THIRD PLACE: Emmett’s Hill by Pamela Morrison

At last, all of the passengers had been dropped off in scattered villages and Charlie began to wend his way home across bleak moorland, then up the steep wooded slope of Emmett’s Hill before descending to cross the bridge and follow the river valley back to town.

It was a foul November night. Rain lashed against the windscreen, and Charlie could feel the bus swaying under the force of the gale. As he drove past the scattered cottages, he caught sight of various family tableaux in the lit windows; tables set for tea, the comforting glow of a log fire, children finishing their homework or playing on a fireside rug. It made Charlie long for the comfort of his own home. He’d only been married for a few months and he relished every moment of married life. He visualised walking through the front door to the tantalising aroma of a home-cooked meal. Marianne was cooking his favourite tonight, shepherd’s pie. He would sweep her up into his arms and tell her how much he had missed her. Then later, after they had eaten, they would settle in front of the fire with a glass of wine and chat about their day.

The rain had stopped now, but the wind was fierce. Wet leaves and twigs hurled against the windscreen, and the swaying trees caused eerie shadows to dance across the road. Ahead, the long winding road twisted up the steep slope of Emmett Hill, disappearing into the dark tunnel of trees like a silver serpent.

Charlie anticipated a straight run home with no more fares. But, wait a moment, wasn’t that a figure standing in the shadows half way up the hill? Charlie peered into the constantly moving mass of shadows. The bus was “request” only at this stage of the journey, but he didn’t want to leave anyone stranded especially not on a night like this. As he drew closer, he saw that there was someone there. A tall, thin figure in a black coat was standing at the edge of the woods. Charlie slowed and looked more closely. There was no signal for the bus to stop. The man was turned away from the road, and gazing into the wood. Probably a dog walker decided Charlie and drove on.

He glanced in his mirror a short time later, and saw the figure battling up the hill into the wind. Damn, thought Charlie, I can’t leave him out there on a night like this. There was no sign of a dog; maybe he did want the bus after all. Charlie pulled in to the side of the road and waited as the figure drew closer. He was moving at a painfully slow speed. Charlie considered reversing down the road to meet him, but he was already in the dark tunnel of trees and it seemed too dangerous. Sighing, Charlie opened the power-assisted passenger door, and waited. He drowsily leaned his head against the steamy window and dreamt of home and Marianne.

The wail of a police car siren aroused him. Glancing in the mirror, he could see the flashing blue light approaching. He switched on his hazard warning lights. It was pitch black here in the woods and he didn’t want to cause an accident. A few moments later a police car hurtled past, followed by another. The banshee screen of their sirens set Charlie’s nerves on edge. He was anxious to get going now. He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes had passed. Ten minutes! Had he fallen asleep? He looked in the mirror, and felt an icy shiver run down his spine as he surveyed the road behind him. The man in the long dark coat was still there, but he didn’t seem to have moved any further forward – yet he was still walking. It seemed to Charlie that he was hovering above the road. Charlie blinked and rubbed his eyes. No, there was no mistake; the man was hovering about a foot above the road. His legs were in motion, but his head was held to one side at a strange angle. I’m getting out of here, thought Charlie. He fired the ignition and closed the passenger doors. Shakily, he edged out into the road.

The bus gathered speed. Charlie changed up a gear and leaned forward, willing the bus to go faster. He was ten minutes behind schedule now, and that was frowned upon by his colleagues. It affected the performance rating of the entire team and could mean a loss of bonus points. Charlie pushed all thoughts of the roadside figure out of his mind and focused on the road ahead. Soon he would reach the brow of the hill and could hurtle down the other side towards the river crossing and home.

Suddenly an eerie blue glow appeared rushing down the hill towards him. Unnerved by his earlier experience, Charlie slammed his foot on the brakes. Too late, he realised that it was only a returning police car; the steering wheel spun beneath his hands as the bus went into a skid. Charlie could feel the back of the vehicle slewing across the road as the wheels sought purchase on the slippery mess of stones and mud. Images of dark trees flickered across the windscreen. Charlie braced himself for the impact, the awful crunch of soft flesh against glass and steel. He thought of Marianne and screamed out her name. Then, almost in slow motion, the bus began to slide in the opposite direction. It ploughed through roadside ferns and bracken before stopping, half on and half off the road. Charlie clutched the steering wheel and stared through the windscreen at the blue flickering image of a human face. It took a moment before he realised that it was a policeman whose vehicle was now parked on the opposite side of the road, blue lights still flashing. Charlie wound down his window and took great gulps of air. He could smell the pungent aroma of damp leaves and moss, and hear the distant screech of an owl. His senses were heightened by the shock.

“Are you all right?” asked the policeman. “That was quite some skid. I’ve never seen anything like it. You were heading straight for the trees. I thought you were a goner, but the bus righted itself at the last moment.”

“I’m all right. I need to get going. I’m already behind schedule.”

“You’re not going anywhere. You look as white as a sheet. I’ll radio for a patrol car to drive you home. The garage can send another driver for the bus.”

“I’m all right. I can take the bus back to the garage.”

“Well, you can’t go this way. The road is closed up ahead.”

“Oh, has there been an accident?”

“Not exactly, the bridge has collapsed. The force of the storm water was too much for it. The struts were damaged and the whole thing collapsed into the river. It’s lucky you weren’t ten minutes earlier. You would have gone with it.”

Charlie stared at him, open-mouthed.

“Are you sure you’re all right, sir? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“D-d-did you see him?” stuttered Charlie. “I mean earlier, when you passed me? Did you see a man at the side of the road, sort of hovering…?”

“There was no-one around when I drove up. Maybe you saw Emmett’s ghost.” The policeman gave a nervous chuckle to show that he didn’t believe in such rubbish.

“Who’s Emmett?” asked Charlie.

“The bloke who owned these woods. Way back, it must have been twenty years ago, he was a young newly-wed and he bought a house back in the village there. Well, one night, so the story goes, he’d had a few too many jars in the pub. When he got home, his wife remonstrated with him and, in his drunken state, he lashed out at her. His wife was distraught. Said she didn’t want to be married to a violent bully and she packed her bags and left. It was a wild night like this one and, as she drove down the hill, she lost control. The car skidded, and went through the hedge into the river. Emmett was distraught. He vowed he would never touch a drop of alcohol again.”

“And did he?”

“He didn’t really have the chance. He hanged himself the next day. His body was found swinging from an oak tree back there. Are you all right, sir? You really do look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Charlie hated the late shift, but he was on the final run now; one more journey and then he could go home. He’d had a full load of passengers when he left town. It was late night shopping on a Thursday and they’d bundled onto the bus, laden with shopping bags and squalling kids. An aroma of wet wool and wet hair had percolated through the vehicle.

At last, all of the passengers had been dropped off in scattered villages and Charlie began to wend his way home across bleak moorland, then up the steep wooded slope of Emmett’s Hill before descending to cross the bridge and follow the river valley back to town.

It was a foul November night. Rain lashed against the windscreen, and Charlie could feel the bus swaying under the force of the gale. As he drove past the scattered cottages, he caught sight of various family tableaux in the lit windows; tables set for tea, the comforting glow of a log fire, children finishing their homework or playing on a fireside rug. It made Charlie long for the comfort of his own home. He’d only been married for a few months and he relished every moment of married life. He visualised walking through the front door to the tantalising aroma of a home-cooked meal. Marianne was cooking his favourite tonight, shepherd’s pie. He would sweep her up into his arms and tell her how much he had missed her. Then later, after they had eaten, they would settle in front of the fire with a glass of wine and chat about their day.

The rain had stopped now, but the wind was fierce. Wet leaves and twigs hurled against the windscreen, and the swaying trees caused eerie shadows to dance across the road. Ahead, the long winding road twisted up the steep slope of Emmett Hill, disappearing into the dark tunnel of trees like a silver serpent.

Charlie anticipated a straight run home with no more fares. But, wait a moment, wasn’t that a figure standing in the shadows half way up the hill? Charlie peered into the constantly moving mass of shadows. The bus was “request” only at this stage of the journey, but he didn’t want to leave anyone stranded especially not on a night like this. As he drew closer, he saw that there was someone there. A tall, thin figure in a black coat was standing at the edge of the woods. Charlie slowed and looked more closely. There was no signal for the bus to stop. The man was turned away from the road, and gazing into the wood. Probably a dog walker decided Charlie and drove on.

He glanced in his mirror a short time later, and saw the figure battling up the hill into the wind. Damn, thought Charlie, I can’t leave him out there on a night like this. There was no sign of a dog; maybe he did want the bus after all. Charlie pulled in to the side of the road and waited as the figure drew closer. He was moving at a painfully slow speed. Charlie considered reversing down the road to meet him, but he was already in the dark tunnel of trees and it seemed too dangerous. Sighing, Charlie opened the power-assisted passenger door, and waited. He drowsily leaned his head against the steamy window and dreamt of home and Marianne.

The wail of a police car siren aroused him. Glancing in the mirror, he could see the flashing blue light approaching. He switched on his hazard warning lights. It was pitch black here in the woods and he didn’t want to cause an accident. A few moments later a police car hurtled past, followed by another. The banshee screen of their sirens set Charlie’s nerves on edge. He was anxious to get going now. He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes had passed. Ten minutes! Had he fallen asleep? He looked in the mirror, and felt an icy shiver run down his spine as he surveyed the road behind him. The man in the long dark coat was still there, but he didn’t seem to have moved any further forward – yet he was still walking. It seemed to Charlie that he was hovering above the road. Charlie blinked and rubbed his eyes. No, there was no mistake; the man was hovering about a foot above the road. His legs were in motion, but his head was held to one side at a strange angle. I’m getting out of here, thought Charlie. He fired the ignition and closed the passenger doors. Shakily, he edged out into the road.

The bus gathered speed. Charlie changed up a gear and leaned forward, willing the bus to go faster. He was ten minutes behind schedule now, and that was frowned upon by his colleagues. It affected the performance rating of the entire team and could mean a loss of bonus points. Charlie pushed all thoughts of the roadside figure out of his mind and focused on the road ahead. Soon he would reach the brow of the hill and could hurtle down the other side towards the river crossing and home.

Suddenly an eerie blue glow appeared rushing down the hill towards him. Unnerved by his earlier experience, Charlie slammed his foot on the brakes. Too late, he realised that it was only a returning police car; the steering wheel spun beneath his hands as the bus went into a skid. Charlie could feel the back of the vehicle slewing across the road as the wheels sought purchase on the slippery mess of stones and mud. Images of dark trees flickered across the windscreen. Charlie braced himself for the impact, the awful crunch of soft flesh against glass and steel. He thought of Marianne and screamed out her name. Then, almost in slow motion, the bus began to slide in the opposite direction. It ploughed through roadside ferns and bracken before stopping, half on and half off the road. Charlie clutched the steering wheel and stared through the windscreen at the blue flickering image of a human face. It took a moment before he realised that it was a policeman whose vehicle was now parked on the opposite side of the road, blue lights still flashing. Charlie wound down his window and took great gulps of air. He could smell the pungent aroma of damp leaves and moss, and hear the distant screech of an owl. His senses were heightened by the shock.

“Are you all right?” asked the policeman. “That was quite some skid. I’ve never seen anything like it. You were heading straight for the trees. I thought you were a goner, but the bus righted itself at the last moment.”

“I’m all right. I need to get going. I’m already behind schedule.”

“You’re not going anywhere. You look as white as a sheet. I’ll radio for a patrol car to drive you home. The garage can send another driver for the bus.”

“I’m all right. I can take the bus back to the garage.”

“Well, you can’t go this way. The road is closed up ahead.”

“Oh, has there been an accident?”

“Not exactly, the bridge has collapsed. The force of the storm water was too much for it. The struts were damaged and the whole thing collapsed into the river. It’s lucky you weren’t ten minutes earlier. You would have gone with it.”

Charlie stared at him, open-mouthed.

“Are you sure you’re all right, sir? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“D-d-did you see him?” stuttered Charlie. “I mean earlier, when you passed me? Did you see a man at the side of the road, sort of hovering…?”

“There was no-one around when I drove up. Maybe you saw Emmett’s ghost.” The policeman gave a nervous chuckle to show that he didn’t believe in such rubbish.

“Who’s Emmett?” asked Charlie.

“The bloke who owned these woods. Way back, it must have been twenty years ago, he was a young newly-wed and he bought a house back in the village there. Well, one night, so the story goes, he’d had a few too many jars in the pub. When he got home, his wife remonstrated with him and, in his drunken state, he lashed out at her. His wife was distraught. Said she didn’t want to be married to a violent bully and she packed her bags and left. It was a wild night like this one and, as she drove down the hill, she lost control. The car skidded, and went through the hedge into the river. Emmett was distraught. He vowed he would never touch a drop of alcohol again.”

“And did he?”

“He didn’t really have the chance. He hanged himself the next day. His body was found swinging from an oak tree back there. Are you all right, sir? You really do look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”