Jane Amber

By Disha Agarwal

"Did you hear? Mr Tomlinson from area fifty-five got a new daughter. I must congratulate him! Would you love to come along dear?" chirped the woman, with the pink coat sitting behind me.

"Thanks for the lovely offer miss, but I'm rather busy these days," I answered as politely as I could. She was indeed a very sweet lady, but too garrulous for my liking. I did not dislike her, not at all, but occasionally she just got on my nerves.

"Shall I tell you something?" she whispered, avidly.

"I'd rather you don't-" I tried telling her but she went on anyway.

"What if I told you vampires are real?" she said.

As soon as I heard those words, I shifted my attention to her voice. It's not as if I believe in this kind of nonsense, but it really does spike my interest, no matter how preposterous it may be.

"I'm not talking about the Hotel Transylvania kind. Or the ones that are known to be spooked by silver, no. I mean the horrendous creatures that hide in the darkest reaches of a room, or even with the face of someone dear to you. The kind of vampires that jump out and hiss with a screeching tone, grabbing you by the shoulder and head with their pale, nervy, wrinkly hands, then moving their dexterous, long tongue around your neck, looking for the main artery leading to your brain," I flinched a little at her words. Her detailed imagery made it difficult to not picture it in the worst way possible.

“However, they don't drink blood. They drink memories,” she continued. “They leech the very thoughts out of your mind and retreat back to the black depths of the shadows. This is why there are no pictures of them. With that information, let me ask you this;

Ever walked into a room and forgot why you went in?"

I looked at her with wide eyes. Surely, she was joking. I mean, it's very human to forget why you went into a room or why you opened the fridge. Of course, that couldn't mean vampires sucking out your memories.

As I was about to say something, the woman got up and said: "Well I better get going now. My stop has arrived."

I sighed as she left the bus. "Oh Lord, how that woman creeps the heck out of me!" I exclaimed.

"What woman?" An old man beside me, whom I'd never seen before even after being a regular on the bus, asked.

"The one that sits just behind here, you know," I pointed to the seat behind me.

"Young lady, you must be mistaken. No one sits on that seat."

"What are you talking about, Mr…"

"Shallot."

"Yes, shallot. I'm a regular here and I see that woman every time." I kept on telling him that he might not remember but he insisted on the fact that no one sat there. "And why do you reckon so?"

"How could you be a regular here and not know?" He questioned.

"You ought to tell me then."

"Well, some time ago, a woman used to sit on that seat. What was her name? Yes, Jane Amber. A very sweet lady, I must say. Very blabby too. She knew all the rumours around here all the time and many believe she made 'em up herself!" I started to get a bit edgy as this Jane Amber or whomever it was sounded a tad bit too much like the woman in the pink coat.

"One day, she was just sitting here minding her own business when she was awfully assaulted and murdered by a man who is now in jail, all on that seat. That's why people, especially women, don't sit on that seat for the fear of suffering from the same gruesome fate as the poor Jane Amber did."

Mr Shalott's story made me feel relatively uneasy and I couldn't stop myself from asking him what kind of attire this Jane Amber wore.

"Well, if my memory serves me right, she wore a pink coat whenever she came on here."

"I see…" I replied looking away towards my window.

"Wait what?" Realization hit me. Jane Amber IS the woman with the pink coat. I jerked my head back to look at the old man, who now looked exactly like one of the vampires Jane had described. He came closer and closer and after that, I had forgotten everything, from why I was on the bus to all the information I found out about the lady with the pink coat who sat behind me. I dismissed it as momentary tiredness and went on and about my day. But who knows what might happen to you? So don't talk to the lady with a pink coat named Jane.

By Disha Agarwal