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Gedden's Armor

By Tom Bazow

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Bolting upright, Michael Gedden was drenched in sweat. Panicking, each breathe more rapid than the next, his heart felt like it was going to explode. Desperate to find any light source, Michael fumbled with the lamp on his bed stand, sending it crashing to the floor.
The eerie glow projected a startling image on the wall before him. Blinking in rapid succession, Michael pulled the comforter a little snugger to combat the chills coursing through his body. Quickly glancing at the lamp then back at the image before him, he realized it wasn’t real. Or at least he hoped.
Finally, with eyes completely focused, Michael threw the covers off and reached down to retrieve the errant lamp. Dangling over his mattress, he grabbed its base in one hand while balancing with the other, wondering all the while if some blackened ghoul was about to snatch him from underneath the bed. With the lamp finally back in place, his bedroom took on its familiar appearance. The image fainted from the wall, but not from Michael’s memory.
Thinking it was silly to leave the light on, Michael slowly felt for the lamp switch. With the room darkened again, he sat propped up against the headboard. In less than one minute he had gone from startled, to frightened, to bewildered. And now he was wide-awake. What had caused him to wake up so abruptly, and what was the vision he thought he saw?
Michael’s eyes soon became heavy, as the battle between wanting to stay awake and exhaustion came to a close. Slumping down along the propped up pillows he was swept into unconsciousness, into a deep slumber that would last for hours.
An incessant blaring from his clock radio was partly responsible for his awakening, as well as a glaring light through his window. Instinctively Michael groped for the reset button on his alarm, but quickly drew back his hand. As much as he craved additional shuteye, today was not the day.
Throwing back the covers, Michael sat up pausing to clear his head, with the occurrence from hours before now a distant memory. On any ordinary day he would need to literally will his body to go from the bed to his bathroom, but today was different. He actually was anxious to get his day started. This Friday had long been marked on his mental calendar because tonight his youth group was scheduled for a field trip and lock in.
As he set out to catch the school bus at the end of his street, he felt a sense of urgency. He wasn’t sure why. He certainly had plenty of time before the bus arrived. There seemed to be something stirring within his being and he felt like he had never been so alert before. Perhaps it had something to do with the apparition from the previous night.
A light rain began to fall as he and the half dozen or so teens patiently awaited their transportation. The cool October breeze combined with the moisture in the air brought forth a quickening chill. Michael’s light, hooded jacket took some sting out of the air, as the drizzle intensified. A part of him wanted to pull the hood up over his head, sparing his hair from getting soaked, but the “looking cool factor” far outweighed being cold. It wouldn’t be much longer. He would tough it out.
Being a relatively new kid on the block, as well as at school, was slowly getting better. Making new friends was easy enough, but establishing a good one had been more of a trial. In fact, Michael’s newest, closest friend at Maplewood High School was a girl named Samantha.
Samantha, or Sam, as she liked to be called, had moved to the St. Louis area on the second day of school. Everything was new to her, especially her new home. For some reason Sam and Michael clicked from day one. The two of them were in over half of their ninth grade classes, with a bonus of eating during the same lunch period. Maplewood had over nine hundred students so it must have been fate that his new friend was in many of his classes.
As Michael wondered how his youth outing was going to play out, the temperature continued to drop. The smoke like mist produced by each person’s breath amplified the chill engulfing him or her. Michael finally gave in to the miserable conditions and flopped the hood over his head. He glanced at his watch and sighed. Only ten plus hours to go before the outing, and what promised to be an awesome evening.
“Man! How much longer,” shouted no one in particular?
Michael looked around at the other students as they all shivered from the cold.
“We’re gonna be late,” a female voice replied.
“Gotta be the first time I wanted to get on the stupid bus,” chimed another.
Then, in the hazy horizon, the outline of a yellow vehicle was seen. Yet, there was something odd about it, as Michael strained to see it clearly. The fog that had set in made visibility a mere ten feet or so. The increasing cold prompted the students to step toward their anticipated ride, rather than wait for it.
Instinctively, as if his senses grabbed hold of him, Michael stepped back. The others blindly, continued to shuffle along the roads shoulder. Within a matter of seconds a shocking whoosh emanated out of nowhere, like the rush of a train blasting by. While the others fell backwards screaming in shock, Michael stood still in a trance, as if time itself had frozen. A yellow tanker sat before him. Peering through the window of the cab was the silhouette of the driver. Amber eyes pierced through the dense fog and bore a gap into Michael’s soul. He stood with his mouth agape not able to utter a single word. Then as quickly as it appeared, the truck vanished into the vapor, releasing its grasp on Michael. Incessant curses and shouts from the others helped him refocus.
Through his peripheral gaze Michael saw something the others didn’t notice. Off to the side, as if it had been waiting there all along, sat the school bus, idling. When did it get there? How long had it been waiting? An alerting honk of its horn grabbed everyone’s attention, and the teens rushed towards the awaiting transportation.
None of the others made mention of it. It was as if Michael had dreamed the preceding scene and the rest were ambivalent to the experience. Michael was the last to enter the bus and walked back to the area where he normally sat. He turned to one of the teens who had been waiting outside with him.
“Is it me or was that one of the strangest things?”
“Yeah,” the boy spoke in a stupor. “Our bus came out of nowhere.”
“Well yeah, but what about the tanker truck that almost blew us all away?”
The boy stared blankly at Michael, then turned his head slightly.
“What truck?”
“The truck that came barreling towards us…the yellow truck, with the idiot driver?”
“Man, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The boy got up and moved to another seat, leaving Michael speechless. Maybe I did imagine it, Michael thought. Minutes passed, as he stared out the window looking at nothing in particular. That is, until they arrived at the school parking lot. Sitting directly across the street from the school grounds was a sight that made him gasp. Parked at a gas stations service pump was a large yellow fuel tanker. Coincidence or not Michael felt chill bumps race down his spine.
The bus continued its turn into the parking lot forcing him to crane his neck for a better view. Unfortunately the image gradually disappeared as the bus continued on its way.

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