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Tales of Horror and the Supernatural

A Necessary Evil part two – (The Bus Driver)
I found it easy to walk out of the prison after I found I could shape-shift. The demon power
was now taking up more and more of me. I should have been horrified, but I was strangely
“We have unfinished business in Arbroath,” the demon whispered in my mind as I
changed into a friend of mine and made my way to the local railway station. The police
would be on the lookout for someone answering my description.
As I sat watching the autumn countryside pass by my mind pulled me back to 1975 where
I was walking down Arbroath High Street. I stopped at a shop and checked my reflection in
the window.
“Hey you!” said a voice.
I turned to see Ed Duncan walking toward me followed by his gang. I made to escape, but
I was suddenly surrounded by them all.
“I’m a hard man,” he said taking me by the neck and pulling me down. “Now, I want ye to
prey to yer mother before I kick the shit out of ye!”
I saw a girl I fancied across the street laughing at me as I knelt and began to tearfully pray
to my mother.
I arrived back in Arbroath, and that night a figure left the house I was watching from the dark
confines of Carnegie Park. Ed Duncan was heading out. I flew over the park hedge and
landed on the pavement behind him in the orange glow of the street lamps.
“Hey you – hard man!” I growled.
“What…? He uttered, turning around.
“You – you’re the hard man.”
“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Duncan said, turning around and walking
quickly toward the end of the street.
“Oh don’t you!” I said, landing in front of him.
“Wh - what are you?” he said, in a trembling voice.
“Down on your knees,” I said.
“Down on your knees!” I thundered in the unworldly voice of the demon.
He knelt down and started to cry.
“Prey to your mother before I kill you!” I commanded.
He started preying as a woman appeared walking a dog. I turned and hissed, sending her
scurrying back along the street.
“Right, say I’m a hard man, and I won’t kill you,” I said, lifting him up by the neck.
“I’m a hard man,” he said pathetically.
I snapped his neck and then, pulling the dead face toward mine, I said: “I’m a hell’va liar
I’m afraid,” before throwing the body into a front garden.
I flew through the night and landed in the Western Cemetery where I strolled up the main
road surrounded by darkened headstones which swept off in all directions eventually washing
up against the perimeter walls. The moon rose and silhouetted a huge spired shape which I
recognised as the Mortuary Chapel. I flew over and landed in front of the building. It had
been constructed in the neo-Gothic style and appealed to my present being.
As I was about to explore when I was tugged away, and I flew over the town to Viewfield
Road where I landed behind a figure walking a dog. Suddenly the figure turned around and as
I saw the face illuminated by the moonlight I was transported back to the time when I was a
16-year-old apprentice electrician. I was always a big person, so manoeuvring under
floorboards to run cables was difficult. It was not helped by a nasty Tradesman , Ian Tate,
who jumped on any mistake I made. I hated him, he made my whole working life hell.