Ghost on the 110
Julie was a bit nervous; it was the first time she had driven the route after dark, and the cold, cheerless December night had closed in with the added hazard of clammy mist.
Also, the inevitable canteen comedians had been winding her up.
“Have you heard about the ghost on the 110?”
“You won’t like that run in the dark - what about the Lady in White?”
“Wouldn’t get me out there tonight, I can tell you…”
Don’t fall for that! She told herself. The bus company’s latest recruit, just six weeks out of the training school, and as green as grass. With her easy-going nature and ready laugh, Julie had made lots of friends, but they were inclined to tease.
The 110 was a semi-rural route, with several miles of country lanes to negotiate. It was quiet at night to the point of being dull, a few pub-goers or late workers. They said it became exciting if a rabbit hopped across the road.
After the first half of her duty, ferrying frantic Christmas shoppers, Julie was looking forward to the peace and quiet of the 110.
Until the leg pulling started, that is. The ‘ghost on the 110′ was a traditional trick played on all new staff, going back to the days of double-deckers, when fresh-faced conductors were warned ‘not to go upstairs alone at night on the 110.’
Were they being serious? Julie found it hard to tell; she laughed it off as best she could.
“Leave her alone, you rotten lot!”
A new voice cut across the canteen hubbub, and there was Bill, the Inspector. Julie had always thought of him as a gruff old bear, with a loud bark far worse than his bite. He seemed to have taken it upon himself to protect her from the worst of the ribbing.
“Got nothing better to do? I’ll find you something!” Bill warned, with mock severity. Julie smiled back at him, and she detected the faint twinkle in his eye.
Blushing, she checked her watch, and saw it was just after seven: time to go.
“Watch out for the Lady in White…” she heard, as a parting shot behind her. She slammed the canteen door, hard.
Two hours later, the silly words and giggles came back to her, but they were no longer funny. The darkness swirled with filthy fog, reducing visibility. Julie picked her way carefully along the lane, anxiously watching the comforting red glow of the ticket machine’s time display to see if she was dropping behind. Suddenly a figure stepped from the nearside hedgerow, arm outstretched in the time-honoured signal for a bus to stop. Julie’s gasp came involuntarily, and she was glad the vehicle was empty with no one to hear her.
It was an eerie sight, which greeted her. A figure all in white, blending almost into the mist. Long black hair, half-hidden by a veil, and deep, sunken eyes.
The Lady in White? Surely not, it was just a joke! Julie’s reflexes had stopped the bus, pushed the door button to open. The apparition glided silently inside, made no effort to stop or speak, just sat, those great dark eyes staring forward. Not daring to challenge the woman, or even look, Julie put the bus into gear and moved away. Each glance into her mirror was pure terror. There sat the proof that the canteen cowboys had been right.
A mile further on the vision rose from its seat - Julie’s heart froze to her ribs. Surely there was a bus stop somewhere near, she recalled from the training run?
The minibus halted at a lonely crossroads. In seconds, the Lady in White had left the vehicle and disappeared up the lane, into the night.
With chattering teeth, Julie drove on. Soon she reached the welcome glow of the sodium streetlights, which meant she was nearing town.
Nine-forty read the clock, nearly ten minutes late. What should she do? Should she tell anyone? How they would all laugh! Her attention was caught by the dark, uniformed man standing at the first of the town stops. It was Bill! What was he doing here, his shift had surely finished an hour ago?
Gratefully, she pulled up, admitted the Inspector with a hearty sigh of relief.
“Just thought I’d check up on you,” he said kindly, “I could see they were getting to you with those daft ghost stories.”
“Am I glad to see you! You won’t believe what’s just happened!” In a few breathless sentences, Julie blurted out the story. To her surprise, Bill chuckled knowingly.
“Oh, her? That’s Hippy Hilda, our resident nut. She’s got a cottage somewhere up that lane. Never recovered from the Sixties, they reckon. Too much funny weed, eh? Doesn’t talk, won’t pay her fare unless I’m about. Sound like her? ”
“God, yes, thanks. I thought I was cracking up! Now I just feel silly for letting her get away with it.”
“That’s all right; you’ll know her next time. Just remember, Julie, I’ll be here to keep an eye on you. Now let me off at the next stop, and then get your toe down a bit. The fog’s clearing and you should just make it in time for your next trip. ”
“Thanks, Bill, thanks very much.”
Julie watched Bill in her mirror, a big upright figure marching away from the bus stop with a military air.
“Bless him…” she thought, then checked the clock. Nine-fifty p.m. Bill was right, just time to do it.
At the bus station, Julie parked her bus with two minutes to spare. Time for the loo, she reckoned.
Inside the admin block, a knot of men stood, drivers, the depot clerk. They all looked glum, awkward.
“What’s up?” she asked, cheerily. Bill’s explanation and reassurance had certainly lifted her mood, but this lot looked awful.
“You won’t have heard, being out in the country,” said one of the drivers.
“Heard what?”
“It’s Bill, the Inspector. Just after eight, walking to his car, going home. ”
“What, for goodness sake?”
“Well, we know you liked him…”
“Will you tell me before I brain you?”
They all coughed, or shuffled, or looked at the floor.
“A heart attack,” said the depot clerk, finally. “Sorry, love, he’s dead. ”
Waves of shock bounced off Julie: she slumped into a chair.
“It can’t be, not Bill, not eight o’clock! I saw him, just, not ten minutes ago!”
And there was a flurry of knowing looks – the conmen would not be conned.
Now, the 110 had a new ghost.
