The wheelsets spoke in a metallic language that was only starting to be understood.
Change here for the green line.
Stained carpet and chairs, too questionable to be sitting on, lined both sides of the train
car. Two people, inebriated from the Halloween parties above, kissed just as the last train of the
night pulled from the station. The shorter of the two, a young woman, was dressed in her favorite
black skirt that brushed the tops of her black boots. A canvas bag hung from her shoulder and
red, plastic horns donned her head and scratched at her temples, causing her a pulsing headache.
Doors will open on the right side of the train.
The taller of the two, almost a whole foot taller, was an older man. He wasn’t wearing a
costume at all. He once matched with another woman, being the prince counterpart to her
princess with a simple crown placed on his head.
That crown had been lost since the second bar. He had danced with someone, the girl
with the plastic, red horns. This angered his princess, and she told him to go. So, he had stormed
off, soon finding himself alone, drunk, and flying through the tunnels somewhere under the city.
Then, after a few stops down the route, the older man lifted his head from his hands and looked
around the train car. The younger woman with the plastic, red horns sat only a few seats down.
Now, she stood before him, wobbling while the train lurched to its next stop.
She was hazed from her own events of the night. A dance at one bar, an offered drink at
the next; the young woman desperately tried to remember every second that passed. She watched
as the doors closed behind the older man and wondered if that was her last chance.
Were other people getting on the train?
Next stop…
Was it quiet as the doors slid shut?
Park Street.
But maybe it was loud, too?
What she could not forget, as the older man’s hands crept up her back, was the distinct
taste of boozy peppermint. It made her queasy as he leaned in, letting their lips just barely brush.
“You wouldn’t be able to handle me,” he breathed into the young woman. “With that
pretty, little mouth.” The peppermint was overwhelming.
“What about the Princess?” the young woman drunkenly asked, referring to the man’s
partner, as her plastic, red horns, slipped from her fine hair. Her brown eyes glazed over as she
felt rough lips on her neck.
“You let me talk to the Princess,” he answered in between kisses, attempting to pull her
closer.
The younger woman giggled.
Playfully, she broke from his grip and latched on to a pole for support, trying to reach the
horns as the train thrashed through the tunnels. A sharp turn threw her off balance, resulting in
her bag falling from her shoulder and sliding under the seats. Then, she too crashed to her knees,
sending a surprisingly painful jolt through her body.
Disgusted, she held herself from the tacky floor that gripped at her palms as she started to
experience a strange burst of unease. This was not unlike the unease she felt from the older man;
yet this unease occurred physically, beginning at her fingertips and spreading to her throat. Like
an allergic reaction, her throat closed slightly, making it difficult for the young woman to breath.
As she attempted to take a breath, a flash of memory slammed into her. A hand sliding up to her
throat while a man ground his groin into her backside on a dance floor. She wanted his hand
away from her throat and remembered giving him a firm ‘no thank you’. But he wasn’t in his
right mind enough to listen to her. That man had a crown a top his head.
The unease turned to infest her. This anxiety inflicted a sort of giddy agony that rippled
like a stone skipped too quickly. She became loose and undignified as her body almost relaxed
into the instability of this feeling. Her sight vibrated as the admired golden dots within her brown
iris disappeared, only to be replaced to the edges with black wells.
A virus jetted through her.
She lost her memories. The night was gone. The bars were less than blurs in a storm of
static that turned people’s names and faces to electric fuzz. Her hands felt stiff as she stretched
her fingers out, reaching for anything that would allow her to regain focus. But as she just barely
reached the chair in front of her, the knuckles of her right hand popped.
Something manifested atop her head. It felt wet as the light air flow hit the sharp little
points that rose from her scalp in cool pins and needles. But pain had become an afterthought.
Instinctively, the sense of fear shimmered away. Opportunity, instead, volunteered itself. A
target enlisted in her. An outreach that held success from the recruitment that was her plastic,
little horns. Settled, she held no other thought within her. The white noise in her ears became
louder and louder until suddenly all was quiet, and she heard one other heartbeat beside her.
The older man yanked her from the floor, expecting another embrace, but stopped. He
shifted his sight to the floor as drips of something, sliding from the younger woman’s indigo
nails, squirmed in jagged lines on the floor. Black blood seeped from the sharp, elegant points.
The cold air that had suddenly infested the train must have turned her hands nearly translucent.
Her skin had taken on a pale white, as if there was no blood in her at all.
The older man blinked, concluding the alcohol harbored bothersome hallucinations. He
ignored his drunken thoughts and pulled the limp, younger woman to his chest. She seemed to
glide perfectly to him. Then, he noticed her horns placed once again perfectly atop her head.
“Cute,” he muttered, wiggling them. His fingers stayed on the horns. He squeezed,
feeling himself slightly sober. They were hard and solid. And to his horror, connected to her
scalp, covered in something wet and black.
Sparks shattered against the windows, jolting the older man back a step. The already
flickering lights started to burn out and the strobes from the tunnels ceased as the train barreled
out of the ground and careened against the city skyline above the harbor. The train climbed the
bridge with a sort of mechanical desperation.
Below, the water was oddly alive.
Choppy waves hit the supports with a force that felt like the shake of a rope bridge. The
young woman’s mouth morphed into a stretched smile as the older man gazed at the water. The
skyline gave off an artificial glow that shimmered off misplaced waves. A weighted dread settled
in as the waves started to look much higher than they should.
“It’s finally moving,” the younger woman whispered. The older man held his breath. “In
the water,” she continued as the air started to smell of salt. She moved closer, and from the bay, a
dark mist rose, twisting and contorting after the train. The older man couldn’t take his eyes away
from the harbor, fixating on the waves that shouldn’t have been as angry as they were. Then the
train car started to slow, and the mist reached the doors as they came to a violent halt. All was
silent save the water thrashing below.
The air grew colder as the mist seeped in. The older man half expected the water to raise
up to the tracks with how loud the waves were becoming. Like a tempest in the Atlantic, wind
shook the train car, and they started to rock. The younger woman spoke again. And her voice
made the air vibrate. “It’s grown impatient.” The older man pried his eyes from the waves and
saw, in a frozen moment in time, the younger woman resting effortlessly on the tips of her now
naked toes. She was, in fact, now lacking all her clothing.
Bare before him, the young woman held the older man in a magnetic gaze. He gasped,
looking at her now pointed cheek bones, once soft and pink from the October chill. Her
shoulders had spiked, stretching the skin so thin he could see the white of her bones and the color
in her veins. Barbed teeth had risen from her red gums sending trickles of blood from the sides of
her mouth. In agony, the older man broke her gaze and scrambled desperately to the doors. But
his efforts to pry them open were soiled as the waves had just started to reach the tracks. The
slow moans of metal echoed through the car, like a sinking ship. Slowly, the bridge felt as if
were listing to the right, threatening the possibility of derailment. But the car stopped its tilt,
lodged on the edge of the track.
Then she was on him, slamming to the doors. He tried to scream as her nails crept, like
broken spider legs, to the tender areas behind the ears. But his voice was muted, made silent by
the crashing of the waves just outside the door. She clutched his head, rather tenderly, as their
eyes were held in a forced gaze.
“Life,” she breathed, caressing his face. “Forgotten” The older man clutched her for
support as he felt himself slipping as the train car angled. “Retired to the salt.” Her words were
so small, but they pulsed through him. “Don’t fear giving gifts,” she smiled. “Gifts of life.” The
tips of her nails scratched at his ears before she forcefully punctured them through. She held her
mouth so close to his, holding a breath with him. They kept the joint air in their lungs together
until the young woman began to exhale, giving permission to allow his breath to also escape. In
her eyes, he saw something. A reflection? A vision? Whatever, the image of his own, dead eyes
burned into him. He didn’t take another breath.
Her nails stayed lodged as the car titled further. The doors the older man held his back
against ripped open, revealing black water thrashing. Below, a creature stirred amongst the
waves.
The mammoth beast sloshed to the surface, tentacles climbing the supports and reaching
the train car, wrapping around the bridge and crushing the concrete in its grip. A flash from
snapping cables illuminated the mouth of the being. Teeth flashed in a violent, circular mouth.
Before the young woman allowed herself to let the offering slip, she focused on its empty
stare. The eyes showed no pain as the light disappeared into the black vacuums of the sky. She
held the offering close to her and brought her pretty, little mouth to its ear and exhaled to it
softly,“ I liked handling you.”
Its fall made no sound.
The creature was gone before she could blink. And all within the time it took her place
her feet back to the floor, the train was back on its regular schedule across the harbor bridge. She
stepped away from the closing doors as the train chugged its way to the next stop. The reflection
in the dirty glass showed a normal younger woman, with normal skin, normal eyes, and normal
nails. She brushed her cheeks to check for softness and warmth. She slid her hand through hair
and felt nothing rising from her scalp. She felt her gums and felt smooth, square teeth. She
exhaled.
As the train approached its stop, she quickly retrieved her bag and donned a clean, red,
skin-tight dress. She pulled her boots to her feet and stood, very still, awaiting the train to pull
into the station.
Park Street…Please take your personal belongings with you as you exit the train…thank
you for riding.
She secured her bag on her shoulder. And in a quick duck, recovered and adjusted her
plastic horns.
With two small steps, she was off the train, grinning at people that passed her by. The
doors slid shut and the train rumbled away.
Next stop…Downtown Crossing…Change here for the Red Line and Green Line.
About the Author
Jessica Jaufmann is a writer from Northern Virginia. She possess an English Degree from The University Of Mary Washington and lives with her family and two cats. Jessica enjoys gardening, reading, and making crafts with her toddler.
About the Artist
Sammy is an artist and writer in Chicago, IL. Born and raised in Troy, MI, she does freelance work as a creative and is reachable via email sammloree@gmail.com. Updates on her work and commission openings can be found on her Instagram @samloreeart.
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