JOURNEYS ON THE BUS - 1) Molly's Story: People Watching

Molly was sitting in her usual spot on the top deck of the bus. In the middle, on the left side where she could get the best view of the pavement and shops as the bus rumbled by. She loved people watching. She loved making up stories in her head for the various people she saw, creating a back story for the most interesting characters. She had grown used to seeing some of them – the old lady who fed pigeons in the park, the young girl who skipped down the street hand in hand with her dad, the group of teenagers swinging on the railings by the church. Their absence was noted and a feeling of unease would settle, only to disperse at the return of these familiar faces.

Today was no different to any other day really except that Molly had more time to people watch due to traffic works. It was rush hour and Molly was pleased to be sitting after a busy day in the office. The sun was beginning to set but still cast a warm glow over the city. Everything was tinted with a peach hue that made Molly feel almost warm and fuzzy inside and brought a smile to her face.

Traffic had slowed to a crawl, almost stopped in fact. The bus was nearing the old Penham House; an abandoned double-fronted, three storey monstrosity surrounded by a high wall and old, decaying trees. The area it was situated in had once been affluent however was now home to the many families living under the poverty line that lived in the city. There were signs that people were trying to improve the area despite their lack of means – a freshly painted door here, a brand new garden wall there – but the Penham House remained like a blot on the cityscape. The setting sun added a much needed warmth to the old stonework where the trees allowed the light into the plot but it retained it's air of barely hidden resentment.

Molly had always been fascinated with the house. It was rumoured that it had been boarded up after the wealthy occupiers died in mysterious circumstances but now, there was a sign in bright red proclaiming that it had been sold and the hoardings had been removed from the sash windows to reveal peeling, dark brown painted frames. Molly was eager to see if anything had changed in the 24 hours since she had seen the house as on her journey to work earlier that day, she had caught sight of a white transit van pulling into the driveway. Her mind had conjured up images of renovation and restoration. She was looking forward to seeing the changes.

As the bus bumped it's way forward another couple of feet, it came almost level with the house and Molly was granted the perfect view of the building between the trees. The painted black door was flanked by stone columns at either side that supported a balcony with wrought iron railings. There was a French window that Molly thought would have given a lovely view of the street back when the house was built as it used to face a small park. The park was long gone, turned over to a building developer who had managed to squeeze 12 one-bedroomed flats in a space barely big enough for half that many decent sized properties.

Molly was gazing at the house, letting her imagination wander through wallpaper prints, colour schemes and textile patterns when movement caught her eye. Through the French door, she could see what looked like a figure but, due to the distance and lack of light, it didn't look like more than a shadow. It was gesturing, arms moving in aggressive cutting movements as if arguing with some unseen person. It took a step back and Molly realised that it was a woman. She could make out a ponytail and a feminine silhouette.

The woman shook her head vehemently, folded her arms and turned away from whomever she was arguing with. The bus bumped forward another couple of feet and Molly could no longer see the French window due to the dense leaves. She wondered who the woman was, who she was arguing with and why. As she pondered these things, the bus moved forward and managed to travel a good few feet to the point where Molly could once again see the house. She could no longer see the woman because her line of sight had changed but she could see another figure in the house. The broad shoulders told her it was a man. He reached out an arm, just out of sight and pulled it back quickly, pulling the woman into Molly's view. The woman fought against him, but he caught her wrists and pinned them behind her back. His face drew close to hers and Molly could almost hear the venom coming from him although she could not see his lips move. His body language screamed anger. He pushed the woman away, out of sight and left the room. A few moments passed before Molly saw the woman, walking into shot and tentatively peaking around a door frame, before the man was back in view, pushing the woman back, one arm raised above his head before he brought it brutally down on her skull. Drops of red liquid hit the French windows. The woman dropped to the floor partly out of sight, the man following her down until he was crouched over her, arm raised above his head again. Molly could not see the woman from the waist up but she could see the man's arm arc over and over again, bringing whatever was in his hand down, smashing into the unfortunate woman.

Molly started to will the bus to move. She was sure she had gasped in horror when the man initially attacked but when she looked at the other passengers, they seemed not to have noticed. The teenage boy listening to his iPod stared blankly ahead, head nodding slightly to the beat. A teenage girl twirled a length of hair between her fingers as she snapped gum, engrossed in a celebrity magazine. A young mother was trying to control her toddler and stop him from running up and down the aisle.

Molly didn't know what to do. She had her mobile on her, she could call the police. But would they believe her? She started to root around in her bag but, as per usual, it was somewhere under the mountain of junk she carried around. She glanced up at the window to see the man standing there, staring out the window. She could see that he had dark hair, a blue shirt with uneven dark patches and grey trousers, also dark in places due to the blood. Lots of blood. And he was looking right at her.

The bus jerked into life and pulled away.

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