This is what Charlotte writes.

02.01.08

An old school bus, its bumper crumpled, its windows broken, and its door permanently open pulled to a stop in front of the train station. A train had just steamed merrily by, its cars filled with happy souls and uplifting thoughts. The passengers who awaited the next departure lounged on benches scattered throughout the station, chatting amongst themselves, sipping coffee, reading the newspaper (a thin thing, since, without bad news, there was hardly news at all), and enjoying the morning sun.

When the bus rattled up, however, they all looked up, curiously, their eyes scanning from the tailpipe spewing vile black exhaust to the ancient headlights, one of which was burnt out. As the people watched, figures moved behind the cracked, clouded windows, appearing one by one in the doorway and climbing down the rickety steps to stand on the pavement. Each one was different from the one that preceded it, and all were different than anything that anyone had ever seen before.

The first to exit the bus was short, and possibly rotund (though it was hard to judge; its body wrapped in many layers of tattered, dark cloth). He (for all present felt that it was a he, though they had no way of knowing for sure) carried a large bag on his back, and a hat, pulled low on his brow, obscured the view of his face.

The next that appeared was nearly the exact opposite. Tall, lithe, and with pale blonde hair, she was a woman (there was no question of her gender) who, on one level, could have slipped easily, inconspicuously, amongst the citizens, and yet there was a coldness, a deeply rooted feeling of terror that accompanied her presence, which would have ruined any chance of camouflage.

I shan’t describe the others (there were 8 in all), because I have not the words to do them justice, and I’m sure that your imagination will provide you with a vision that is more than accurate. However, I will say this: not only did they look different than the citizens, but they also felt different. As with the second passenger, there were indescribable feelings and emotions that one experienced while being in their presence. Indescribable in detail, but I can say for certain that they were unpleasant.

After the bus rumbled off into the shimmering morning, and the fumes of exhaust had dissipated, the citizens realized that they could no longer spot the mysterious passengers that had exited from its old yellow doorway. They had disappeared while no one was watching, and no one could recall, exactly, how they looked. Not well enough to describe them, anyway. That night they returned home, still vaguely uneasy, but when they awoke in the morning all memory of the encounter had vanished. Something had changed, however. There was something crucially different in the world as they knew it. They didn’t understand it, and some did not even realize it for a good long time, until the war deaths reached into the thousands and the cemeteries (which had to be invented - there had been no call for them before) filled up and the newspapers grew thick and filled with large headlines blaring the latest misfortunes. Eventually, no one could remember what it had been like before. And, in time, it was forgotten that there had been a before.