Standing atop a hill, Santiago sighed.

How many times has it been, he mused, as he waited for the bus. A cool summer breeze blew away the uncomfortable feeling of his skin being scorched by the high-noon sun. There was green all around him and in every direction, stretching towards the horizon and rolling over beyond it. Like a black scar on the heavenly scenery, a beaten-down, hole-ridden asphalt road cut through the grass.

Santiago stood by that road, next to a metal pole sticking out of the dirt. The pole had once supported a sign indicating the bus stop, but time had taken its toll: the silvery metal had turned orange and been slowly blown away by the breeze, year after year; the myriad of bugs that made the grasslands their home also tore at the structure—brown snails and red slugs covered a great deal of the pole that very moment—and even the vegetation rose to claim its domain, in the form of a winding vine, dotted with tiny white flowers.

He breathed in the clean air. The sweet smell of blooming flowers was like electricity charging the depleted batteries of his soul, the rustling of the grass like a lullaby for his tired heart.

Then, that terrible noise stabbed his ears.

It’s hard to describe exactly what it sounded like, but it was something like the sound of a shattering glass cup being dropped from mouth-height before you could take a single sip, it was like the sound of a Jenga tower collapsing even though you barely touched it, it was akin to the noise of a pack of seagulls screaming directly in your ears. Maybe it was even worse than that, as for all of those, if you covered your ears, there would be some reprieve to be had. In this case, that sharp sound like scraping metal and jumbling junk was so obtuse that it was like it was being telepathically deposited into your very mind. Santiago certainly felt that way, at least.

That terrible cacophony was the sound of the bus approaching. It was an old thing, that bus. It had once been blue, matching the color of the sky, but the sun picked at it until it was rust-red. Before, it had been a top-of-the-line vehicle, but that time was forgotten generations before Santiago was even born. At that point, it could barely be called a bus at all. All he could do was think, How is this thing not in a junkyard? and sigh, shrug his shoulders, and swipe his card.

“Santi!” Said the bus driver, a lively young man, about Santiago’s age. “Good to see you. Heading to town, I see! Even you do something special today, huh? 100 years, can you believe it!”

Jack had been all smiles from the day he came out of the womb—laughing, one would assume. Upon his birth, the doctor that delivered his beaming self couldn’t help but give the tiny Jack a high-five on the spot. The nurses didn’t even comment on how absurd a scene it had been; they were, themselves, compelled to break out in roaring laughter as if the baby had just told the most hilarious joke, after all. That’s the kind of person Jack was. Santiago didn’t mind him—not particularly, anyway. Jack was a kind man and had always been. They grew up together in the next town over. Their parents were close friends from an early age, as it turned out, but the two boys were never so, a fact that chagrined Santiago’s mother to no end. To add insult to injury, the boys looked incredibly similar, with their nappy jet-black hair and dark skin. The same height, the same build too, they both played rugby, after all—a result of their parents’ obsession with having them stick to each other like glue. Overall, the boys were the spitting image of one another. Twins with two different sets of parents.

Perhaps that was why Santiago ended up so gloomy. Even then, as Jack stood behind the wheel with a perfect set of pearly whites proudly displayed, anyone could tell that they were nothing alike, save for their physical appearance. While Jack wore his uniform—a navy blue jacket matching his pants, a blue hat matching the rest, and a red bowtie that contrasted with his white button-up shirt—Santiago wore ill-fitting too-old jeans and an oversized, too-old black shirt, with something akin to a scowl on his face. It was a ridiculous sight, really, as his handsome face, the same face Jack had, was not built to scowl. The way his lips curled was unnatural, the way his eyes narrowed was weird and off-putting… Overall, it was something that didn’t suit him at all. Still, he did it, for that was how he felt like being, and so that’s how he was.

“Jacky.”

That’s all he said. Anyone could tell his voice was a fabrication, too. Such a deep, rumbling voice wasn’t meant to come out of a face like that. It was nothing like Jack’s voice. That didn’t matter to either one, though, and Jack’s smile never wavered.

Santiago walked to the back of the old bus, to the very last row, as if he already knew there would be an empty seat there for him. He did know, of course. He’d been on that very bus more times than he cared to count. The few old ladies on the bus greeted him with disinterested eyes, some of them, and others with a smile that indicated they recognized young Santi from the next town over. He treated all of them the same: a short nod and curt words, but nobody took it the wrong way, and their smiles didn’t waver either.

The inside of the bus was utterly unremarkable, in the sense that the condition on the outside of the vehicle was very well represented in its innards. Ripped up seats, bent poles, stains older than the Earth. It was colorful, at least. Not for good reason, thought Santiago, as he recalled something he’d read on the internet. Apparently, bus seats were colored so garishly and with such interesting patterns so that grime was harder to spot. Just thinking about it made his stomach churn, but he bit down on his teeth as he sat on the far left of the last row.

Throughout the whole ride, he never even glanced to his left, choosing instead to stare either directly in front or to his right, watching the scenery go by. Rather conspicuously, no matter how bumpy the bumpy ride got, how unchanging the sea of green, he never looked in that direction.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

—break—

As they arrived in town, the man at the back of the bus grimaced. He knew what was about to happen. It was an event that was easy to predict, of course, and he was, at least partially, at fault for his own misery; a terrible fate was about to be bestowed upon him like a gift from Hell.

Jolly Jack stood up and let the passengers know that it was the last stop. The old ladies got up as well, massaging their backs and creaking with every step. Who could blame them, really, after such an arduous journey? Their idle chat and screaming chants of HUH?! and WHAT DID YOU SAY JENNY?! and other stock phrases filled the bus for a few moments as they made their way out. Then, only three people remained inside.

Santiago kept looking out, now avoiding even looking in Jack’s direction. Had he looked, he’d seen that his friend’s smile was ever-so-slightly weaker than usual, while his eyes were filled with a curious mix of emotions. Had he looked, he’d seen Jack being amused, yes, but also a little sad as he faced the scene unravelling at the back of the bus.

Santiago explored the town he knew like the palm of his hand through an old window, tinted brown with age and grime. The busy streets filled with people, the storefronts displaying their goods, the incessant chatter interspaced with yelps and cheers. He could only smell the sweat and must of the inside of the bus, even with the window open, but he imagined it smelling sweet beyond the glass barrier, with all the fruit stands and their melons right by the bus stop. Some of the old ladies bought melon on a stick and were attempting to eat it. One of them got her dentures stuck and the small group—both in stature and in number—burst into a fit of cackling laughter. Ordinarily, that was the kind of scenery that put his heart at ease. Except, he wasn’t outside.

He didn’t notice Jack approaching, which was weird, as his steps surely caused some violent creaking. How much do you even weigh?! Make sure to eat properly… thought Santiago, as he heard Jack clearing his throat.

“Dear passengers… You need to get off the bus. As I mentioned, this is the last stop.”

Passengers, passengers… Santiago couldn’t help but feel like there was something odd about the way Jack had phrased that. Well, that’s not true. Perhaps in an attempt to fool his own mind, he made that thought bubble up to the surface of his consciousness, though in truth, the man was perfectly aware of the issue at hand. The plural, yes, of course! Passengers! There were two passengers on the bus at that very moment.

“Well, Jack, if the other passenger would be so kind as to not ignore me, maybe we would be out of here already, don’t you think?”

“I certainly can’t deny that Alinda. At the very least, I believe that would accelerate the process.”

“You are most certainly right!”

As the two voices went back and forth, Santiago furrowed his brow. Jack’s voice, with its cheery tone, was unmistakable, but the other voice was no less recognizable for the young Santiago. As a matter of fact, the soft feminine sound of Alinda’s voice was like poison ivy to his ears; his whole body stiffened as she spoke.

Alinda was another member of their friend-group, growing up. Despite Jack’s social butterfly nature, it was the girl who took the lead, more often than not; that’s just the kind of person she had always been. But they weren’t kids anymore.

Maybe, had they met at another time, in another situation, they could’ve hashed things out, but as it stood, it was simply impossible for Santiago to look that woman in the eyes, much less speak to her on any level. Jack knew this; Alinda might’ve known it too, on some level, at least, but she was always one to push the issue.

“…”

The outside chatter kept bleeding into the inside of the bus. For Santiago, it felt like a little piece of heaven coming out to stroke his head while he lay imprisoned by his old friends. The silence stood for only a few seconds, though they felt like a million years, until Santiago made the first move. He could just imagine the smug on Alinda’s face, thinking she’d broken him, her red lips slashing through her face. Jack understood immediately, but he didn’t speak a word, instead choosing to step aside and let Santiago pass. He heard a gasp of indignation so comical he would’ve cracked a smile in any other situation.

“So that’s it?!” Her voice sounded almost like she was screaming, though her volume wasn’t much higher than conversational. “20 years together, and you don’t even look at me?!”

Santiago kept walking down the aisle, before turning towards the exit door and stepping outside, leaving the two others behind.

He did hear the rushed steps and Jack’s yelp as Alinda ran after him, but he didn’t quite register what that meant. He didn’t even feel how he expected, as he stepped out. The busy streets had too many eyes that stared at him from every direction, the smells felt overwhelming, the voices of clerks calling out to him felt like personal attacks. His feet kept moving. He knew where he needed to go, but his mind was cowering inside his skull. His eyes glazed over with every step. His skin felt sticky with sweat in the hot summer day, his eyes felt heavy behind his glasses. He felt like he was going to trip any minute, so he couldn’t help but stare bug-eyed at his feet.

Someone grabbed his sleeve and pulled with too much force.

The first thought that came to mind was that someone had noticed. There was something wrong with him, something wasn’t right. He was too awkward, or too tall, or his clothes were wrong, his eyes looked weird, and his face looked weird, and he was in pain, everything hurt. They noticed. Everyone was looking at him, and they all noticed. He was ready to apologize. The words were halfway up his throat when he turned to face whoever had grabbed him.

His voice caught. He expected… Something, maybe, or something else. Instead, he was face to face with a beautiful girl. Her almond eyes were like agates, framed by beautiful dark lashes. Her caramel skin was smooth, lightly reflecting the roaring sun off her high cheekbones. Her curly hair draped around her like the mane of a lion; the blonde streaks really sold that image. For a moment, Santiago saw only her beauty. He was overwhelmed, really. Then, his mind connected the dots. The look of righteous indignation tinged with concern in her eyes, the way her lips turned down in a light frown. The way their eyes met, and he felt like he couldn’t look away.

It was only for a moment. Less than a second.

The concern dropped from her face like it was washed by a flood and Alinda furrowed her brow.

“Ugh, you’re a jerk, you know that?! Get some manners, Santi!”

She let go of his sleeve and pushed him in the chest. She was strong, but had touched him lightly, not even trying to move him. It still had the effect of pushing him away like straw blown in the wind.

Santiago’s mouth changed from his signature scowl for the first time that day as his jaw lay agape. He stared at Alinda as she stomped away, an effervescent rage echoing in every step. She wore her typical attire, he noticed: a short brown skirt matching her vest, a button-up white shirt, and beat-up old sneakers. She didn’t look back as she made her way to the library. Santiago didn’t dwell either. Jack watched it all from the bus.

Santiago took a breath, then kept moving his feet over the old clinker road. Today was a special day, after all, and he had no time to waste. He needed to go meet that witch.