VIII

Evening descended like a fog upon the city. As the winter months came upon the world, it seemed to get darker earlier and earlier. Madeline Desbrow hugged herself in her coat against the night chill, adjusting the book she read under the flickering light at the back of the bus on her way home from work. It wasn’t the best situation for reading, but at least it made the forty five minute ride somewhat tolerable. Besides, she had plenty of school work to catch up on. This particular novel happened to be one of them. She had to read Fanshawe for her American Literature class. It was an interesting contrast with Hawthorne’s later works, being his first attempt, but she wasn’t sure she would have ever picked it up on her own.

Madeline had her face practically buried in the worn, paperback edition of the book to compensate for the faint light, so she didn’t notice the man who came up beside her. She felt his presence, more than saw it, but she was not in he habit of talking to, or even paying attention, to strange men on the bus. When she heard the heavy breathing beside her, however, she began to become a little uncomfortable. She looked up to see if the man was a pervert, or just someone with an asthma problem—she did not want to be rude unless she had to. As Madeline lifted her vision away from the pages, her eyes caught directly those of the figure beside her. Dark brooding eyes seemed to bore into her. She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away.

It was only a moment later, though, that she broke the hold. Dazed, Madeline looked around her, suddenly confused about what she had been doing. She looked down at the book held in her hands, but didn’t recognize a thing about it. Had she been reading it? Or just picked it up? She had no recollection whatsoever.

Just as Madeline was flipping back the cover to see what it was she was reading, the man, who in the dim light was really nothing more than a shadow, reached over and snatched it from her hands. Immediately the pages seemed to leap into flames, and he dropped it on the floor between the seats. A sudden commotion filled the bus, and as the other riders cried out, the flame quickly flickered out, leaving nothing but ashes and soot. But not a mark upon the bus floor.

The driver pulled over, and the dark cloaked figure immediately stepped out the back door. Madeline stared after him, and gasped as it seemed he literally disappeared into the shadows of the night. In a moment, not a trace of the figure, nor the book, even remained. Madeline could not even say what book it had been.