The Black Bus
By Tom Slemen ©
T
here are strange tales, often dismissed as towards the driver, but the engine whined and was impossible. He felt a strange impulse to
urban legends that have been circulating the bus went even faster through the driving look up, and on the shadowy stairs there stood
Liverpool for many years. I have collected most rain. The Twiggy twin was in tears, and she a pale-faced man he immediately recognised. A
of these stories, a majority of them told to me clutched the arms of another young lady seated man who had been dead for over a decade – Mr
by people young and old when I was growing next to her. Abercromby Square passed by in a Ryan, the dirty old man who had lived next door
up on Myrtle Street. The following is just one of heart-stopping moment, and Stu was hanging to Ray when he was a child. Ray found himself
these stories, and I canʼt help feeling that there from the pole, sick with fear. Ray estimated the taking his late Nanʼs rosary beads from his
is more to this tale than a grain of salt. busʼs speed as being in excess of over 80mph inside pocket, and he clutched them as he said
at least, and still it was accelerating, throwing the Lordʼs Prayer out loud. The middle-aged
A silver-tongued clock, somewhere in the depths up tidal waves of rainwater as its tyres passed man who wanted to get off at the Bullring joined
of the night, was faintly chiming the arrival of through puddle lakes. What was that weird in. It was obvious to Ray that this black bus,
midnight, when an explosive peal of November noise barely audible over the roaring engine? which could travel at speeds no corporation bus
thunder tore the night air of Liverpool apart. The passengers upstairs were all laughing could ever attain, had something to do with the
The echoes of the rumble reflected back from
hysterically. supernatural – the Devil himself perhaps. Ray
the Wirral side of the river, and then all was still
had the sickening feeling that the passengers
as the grave, but this was just the calm before
ʻIʼm getting off! I only live in the Bully!ʼ shouted a of the top deck were all dead people – and bad
the great hail storm. Crystal buckshot, born in
spectacled passenger, trying to convince himself dead people at that. ʻThy kingdom come, Thy
mid-air, was blasted down from the heavens
this was a normal bus. The vehicle tore up the will be done!ʼ Ray shouted, directing the prayer
by the angry gales of the north. It clattered
hill of Grinfield Street, yet its engine didnʼt even at the silhouetted driver, and sure enough the
furiously against the roof tiles and windows, and
labour one rev, and as the bus turned down bus started to slow down. It came to a halt
flicked the dying leaves from the hibernating
Overton Street, it toppled about 40 degrees to on Childwall Valley Road. The passengers
trees like elfshot arrows from a fiery sniper. The
the right. Everyone thought their number was up disembarked, some shaking with fear and
uncaring North Wind on high showered stinging
as everything tilted, but the bus righted itself on others with anger. Stu tried to open the door of
hailstones down onto the short-lived mortals -
the wrong side of the road and screeched into a the bus driverʼs cab, intending to give him ʻa
into the smarting faces and raw hands of those
curve which almost took it through the windows good pastingʼ but the vehicleʼs demonic engine
unloved nomadic unfortunates who have a sky
of Kay Nelson on Wavertree Road. People began to stir into life and as a ghostly mist
for a roof. Vagrants screwed up weather-beaten
prayed, cried and swore as the bus mounted invaded the valley of Childwall, the black bus
faces and hurried to sheltering doorways, and
the kerb of the Picton Clock traffic island and moved off, and in full view of the traumatised
hedonistic night-revellers turned up collars, and
flew down to Childwall. By now the unearthly passengers from Mount Pleasant, the vehicle
dashed to clubs or taxis. At 2am the hail had
bus was travelling at around 120mph and the faded away into nothingness as it passed under
gone for now, and the city was being rinsed by
petite blonde threw up over Ray, as he edged the railway bridge that spanned the road.
a Biblical downpour of Welsh rain as a gaggle
to the back of the bus, wondering if he could
of homeward-bound club-leavers gathered
leap off the platform - where Stu was clinging For further information about Tom Slemen or
under the bus shelter outside the Mardi Gras
on for dear life with his arms and legs wrapped if you would like to purchase one of his many
nightclub on Mount Pleasant. Taxis were
around the bar and his eyes clenched shut. Ray books click on to www.slemen.com
whistled for but never stopped, but suddenly, a
wondered why the maniac driving the bus was
bus approached at that unearthly hour from the
going so fast, and how was he going so fast – it All work is copyright Tom Slemen 2010
direction of the Shell station, coming from Lime
Street. A 2am bus service was unheard of in
1966, but a young man, high on purple hearts,
jokingly put his hand out – and to his great
surprise the bus – labelled 12c - halted at the
stop. This double-decker was painted black,
its headlamps were of a faint gleaming amber,
and the interior was in darkness, suggesting a
drained battery or some power-saving mode
on behalf of the driver, but that driver smiled
and beckoned for the seven or eight people
to get on his vehicle. How altruistic, but such
kindness is atypical of Liverpool people. The
upper deck was full, so the newly embarked
sat and stood downstairs, and chatted to one
another while some lit woodbines.
ʻWhereʼs the inspector?ʼ asked a bemused 25-
year-old named Ray, his inner ears still ringing
from the music of the Mardi. Weighing up the
situation, his finger stroked his van dyke, as
a blonde Twiggy lookalike seated opposite
fidgeted with a loose false eyelash between her
glances at him. Stu, the 19-year-old on purple
hearts was leaning on the pole at the back of
the bus, callously waving at the drenched folk
of Mount Pleasant. All of a sudden there was a
flash of lightning, and hail pelted the black bus.
The 12c accelerated at an incredible speed, and
the inertia sent those who had been standing,
down onto the floor. Screams filled the vehicle.
Ray saw the Georgian doorways of Oxford
Street flitting past the windows, and he swore
with nerves. ʻSlow down will you?ʼ he shouted
10
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