That morning went so regular up to the bus coming that I don’t remember anything about it. Putting on my clothes, brushing my teeth. How long we waited at the corner in that dry heat, but it must not have been a long time. I remember telling Jake that. “It’s too early. That can’t be the bus.” I pointed at the color, which was all off. Not yellow enough, not glossy enough. “Matte” was the word for it, but I didn’t know that back then. And the number. It was the right number, but stenciled on crooked. Amateur work. Wrong driver, too, but that was less suspicious. They were always changing out the drivers. I don’t blame them. Us kids were an awful pain.
Jake laughed it off. Never have I met someone so confident, before or since. “They had to use a different one,” he said, one foot already on the steps. “Ours must be out of order. Get on.” He had this way of telling you what to do without being rude, so you found yourself agreeing with him before you even realized it. I climbed on and walked past the driver, a short but muscular man who smelled like bad cologne, and made my way to the back where we usually sat.
All our friends and adversaries were sat where they were supposed to be. Big kids up front, the rowdy sixth and seventh graders who always got off after us. Little kids further back out of the reach of the hooligans. Just like usual. That reassured me. I eyed Jeff Bainbridge and his Game Boy Color in the third or fourth row, which was the hot new thing at the time. It was more of a stink eye. I had asked him if I could play with it a couple weeks ago and he’d spat his gum at me. Jake and I sat across from this kid Carlos, who always kept to himself and stared out the window. Not great company but he never spit his gum at me, so he was decent in my book.
We’d only gone a mile or so when I made another of my suspicious realizations. No air conditioning and no open windows. I stood up, wobbling, and tried to open ours a bit. It resisted. I tried again, and this time I almost fell over. I made a weird noise and a few of the kids up front laughed. I expected the driver to yell at me, but he didn’t even look back.
“It won’t move,” Carlos hissed from across the aisle. “Trust me, I tried. I think they’re all glued shut.”
I nodded at him, pretending it made sense. “Why are the windows glued shut?” I asked Jake. Like he should know.
He shrugged. “Probably just stuck. It’s an old bus.” He pointed to a small strip of loose metal in the aisle, some piece of the bus that had come off, clattering around as we drove along.
I stared at the seat in front of me, picking at a tacky patch of the gunk they use for repairs. Jake was probably right, as usual.
We went along our usual route, and then the bus went down a side road I hadn’t been down before. Not too weird. Sometimes there’s a new kid or a detour for construction or something. Maybe I missed the road work signs. Even with everything I’d noticed, I still didn’t want anything to be wrong, so I stuffed my head with excuses. I’ve had a long time to think about it. I think I put all those excuses there because I knew if something was wrong the way I thought it was wrong, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
Just the one detour at first, and still in the neighborhood, but we snaked our way further and further out. I could tell we were going toward the woods at the edge of town. I’d been there only one time, hunting with my dad. He’d smacked me upside the head when I cried about the rabbit he shot, the thick gobs of blood in the snow. I’d focused on the cold from then on instead of the dead animals so I didn’t piss him off more.
Kids in the front were starting to notice how far off course we’d gotten. “Excuse me, sir,” one of them squeaked. A real Poindexter type.
“ExCUSE me, siiiir,” another mocked. One of the big kids. They hated that nerd way more than they hated us. Our scapegoat. It was serious between the big kids and Poindexter up there. I heard from one of the middle kids that they’d grabbed one of his books from him and pissed on it, right there on the bus.
Our driver ignored them all. He kept his focus on the road ahead, which had turned into a dusty gravel path twisting through the outskirts of the woods, leading us further into their heart.
I looked at Jake, hoping for some answer. He smiled back at me. No fear, no doubt. He just raised his eyebrows. “Weird,” he said. Like he thought it was cool.
It got darker the deeper we went. Now even the big kids were starting to get nervous. “Hey. Hey!” One of them barked at the driver. “Where the fuck are we going?”
Now the driver was listening. He turned his balding head slowly to the kid who spoke up and gave him the nastiest death glare I’ve ever seen. The kid audibly gulped, like a fucking cartoon, and moved further into his seat. No one else said anything. There’s this tendency even the rowdiest and rudest kids have where if a firm-handed adult who seems like they’re supposed to be there is there, they don’t question things too much. Adults know what they’re doing. At least that’s how it was at the time. A bus driver could be a bitch or a loser or whatever you wanted to call him, but he wasn’t dangerous. He had to know where he was going.
We came up next to a clearing with a cabin. It looked brand new, like something made for a theme park. Shiny and tidy. Almost fake. No door, just an empty doorway leading into darkness. Faster than any of us could process, the driver stood up, descended the steps to the door of the bus, forced it open, slammed it shut behind him, and bolted into the cabin.
We sat for a couple minutes. I think we were all too stunned to move. “What the fuck…” one of the middle kids said under his breath. I fidgeted in place. Jake still looked like nothing had gone wrong at all, like he had complete confidence we’d get an explanation for this and be on our way to school in no time.
One of the big kids crept over to the door and tried to force it open like the driver had done. Either it had locked or he wasn’t strong enough, because nothing he did worked. Not that any of us were in any shape to try. Even in the shade of the forest we were baking alive in that damn bus.
God only knows how much time passed before the driver emerged from the cabin with him. I was on the wrong side of the bus to see, the left aisle, with the cabin on my right. I didn’t get a look at him until he boarded the bus, but I could hear the other kids reacting. There were more than a few additional “what the fuck” declarations. One of the younger kids, maybe a third grader, started crying. Carlos had kept his face pressed to the glass since the driver had gone to the cabin, but now he reared back. He looked over at me like he had bad news for me, like he was trying to figure out what to say. If he should warn me or try to explain or just scream. I was about to ask him what was going on, maybe try to weasel over to the window and get a look for myself, when the bus door hissed open and the driver boarded with his friend.
I thought it was a mask at first. Only one other time have I seen a face like that, once in the Guinness Book of World Records, this picture of a man who could pop his eyes all the way out of his head. When I saw that picture I damn near had a panic attack on the spot. His weren’t exactly the same, but it’s close enough. He could blink them but it seemed like it took him some effort. I think most of the flesh of his eye sockets had peeled back or rotted away or been removed or something. They sunk in and the eyes popped out. That’s the best I can explain it. He was tall and thin, with a tall black hat that looked limp and soft, like a cheap costume. His outfit was like something from a Renaissance faire. All kinds of buttons and leather parts, lots of pull strings, none of them even or symmetrical. His skin was white. Not like Caucasian white, but like printer paper white.
“Hello,” he said. He smiled. His voice was deep and pleasant. I don’t know what we expected him to sound like, but it wasn’t that. He sounded like someone’s nice dad. “You must be awful confused, but don’t worry, I work for the school. Let me introduce myself. I am Mister Critter.”
No one responded. I’d never seen the big kids keep so quiet.
“I can tell by the looks on your faces you weren’t informed. Well, I guess it’s a surprise then! You’re the first group selected for the field trip. This,” he said, gesturing to the cabin, “is living history. And you get to see it firsthand!”
The air in the bus almost cooled a degree with our collective sigh of relief. Our brains had finally found a place to put this weirdness. It was some boring thing for school, some history thing. Field trip.
“Mister Critter?” Poindexter raised his hand cautiously, like he was reaching out to a dog to check if it was friendly. Mister Critter nodded at him, that same thin smile stretched across his face. “What’s in the cabin? It’s not… the cabin itself, right?” He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Because the cabin looks new.”
“Very observant!” Mister Critter clapped his bony hands together, startling all of us. One kid yelped and threw his hand over his mouth. “The cabin is just there to keep it safe. What you’re all here to see is just inside. It’s fragile though! We’re going to have to bring you in one at a time. I’ll supervise you to make sure nothing bad happens.”
“But what is it?”
Mister Critter winked at Poindexter. It took him a whole second to stretch his eyelid all the way. “Now, now. I think it’s better if it’s a surprise, hmm? Since you weren’t informed and all. But I promise, it’s really cool! I’ll bring you through one at a time, and we’ll all gather on the other side of the cabin for lunch. Well, they gave us lunch for you, but I guess it’s more like breakfast. How silly!”
The prospect of an early lunch appealed to everyone. We’d mostly all had breakfast but it was damn hot out and if we were getting school lunches, they’d probably have milk cartons or juice boxes or something else to drink.
“Now, who wants to be first?” Mister Critter glanced around the bus. When his eyes passed over me, I felt a hideous chill. But they came back around and settled on Poindexter. “Since you’ve shown so much interest, how about you go first?”
“O-okay.” Our scapegoat gathered up his books, shaking so bad that he dropped one of them multiple times and had to keep picking it up while Mister Critter watched him with infinite patience. He put his tidy backpack over both arms, one strap at a time, fidgeting with them and tightening them so the backpack rode up to his shoulders. Mister Critter guided him down the steps and off the bus. Everyone on the right side watched like hawks as the two of them entered the cabin, and then we were alone with the driver again.
“Who’s Mister Critter?” one of the big kids asked the driver. He gave them that death glare again. Now he had his eye on us, standing at the front of the bus facing the aisle with his arms crossed. He took turns staring at each of us with that nasty face of his. A lone fly buzzed around his stained white tank top, what we used to call a wifebeater. Some of the middle kids were whispering. I whispered to Jake too, but I can’t remember what I asked him. So many details about this day are clear as yesterday to me even now, but these moments in-between, they blur.
I remember being startled when the noise went off. It came from the cabin of course. That screech and that low grinding. All of us kids looked back and forth at each other, eyes almost as wide as Mister Critter’s. And then it stopped, and Mister Critter himself came strolling out of the cabin. All alone, still smiling. The driver opened the door for him and he climbed on as it hissed closed behind him.
“Daniel’s on the other side now. He loved it! It gave him quite the fright, but we had a good laugh about it afterward.” He chuckled, a warm and kind sound. “Okay! Who wants to go next?”
“Where is he?”
Mister Critter swiveled his head toward the kid who had asked the question. One of the other big kids, one of the ones who probably pissed on Daniel’s backpack, or at least would’ve if his friends told him to. “Where is who? Daniel? I told you, silly. He’s having lunch on the other side.”
“Are you sure?”
“Why wouldn’t I be sure?” Mister Critter gave him an even wider smile. I remember thinking how strange it was that his teeth were normal. I didn’t expect his teeth to be normal. I would’ve thought they’d be rotten, or sharp, or something as unusual as the rest of him. “I just talked to him.”
“I-”
“Okay!” Mister Critter clapped his hands again and we all got startled again. “Who’s next?”
Everyone sat in silence. I started picking at the seat in front of me again.
“No one? No one wants to see what made Daniel screech like that?”
Jake stood up. “You guys are being babies,” he said, more joking than accusatory. “I’m gonna go see.”
“No,” I whispered. I tugged on his shirt like a toddler. “Please. Don’t go.”
He only smirked down at me. “It’s fine,” he told me, his voice low this time. “I’m sure it’s just some boring history thing. Like that prairie house thing last year.”
I tried to protest again, but Jake was already headed up the aisle. The big kids shrunk back from him as he walked. Like he was insane or cursed or something. Mister Critter beamed at him, and grabbed his shoulder. “Very good. See, it’s not so bad. The sooner we can say we gave you your lesson, the sooner we can get you some food and send you back on your way for your evening classes.” One of the middle kids groaned, like this was a normal field trip and he was dreading going back to school. Everyone else kept quiet. Most of us had figured out by now that something real bad was happening.
It went on like that for God knows how long. I want to say an hour. Us in the bus, stared at by the driver, whispering among ourselves. The cabin and its noise. Mister Critter’s reappearance. Another kid going in with him. Each one protested a different amount. Some of them went quick and quiet, the little kids especially, the ones who were trying hard to trust what was happening. A few tried to fight it. One kid selected by Mister Critter refused to go with him. The driver grabbed his shirt and yanked him out of his seat. He fought back, and for a second I thought he might get loose, because by this point the driver was coated in sweat and panting just as bad as us. But Mister Critter intervened and gently grabbed the kid’s arm. He went pale and all the fight left his body. Mister Critter guided him down the steps and led him slowly into the cabin, and that was the last we saw of him.
This was the last straw for most of us. I heard more whispering leading up to the noise than before. Carlos scooted across the aisle to my seat and I gave him a helpless look. Then he gestured down toward our feet. I looked and saw it. That loose piece of metal from before.
“Emergency exit,” he whispered.
“What?” I hissed back. I squinted the sweat out of my eyes and leaned forward, trying to look natural in case the driver noticed us conspiring.
“I saw it. Glued shut like the windows. But we can pry it with that.” He nodded his head toward the loose metal again.
“Are you sure?”
“No.” We jumped as the screeching noise began again from the cabin. “Have to try.”
The emergency exit was in the seat behind ours, on our side of the bus. We could maneuver over there, but we’d have to be careful. I picked up the metal, making sure to be quiet and not let it clank against anything, and slipped it in my pocket. There was no way to sneak back there, so Carlos and I came up with a plan.
Carlos pushed me out of the seat into the aisle. “Fuck you,” I barked at him. We watched the driver go into alert mode. He uncrossed his arms and put his foot forward, ready to intervene if we tried anything.
“Sit somewhere else, bitch,” Carlos said, raising his fist like he was about to punch me. I put my hands up. Everyone was watching us. We weren’t good actors, but it would have to be enough.
I wiped the sweat off my face as I slid into the seat behind him, trying to be casual about it. It must have worked. The driver relaxed his stance, crossing his arms again and switching focus to some of the big kids who were whispering.
Now I could see the glue Carlos had talked about. It held the big red arm of the emergency exit door in place. Strong, industrial, but in this heat I might be able to peel it off. I’d have to be quick and get it done before the screeching stopped.
I took the metal out of my pocket and started scraping. Slowly, ducked below the seat, trying not to attract any attention. Nothing at first, then a chunk came loose, and once I got that chunk loose more followed. It was purple like a glue stick. I kept scraping. It was an instinct, like a squirrel burying a nut. I didn’t fuck it up. I didn’t go too slow or too fast. I did what I had to do.
But the screeching and the grinding stopped, and the driver heard me.
“HEY!” It was the first time any of us had heard him speak in his appropriately nasty voice, a tobacco voice. “HEY!” He started for the back of the bus. One of the middle kids stuck out a leg across the aisle at just the right time. I still don’t know if they tripped him on purpose or not. He crashed to the floor, yowling, a big shitty dog of a man. With the fury of pure survival instinct, I shimmied the emergency exit arm up and down until finally the last of the glue peeled off. I yanked it down so hard that I pulled something in my arm.
I don’t remember kicking out the door, but I think I kicked the back of the seat Carlos was in and screamed for him to run. All I remember next is how good the air felt, how that eighty-five-degree day felt like a fresh glass of ice water compared to that fucking bus. I remember the pain as I landed on my other arm, and the desperation to stand up.
I remember running as fast and as far as I could, through the trees and over a creek, until finally I came to the highway on the other side of the woods and flagged down a car. I must have sounded ridiculous. But they happened to have a cell phone, and they called the cops.
Even as they phoned, even with cars pulling over to check on us, even in broad daylight, even scanning the tree line and seeing nothing, I remember how I still felt Mister Critter’s eyes on me.
—
There wasn’t much left identify of the eight children that had gone into the cabin. Pictures of the scene leaked, but I never looked at them. They’d been run through something like a medieval juice press. Apparently that was the noise. What remained of them was partway to becoming a paste. No one could positively identify the nasty black salve crammed into glass bottles on the cabin’s crooked shelves, but everyone could guess what it probably was.
In the chaos of the bus escape, the driver had been trampled and had a heart attack. I guess the heat finally got to him. He was dead when they arrived. They identified him as some petty criminal with a drug trafficking record, the kind of guy who probably put “hired goon” on his resume.
Our therapists would tell us we had come up with Mister Critter as a trauma response. Something to shield our brains from the truth of the trusted bus driver doing something so twisted. They still debate it to this day on internet forums and true crime podcasts. Most people agree there was some sort of accomplice, maybe one who was still on the loose. But the woods weren’t that big and they turned over every rock looking for him. No sign at all. All the fingerprints on the press and all over the cabin were the driver’s.
If you don’t believe me then I can’t convince you. I won’t try. I know what I saw. I don’t know what he was. Maybe he was just a man. I don’t think so. I still feel his eyes on me. Whenever I’m alone, or when it’s dark out, the feeling comes back. He’s in every tree line, just around every corner. There’s no darkness too small for him, no crevice too narrow. I haven’t seen him again, not yet. But it’s only a matter of time.
I just wonder what he used those bottles for.