A [lame] story...

Writing in English today...we were supposed to write a mystery.... kinda liked my story....kinda. So, I (morganne) am gonna share it. Even though I'm not 100% happy with it. It's a long shot.

(Oh yeah, it's not exactly done yet, so this isn't all of it....I'll finish it in posts to come...)


The Music Box

The dim street light flickered as Matt neared closer to the bus stop in which the light tried to illuminate. The stop was on an almost abandoned highway on the outskirts of a once-lively city, but it was now not known to be too much of a "homey" type of place. As Matt quietly approached the stop, around 10:45 p.m., he felt an eerie feeling in his stomach.

After waiting for what seemed like hours, the rickety, faded blue and white bus arrived, and Matt cautiously stepped on. Just as he cleared the top step, he looked up to see a weathered version of a woman who perhaps once was beautiful. The old woman croaked: "We might be a little longer tonight than usual..."

This didn't make Matt feel any better, especially with the uneasiness he already felt deep in his gut, but he knew there was only one way to reach the only family he had left, his wife, Amy, and that was to take this bus several cities over. He promptly took a seat about eight rows behind the driver, and he quickly realized he was the only other person on the ancient bus. Again, uneasy. The bus only seemed to creep down the road, and he was already dreading even stepping onto the bus at all.

At around 11:10 p.m., Matt checked his watch, and in doing so, he noticed the bus driver had missed the turn for the stop he was supposed to get off at. As he stood up to notify the driver, Matt was forcefully thrown back into his seat, as the old woman quickly turned a corner. In what seemed like a matter of seconds, she stopped the vehicle, got out of her seat, slowly walked down the aisle, and didn't stop until she was only inches from Matt's face. "Sit down, buckle up, and don't talk. Now." she sternly told him.

Matt was beyond scared. Beyond terrified, even. He knew something was definitely not right, and he couldn't help himself from thinking about the worst possible scenarios. As he noticed the driver occasionally glancing back to check up on him, he tried to secretly reach for his cell phone. As he used his earpiece on his right ear, facing away from her, he dialed Amy's number, but he found it to have a busy signal. He tried again, and another time, but he reached the same signal each time.

Who could she possibly be talking to at this time of night?

He pushed away the thought, and tried again for help. This time, however, he dialed 9-1-1, but as soon as he had pressed the keys, the screen on his phone started flashing a "I know what you're trying to do, because I can see you." Matt, although with his mind racing with a million thoughts, calmly shut his phone, and checked his watch to find that another forty-five minutes had already passed. It was now midnight.

Matt's breathing became heavier and quicker, as he frantically tried to think through his options. Obviously, I've been kidnapped, and whoever it is doing all this, they have connections to my cell phone, and are possibly watching me. He knew he somehow had to take control of the situation, and he decided to use his pager to see if he could reach Amy that way. Quickly paging a message to her, Matt hoped and prayed she would receive it, and in enough time.

He scanned the windows and his surroundings outside to try and identify where he was, along with seeing how he could devise a plan. He caught a glimpse of a blinking traffic sign that said something about Richfield, but he couldn't read exactly what. Richfield's gotta be closeby...within a few miles, at least. Matt knew that Richfield was a mere 23 miles from where he was supposed to be arriving, in Kingston. It was a lot farther away than he thought he would be.

What shocked him even more was how Amy wasn't desperately trying to reach him, trying to figure out where he was, when he was more than two hours late. He tried to push that thought into the back of his mind, and think of a plan to escape, maybe even survive.