07-13-2017, 10:35 AM
Your heels clack against the filthy unmopped tile floor of the train platform. You are walking briskly and not quite running, lest you give everyone the wrong idea. You clutch your purse tighter as you round the corner through the station and move past the rows of cigarette machines. The tunnel leading towards the stairwell out of the subway station is empty. From over your shoulder you can hear the train's ancient speaker chime out, “Daley Plaza” as the next stop.
Cold fear clutches your heart. That's your stop, but you got off one station early. Why?
That creep with the curly hair and his wicker basket had looked at you so queerly and you didn't feel comfortable getting off at Daley Plaza. If you did, he could possibly find out where you live… or worse, follow you home and that truly sent tingles down your spine. In retrospect, you curse yourself for not thinking this through more. That guy was probably harmless, and now you have no clue where you are. You pause for a moment with your hand on the guard rail that snakes through the subway tunnel. It would be the easiest thing in the world to just turn around and get on the next train from back at the platform. Yet here you stand, paralyzed and unwilling to turn your head to look behind you.
Tock...tock...tock…
You worked a late shift at the hospital tonight. You've been a nurse for only 2 years now and that doesn't give you nearly enough seniority to pick your shifts. Your father hated the idea of you working in such a crime ridden neighborhood, but you're young and need the work; a million girls would kill just for an opportunity at what you have. In the empty caverns of the subway, you hear slow footsteps approaching. Is it that man? Is he some pervert or thief? Did he get off after you? IS HE FOLLOWING YOU?
The panic is taking hold of your mind and you can't even muster the courage to see if it IS him. With clattering heels, you race through the empty tunnel. Pornographic movie posters and malt liquor ads are pasted like wallpaper along the tube-like tunnel’s expanse as your steps echo throughout. Your hair is fluttering into your face and the deafening sounds of your shoes have made you feel disoriented and single-minded in reaching the stairwell just ahead that leads to the safety of the public streets.
You feel a sense of glee and the irrational fear that overtook you completely subsides with relief when you finally reach the 20 or so stairs that lead upwards and out the stairwell. You pause for a moment, your hand on the guardrail again to catch your breath. You realize how nonsensical the whole thing was and the fear washes off you like a summer shower.
Tock...tock...tock…
Footsteps! Behind you, and rapidly plodding towards you just as before! This time you manage to turn and look down the tunnel. A man is walking towards you intently. He is dressed in a grubby khaki jacket and a pair of old blue jeans. His hair is a mess of unwashed brown curls and his face has the lurid look of a rapist from a cop drama. He lurches towards you, carrying a large wicker basket under one arm.
You scream and clammer up the stairs. As you try to scramble upwards your shoes catch on the hem of your dress and you trip to the tile. You cry out in pain as you land on the pointed edges of the stairs. Another more maniac cry escapes your lips as the man grips your naked ankle with his hand. You kick, and kick again at his face. He groans and curses you, dropping his basket. As he bends to retrieve it you climb the stairs on hands and knees. You can feel the dirt and grime from the steps dirting your immaculate nails, but it doesn’t matter. You must reach the exit, you know it. A terrible aura of evil emanates from this man, but an even more horrible wave of killing air throbs from his basket.
Cold fear clutches your heart. That's your stop, but you got off one station early. Why?
That creep with the curly hair and his wicker basket had looked at you so queerly and you didn't feel comfortable getting off at Daley Plaza. If you did, he could possibly find out where you live… or worse, follow you home and that truly sent tingles down your spine. In retrospect, you curse yourself for not thinking this through more. That guy was probably harmless, and now you have no clue where you are. You pause for a moment with your hand on the guard rail that snakes through the subway tunnel. It would be the easiest thing in the world to just turn around and get on the next train from back at the platform. Yet here you stand, paralyzed and unwilling to turn your head to look behind you.
Tock...tock...tock…
You worked a late shift at the hospital tonight. You've been a nurse for only 2 years now and that doesn't give you nearly enough seniority to pick your shifts. Your father hated the idea of you working in such a crime ridden neighborhood, but you're young and need the work; a million girls would kill just for an opportunity at what you have. In the empty caverns of the subway, you hear slow footsteps approaching. Is it that man? Is he some pervert or thief? Did he get off after you? IS HE FOLLOWING YOU?
The panic is taking hold of your mind and you can't even muster the courage to see if it IS him. With clattering heels, you race through the empty tunnel. Pornographic movie posters and malt liquor ads are pasted like wallpaper along the tube-like tunnel’s expanse as your steps echo throughout. Your hair is fluttering into your face and the deafening sounds of your shoes have made you feel disoriented and single-minded in reaching the stairwell just ahead that leads to the safety of the public streets.
You feel a sense of glee and the irrational fear that overtook you completely subsides with relief when you finally reach the 20 or so stairs that lead upwards and out the stairwell. You pause for a moment, your hand on the guardrail again to catch your breath. You realize how nonsensical the whole thing was and the fear washes off you like a summer shower.
Tock...tock...tock…
Footsteps! Behind you, and rapidly plodding towards you just as before! This time you manage to turn and look down the tunnel. A man is walking towards you intently. He is dressed in a grubby khaki jacket and a pair of old blue jeans. His hair is a mess of unwashed brown curls and his face has the lurid look of a rapist from a cop drama. He lurches towards you, carrying a large wicker basket under one arm.
You scream and clammer up the stairs. As you try to scramble upwards your shoes catch on the hem of your dress and you trip to the tile. You cry out in pain as you land on the pointed edges of the stairs. Another more maniac cry escapes your lips as the man grips your naked ankle with his hand. You kick, and kick again at his face. He groans and curses you, dropping his basket. As he bends to retrieve it you climb the stairs on hands and knees. You can feel the dirt and grime from the steps dirting your immaculate nails, but it doesn’t matter. You must reach the exit, you know it. A terrible aura of evil emanates from this man, but an even more horrible wave of killing air throbs from his basket.