driver’s side of the aisle, Jason Pollock and his girlfriend,
Rachel Bishop sat. Jason sat in the window seat listening to the latest album by Pearl Jam
on his Sony Disc-Man. He had long black hair with brown roots and brown eyes set in a
long narrow face. He wore a black Soundgarden T-shirt and cut off jeans over black tights
that were tucked into wool socks and his second-hand Doc Marten boots. On his head was
a black velvet top-hat he had bought at a second hand store and a silver necklace dangled
around his throat. Rachel sat next to him, dozing in her seat. She was strikingly beautiful
with long brown hair that she had dyed a shade of dark purple. She had green eyes and
a dark complexion. Many people who met Rachel for the first time often said she looked
like Cindy Crawford, the famous super-model. She wore a black T-shirt that promoted a
local Winnipeg band called Gargamel’s Revenge and a similar knitted skirt to the one Mary
Friesen was wearing. Her Doc Martens were brand new and spotless. The two angst-filled

2
lovers were travelling from Calgary to Toronto because Jason was hoping to start a band
and make it big.
One row back and across the aisle Daniel Towers sat, a young man in his mid-
twenties studying to be a paramedic. He was on his way back to school after being home
in Winnipeg for the weekend visiting friends. He had short brown hair and narrow brown
eyes. He wore a plain white T-shirt under a red hoodie with the emblem of the Red Cross
on its back. Dan (as his friends called him) wore cutoff jean shorts and an old pair of Doc
Marten boots on his feet. He seemed busy reading an anatomy textbook, but his brown
eyes often wandered, enjoying the exquisite beauty of Rachel Bishop just to his left.
Near the back of the bus, in the second last row on the driver’s side sat Scott Skead.
He had first gotten on the bus in Saskatoon and was travelling back to where he had grown
up in Kenora. He was a tall first-nation’s man with long black hair and wide, brown eyes.
Skeads (as he was known) wore a plain black T-shirt and ripped jeans with comfortable
and well-worn hiking boots. He appeared to be sleeping in his seat, but the true fact of the
matter was that he was wide awake, listening to the hum of the bus’ engine and the little
bit of noise coming from the other passengers.
The last passenger sat a couple of rows ahead and across the aisle from Skeads in
row ten. He had been on the bus almost as long as Dr. Thomas - having gotten on board
in Kamloops. His name was Robert Guylane and an aura of wisdom and mystery seemed
to surround him. He was tall, much taller then everyone else on the bus, with dark brown
skin and long white hair. He had no facial hair and appeared to be about sixty-four years
old - though, if the truth were to be told, he was much older. Robert had blue eyes that
spoke of ancient wisdom and much sadness, for he had seen a lot in his long life. He wore
a plain black T-shirt under a plain black hoodie, comfortable blue jeans and well worn
hiking boots. Robert’s eyes were closed, as he was deep in meditation - however he was
acutely aware of his physical surroundings. He could see in his mind’s eye the bus and all
of its passengers. If he concentrated, he could even hear their thoughts. But he didn’t
delve into other people’s minds, not wanting to betray their privacy. All along the bus
route, he had done quick scans as new passengers got on the bus, just to see what sorts of
people he would be sharing the confined space of the bus with. But he never delved
deeper then their surface emotions or thoughts. Beyond his psychic abilities (which were
quite extensive), the most interesting thing about the tall, dark man, was that he had six

3
digits on both his hands and his feet. People rarely noticed the extra toes because he
always wore shoes, but he could not hide his extra fingers. Most people were polite and
made no mention of the extra digits, but some would ask him about them. Robert would
politely explain that the extra digits were the result of a rare genetic mutation, one that had
no other detrimental health effects.
Robert could sense the bus’ exact location as it travelled along the Trans-Canada
Highway. In his mind he could see the road as if he were a bird flying high above. He
watched as the bus moved along the asphalt and over a small bridge that crossed a creek
that ran from the south to the north. He returned his mind to the interior of the bus where
he picked up on the song Mary Friesen was quietly singing to Jo-Jo, trying to get the little
girl to fall asleep:
All along the road it roams
From west to east and then back home
Over hills, past lakes and ancient groves
Sleep now baby, mother knows
When travelling, you’re never alone
He smiled at the irony of Mary’s song. He had been a traveller for so long, he had
almost forgotten what it was like to have a home. Alone in his travels, Robert’s only
companionship was with fellow travellers he met along the endless road. But most of the
time he kept to himself, as solitary travellers so often do. Conversations with others
seemed to be centred around travel information and were purely of a practical purpose and
intent. Besides, he wasn’t even certain of his destination. The road stretched out before
Robert with its endless possibilities and chances for adventure.

Fifteen minutes later, the bus sped across a railroad crossing, continuing its way
eastward. A couple of bumps created by the rails were enough to wake Rachel Bishop
from her slumber. She was confused and disorientated for a few moments, but then she
remembered where she was. Rachel looked over at Jason who had his eyes closed, but his
head was bobbing to the beat of the music he was listening to. She ran her hand along his
thigh causing him to open his eyes and look over at her. Jason smiled and she smiled back

4
as Eddie Vedder sang into his ear.
Dan Towers watched this out of the corner of his eye as the bus continued its way
along the Trans-Canada Highway. His brown eye was centred on Rachel’s right breast that
gently rose and fell with her breathing. Suddenly realizing that he was staring, Dan
quickly looked toward the front of the bus at the same time that it had pulled into the left-
hand lane and began to slow down. Dan could see the lights of two gas stations on the far
side of the westbound portion of the divided highway. There was a country road that ran
between the two stations and the bus had now pulled into a turning lane that turned onto
this country road. It came to a stop as westbound traffic drove by.
Frank Nadeau, the bus driver, checked that the road was clear one more time and
then pressed the accelerator, guiding the bus across the westbound lanes of the divided
highway. Slowly he turned into the gas station on the right-hand side of the country road.
He drove past the pumps and then turned completely around to park in front of the store’s
main doors. Even though the gas station and its store were closed, a lone figure stood
waiting at the door. Expertly, without even looking, Frank reached over and pulled the
lever that opened the door of the bus. The figure climbed up the stairs with a bus ticket in
his hand.
The man that climbed on board was young, not quite twenty-years-old. He had long
black hair that betrayed blond roots. His clean-shaven face betrayed a life of hardship and
his hazel coloured eyes had a detached look to them. He wore a plain, black, open zip-up
hoodie over a black Sepulchura T-shirt. Ripped blue jeans covered his legs and a well-
worn pair of Doc Martens were on his feet. He carried a black backpack that seemed to be
full of various things.
“Ticket, please.” Nadeau asked him in a friendly baritone.
Wordlessly, the new passenger passed the driver his ticket. Nadeau checked it and
then handed it back to the young man.
“Enjoy the ride.” The driver nodded in a friendly manner to the black-haired
adolescent. For his part, the new passenger, whose name was Eric Turenne, grunted and
then made his way to the back of the bus.
As he passed by each passenger, they all tried to gage if he was dangerous - a
strange phenomena that intrigued Robert Guylane to no bounds. He had observed this
odd behaviour countless times over the course of the bus trip. Every time a new person

5
came onto the bus, the people who were already on board would act in ways to dissuade
the newcomer from sitting next to them, while at the same time trying to figure out if the
new passenger could be a danger in any way. Robert had never observed or experienced
behaviour like this before and he was thoroughly fascinated by it.
There were a few unwritten rules that Robert had observed on the bus. The first was
that as long as there was a pair of free seats available; new passengers did not sit next to
someone else. Even when there were no free pairs of seats, passengers took great pains at
selectively allowing someone to sit next to them. The common feeling, it seemed, was that
no one wanted someone crazy sitting next to them. The second unwritten rule on the bus
was that people kept to themselves and kept the noise down. Robert wasn’t certain if this
was because people were being overly-courteous to each other or if they simply didn’t
want to draw attention to themselves. However, it also seemed to tie into the idea that no
one wanted a “crazy” sitting next to them. Nobody wanted to be seen as a “crazy” either.
Robert could sense the surface thoughts of the passengers as Eric Truenne walked
past each of them. Mary Friesen didn’t like the looks of the young man and was glad that
he didn’t seem to be sitting close to her. Doctor Thomas gave Eric a passing glance and
saw the look of the same angst-ridden youth he was quite familiar with and gave the
young man no more thought, returning to working on his thesis. Nadine had woken when
the bus had stopped and she watched Eric walk by with a sense of foreboding. She didn’t
know why, but something about the new passenger didn’t sit well with her. Rachel and
Jason seemed to pay him no head at all, but Robert sensed that they both were glad that
the young man kept walking past them. Dan watched Eric go by, the young paramedic
student’s thoughts a mixture of curiosity and caution. But he quickly returned his
attention to his anatomy textbook, his thoughts returning to Rachel’s uncanny beauty.
When Eric passed by Robert, the young man’s hazel eyes locked on the older man’s
blue ones. At that exact moment, Robert saw into the angst-ridden mind of the adolescent.
There was more then the usual adolescent angst in that psyche, though. There were
trauma and pain - but the most obvious feeling Eric experienced was a sense of detachment
with the world. He seemed to simply walk through the world, going from place to place
on instinctive whims that betrayed no rhyme or reason. And there was a darkness deep
down that Robert politely did not delve into.
The young man continued toward the back of the bus, passing by Scott Skead who

6
still feigned sleep. The big man opened one eye and quickly looked the shorter adolescent
up and down before closing his eye once again. Eric sat down in the row right behind
Skeads - the last row on the bus - the row that was directly across from the bathroom. Eric
climbed into the window seat, putting his backpack down on the top of the aisle seat.
Once the new passenger was settled in, Nadeau closed the door and put the bus into
gear. He turned the wheel and pulled back onto the country road, stopping at the
intersection with the westbound portion of the highway. He checked both directions,
seeing that they were both clear, then pulled out across the double lanes and stopped at
the intersection of the earthbound lanes. Again, he checked for traffic before turning and
pulling into the right-hand lane. The bus slowly picked up speed and once it reached the
legal limit, Nadeau engaged the cruise control. Next stop, Kenora, he thought.
The passengers were settling back into their routines. Mary had curled up next to
Jo-Jo and was trying to sleep. Doctor Thomas continued to work on his thesis. Nadine had
drifted back into her dozing state while Jason continued to listen to his Music and Rachel
was trying to fall back asleep. Dan had put his anatomy textbook in his backpack and had
tilted his chair back in an attempt to sleep. Robert was centring his mind again, trying to
drop back into his meditative state and Skeads was still pretending to sleep. Eric Turenne
sat staring out the window of the bus, watching the dark shadows of the trees fly by, his
thoughts a mixture of darkness and turmoil.

“You sense the power of this place, don’t you, Torloc?” Robert heard her voice in his head.
It took him a moment to remember the voice, probably because it had been such a very long time
since he had heard someone else use his real name. He opened his eyes to find himself sitting in the
middle of a ring of ancient granite stones, somewhere deep in a forest. Kneeling next to him was
Fenora, the only woman he had ever loved. Seeing her there, brought back a flood of joyful and
painful memories. It also helped him realize where he was: the Stone Circle of K’girsyn - an ancient
ring of menhir built by his ancestors. Torloc knew that he was visualizing a memory of a happier
and simpler time in his life. When he had been young and naive. She had also been young and
naive, or so he had believed…
Fenora’s features were very similar to his. She had the same brown skin and long white hair

7
that he did. Her eyes were a striking shade of sapphire. She wore a simple white robe tied at her
waist by a simple rope belt. Robert thought she was the most beautiful woman in existence. He had
never really understood how he had won her heart for that fleeting moment in his life. However, he
was happy he had known her - even though they had parted ways on difficult terms.
“The Spirits talk to you, don’t they?” her beautiful voice continued in his mind. Her lips
had not moved, for his people had long ago developed the ability to communicate telepathically.
“They are singing.” He telepathically replied.
Fenora closed her eyes, concentrating. “I can hear them, though their song is distant.”
Torloc leaned forward and took her right hand in his left, at the same time he opened his
mind to her. The voices of the Spirits came closer to her and Fenora smiled warmly.
“It is the Oniamh Reyne - the Song of Convictions.” Torloc informed her. “An ancient
lament for ideals long lost.”
Her beautiful face darkened. “The Spirits are aware of what is happening to our people,
then?”
“How could they not?” he asked, raising his left eyebrow - a motion that seemed strange, for
he had still not spoken aloud.
“I don’t want to listen to it anymore, Torloc.” Fenora told him.
He nodded his head and withdrew his hand from hers, severing the psychic link.
“Do you think the Empire will survive all of this political unrest?” she asked him after a few
moments of contemplation.
“I dread the consequences of what any alternative would bring.” He admitted.
Yet the Empire had not survived. And ever since then, he had lived the life of a refugee…

Robert’s mind returned to the present and to the bus as it was passing the turn-off
for Falcon Lake. The highway was no longer divided, but was now a single lane with two-
way traffic. It was midnight and the road was only populated by large trucks and a few
passenger cars. Robert glanced out the window, able to make out the trees as they rushed
past. How far had he travelled? He couldn’t remember, for he had been running for a very
long time. His biggest worry was whether or not he would ever find a home again.
The bus sped along through the night, passing West Hawk Lake and crossing over

8
the Provincial border that divided Manitoba from Ontario. Robert was lost in his thoughts;
memories mixed with the angst and longing that always filled his tortured soul. However,
he was still well aware of his surroundings. Most of the other passengers had nodded off
to sleep, though Doctor Thomas continued to type on his laptop. Not much else had
changed on the bus.
Rachel Bishop stood up and made her way to the back of the bus. Robert watched
her out of the corner of his eye as the young woman passed by his seat. Moments later he
heard the bathroom door open and then close. This was followed by the sound of someone
shuffling in their seat. He was suddenly aware that it was Eric who had been shuffling in
his seat. Robert thought nothing of it. The young man was probably trying to get into a
comfortable position in order to sleep. He would soon regret this faulty analysis.
A few moments later, the sound of the toilet flushing could be heard, though it was
muffled slightly by the walls of the bathroom. Soon afterward the door of the bathroom
opened and then there was the sound of someone moving quickly. Rachel Bishop
suddenly screamed and everyone on board the bus turned their attention to her.
The bathroom door still stood open with Rachel standing just in front of it. Eric
Turenne stood behind her, holding a knife to her throat and pointing a pistol toward the
front of the bus.
“Yo, bus driva!” the young psychopath called. “Don’t do any funny shit, man - or
else I’m gonna shoot one of these other passengers. Ya got it?”
“I understand.” Nadeau replied in a loud, but even tone.
“An’the rest of ya.” Eric continued, waving the gun in their general direction.
“Don’t move or my gun’s gonna end ya life.”
Nobody moved. Nobody made a sound. They all sat, fear in their eyes wondering
what the psychopath wanted.
“Bus driva!” Eric called again, “Don’t slow down, keep driving all normal like, like
not’n is happening. When we get to our next stop, you just keep driving. Ya got it?”
“Yes.” Was all the terrified bus driver could say.
“Good.” Eric smiled. “I’m glad we all could come to this, uh… understand’n.”
“I never agreed to your ‘understanding’.” Robert stated in a deadly serious tone.
He had not moved in his seat and as such he was still looking forward. However, his mind
was focussed on the entire bus and he could see in his mind’s eye where everyone was

9
and what they were doing. But what was most important, he was scanning the mind of the
crazy youth holding the gun.
Eric swung the pistol in Robert’s direction. He realized that he did not have a clear
shot at the old man because of the chair Robert was sitting in. However this did not bother
the psychotic youth and he continued to point the gun in the strange man’s direction.
“Shut up, mister!” Jason Pollock whispered sharply at Robert. “Are you trying to
get my girlfriend and all the rest of us killed?”
Robert ignored Jason. “I suggest you put your weapons away and let Rachel go.”
Robert continued in his deadly-serious tone.
The other passengers looked around fearfully. How did this strange old man know
the girl’s name? And what was he trying to do?
“I don’t think you grasp the situation, old timer.” Eric scoffed. “I’m the one
holding the gun.”
“That does not mean you have control of the situation, Eric.” Robert’s voice echoed
telepathically inside the young man’s head.
“What the fu…” Eric Turenne stammered in shock. However, his surprise doubled
when he suddenly saw brown-skinned hands grasping the gun and the wrist of his hand
that was holding the knife. Rachel Bishop screamed as Robert struggled with Eric for
control of the weapons.
“Let go of the weapons, Eric.” Robert’s voice echoed inside his head again. The youth
was unable to resist the psychic command. Eric let go of both weapons, the knife falling
to the floor of the bus and the gun quickly pulled away by Robert. Rachel pushed herself
out of Eric’s grasp and ran forward, crying all the way back to her seat.
Robert pointed the gun at Eric who had turned to face the tall, older man. He wore
an expression of awed terror on his troubled young face. “I think you need to sit back
down, Eric Turenne.” Robert commanded him in his deadly-serious tone.
“Yeah…” the disarmed psychopath agreed in a dumbfounded tone of voice. He
quickly sat back down in his seat, watching the barrel of his gun. Robert reached down
and picked up the young man’s backpack and tossed it on the seats in front of the
bathroom.
“They call you Skeads, right?” Robert asked Scott Skead, who had watched the
situation unfold in amazement.

10
 “Uh… yeah, man.” Skeads stammered, a little fearful of what this strange man with
the ability to seemingly teleport, wanted from him.
“You are going to guard him until the police get here.” Robert instructed Skeads.
“Stand up and take the gun. Keep it pointed at Eric. You might even want to sit over
there.” Robert motioned toward the seats in front of the bathroom with his head.
“Yeah, I get it, man.” Skeads nodded. He then stood up and took the gun from the
strange old man with the long white hair before sitting down in seat 12c, kitty-corner
from where Eric now sat.
Robert walked forward to the front of the bus, ignoring the amazed stares of all the
passengers as he passed them by. On the way, he picked up his backpack and pulled it
around his shoulders. He stopped next to the driver’s seat. “You are going to need to pull
over and radio your dispatch, Frank.” Robert instructed the confused bus driver. “They
will get the police here.”
“All right, mister.” Nadeau replied in a professional tone, but one that hinted at the
awe he felt. The driver slowed the bus, turning on his left turn signal and pulled onto the
side of the highway. He engaged his hazard lights and then reached for his radio. As he
picked up the microphone, he turned around to check on his passengers. All nine of them
were there and the big native guy who had stopped the young man’s attack still had the
gun pointed at the psychopath.
“Dispatch, this is bus 367 eastbound for Kenora.” Nadeau called into the radio.
“Bus 367, this is Dispatch.” Came the reply.
“I’m about five minutes west of Clearwater Bay.” Nadeau continued his report.
“Can you please have the Ontario Provincial Police send out some officers to our location?
We have a passenger with a gun on board. He has been subdued, but we require police
assistance.”
“Confirming, passenger with a gun has been subdued.” Came the reply. “You
require police assistance?”
“Affirmative.” Nadeau confirmed to the Dispatcher.
“Very well, contacting the O.P.P.. They should arrive shortly. Dispatch out.”
“Bus 367 out.” Nadeau closed. He hung the microphone back up on its hook and
then stood up. He counted the passengers again - the mother and her little girl (who
thankfully had slept through the whole situation) in the front row; the professor; the young

11
college girl; the grungy boyfriend and girlfriend; the young man in the Red Cross hoodie;
the big native guy that had saved them all and the psycho. Yes, everyone was there. All
his passengers were safe. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“All right folks,” he announced, “the police are on their way. Hopefully they will
be here soon. You will all probably have to give statements, so we might be a little late
getting into Kenora tonight.”
No one replied. They just sat in their seats awaiting the arrival of the police
officers.

Robert materialized on top of a rock outcropping overlooking the spot where the
bus had pulled over. He could see its lights and the lights of the few trucks that passed by
on the highway. In the distance he could hear the sounds of sirens approaching from the
east. The police would be here soon. He nodded in satisfaction. In the moments while the
bus driver was pulling onto the side of the road and then picking up the radio’s
microphone, Robert had removed any memory of him being on the bus from all the
passengers. He had replaced it with a memory of Skeads stopping Eric’s attack and then
had teleported himself to this cliff overlooking the highway.
Robert now had two choices: hitchhike his way to Kenora and catch another bus, or
hike into the wilderness in order to find a new home. He quickly went over his knowledge
of the area, the maps he had memorized before setting out from British Columbia a week
ago. There were small, isolated communities to the north of Clearwater Bay and Kenora.
Perhaps in one of them, he would find the peace he had been searching for.
His mind made up, he shifted his backpack into a more comfortable position and
then turned his back on the highway and the bus down below. Like a shadow, he
disappeared into the trees, fading even further from the traumatic memories of the
passengers of the night bus.

12
 About the Author

S. S. Prince was born in Winnipeg, having grown

up both there and in Toronto. He now lives in
Keewatin, Ontario with his wife, son and their
dog in an one-hundred-and-ten-year-old brick
house. He spends his spare time writing fiction,
philosophical meditations, poetry and music.
367
When a psychotic gun wielding
youth steps aboard an inter-city
bus, he wasn't expecting a man
with amazing psychic and magical
powers to thwart his twisted
desires.

Robert Guylane has been travelling for so

long, he can’t even remember what
having a home is like. But this weary
truant harbours the secrets of an ancient
race, as well as powers that very few on
Earth could dream of. Travelling along
the Trans-Canada highway is not only a
cathartic endeavour, but one that he
hopes will lead him to a new sense of
inner peace.

But this hope is dashed when a young

man steps onto the bus late one night.
Robert is forced to use his powers to save
the other passengers from a tragic fate.

The Night Bus is the latest short

story from author S. S. Prince.