Narrator: Grace Y. | Newcastle upon Tyne, England
There were only four of us upstairs on the bus. A couple at the front, me halfway back, and someone beneath an open black umbrella on the rear seat.
I thought it was funny. I took a photograph to send my brother.
At the next stop the couple went downstairs. I heard the umbrella close. I didn’t turn round. There was a small scraping sound on the ceiling, coming up the bus towards me.
The metal tip appeared over my head. It scratched a short white line in the ceiling. Whoever held it would have needed to be standing on the seats behind me, but I hadn’t heard footsteps. I could smell wet wool.
I went downstairs while the bus was moving. The driver told me to sit down. I sat directly behind him and stayed there for two stops beyond my own.
The photograph is too dark to prove anything. There’s a black shape on a seat. My brother put a laughing face under it before I told him the rest. I was furious with him for days, which wasn’t fair. I’d been laughing too.
