John:
“HEY! HEY! WAIT!” John ran toward the subway faster than he ever had, as being late for trains was just as common as people brushing their teeth with toothpaste. He jotted in his brain that the train number was 1381, and hopped right on just as the doors were closing. John wished time would just go slower so he wouldn’t be late all the time. He wished that he could go back in time and not have to deal with the common stresses of modern life. He didn’t have to go to work since it was just a cleanup day, but he wanted to go anyway. Then, he took a seat and looked out the window, admiring the masonry and tiles of the subway station.
“This is Grand Central Station. The next station is Lexington Avenue/53rd Street,” the speaker announced. John relaxed, knowing he successfully clipped it once again, considering it a skill. The train slowly accelerated, the normal hums pitch getting higher and higher. He took note of how fast the light of the subway station disappeared into darkness.
After five minutes, he pulled out his phone and texted his taxi driver, Ryan, saying that his train number is 1381. He added that he will text him when he arrives so he can find the train, and that he was about five minutes away. He then put his phone away and felt his muscles relax. He sat back and enjoyed the ride, thinking about what a great day it would be at work despite having his thoughts haunted by the effects of tardiness…
Ryan:
“1381? I feel that something is off about that number now that I’m thinking about it.” But Ryan shrugged his shoulders, ignoring his weird feelings.
A while later…
“Where is this guy? It’s twenty past eight! I have to get him to work, and I have places to go!” Ryan was waiting on the Lexington Avenue station platform, getting impatient that his client wasn’t arriving on time.
“Are you okay, sir?” A kind-looking woman appeared behind him, wearing a dress like she was about to go to a wedding, but the dress was dark black. Probably one of those weird city people. Ryan decided to talk to her anyway, just to vent.
“I’m a taxi driver, and my client is 20 minutes late! He was supposed to be here right at eight, and I don’t know what is going on.”
“I am one of the subway system managers, actually, and the only reason I could really give is that they may have a technical failure or extremely bad traffic. Also, what’s his train number?” she explained.
“He said 1381, ma’am.” She looked puzzled. “Is there a problem?”
“That train was decommissioned three years ago! It had a bad accident where it derailed and smashed right into a brick wall off the side of a turn! It was all over the news! Nobody survived.”
“Oh, that’s right. I remember, that was really scary. Maybe he said the wrong number, or I remembered the wrong number. He still needs to get here though, whatever train he’s on. Thanks for your help, ma’am.”
“My pleasure, sir. Good luck with everything, and have a good day.” She left and sat back down.
20 minutes passed by.
30 minutes passed by.
Another 30 minutes passed by.
Ryan’s body started to tremble, his face and palms began sweating, and his throat was dry. He got up from where he was sitting and walked over to the tracks and looked down the tunnel, seeing nothing but bricks, then darkness.
John:
A tall old man walked over and loomed over John. “Hello, sir. Can’t you believe how fast time moves when you are in a rush?”
John’s eyebrows moved in a confused manner. “How did you know I was in a rush?”
“I just could tell!” The height was unbearable to look at, almost unnatural. He had dark-brown, flat hair; forehead wrinkles; a mustache; and rectangular glasses with a thick, black trim. Something felt off about him, and his blank countenance suggested he may not be joking, that he knew something John didn’t.
“Ok? Who are you? Why are you talking to me?” John asked.
“I- I- I am the conductor.”
“Do you need my ticket?”
He paused, “No.” At that instant, John noticed how everyone in the subway sat completely still, like they were dead. John asked, “How much time is left until we get to the next station? This is very weird. Nobody is moving!”
“Um. Well. Um… destination?” The man had confusion in his voice.
“Yeah. The destination. The place we are stopping at next,” John stated the obvious. Suddenly, the woman in the seat diagonal to John slowly turned her head toward him, causing a rush of uneasiness to wash over him.
“Oh, honey, that man knows what he’s talking about. And just so you know, we don’t exist! We’re just ghosts! Ha!”
“Pssshhh!” John ignored them, making the excuse that they were weird city people, including the conductor. On that thought, John got an idea. He stood up and walked after the conductor who was already on the way back to the front.
“Hey! Can you come back quickly? I have a question!” John yelled across the train car. He walked back over to him, his legs moving like a sleepwalker. He moved his hand to try to shake the conductor’s hand but ended up hitting his own leg. Fear creeped in, head to toe, just as fast as the light disappeared into darkness at the subway station. That woman was correct.
“What?” He walked around the train car, confused and angry. He started touching various items around the subway car. His hand went through everything like it was air. He sat back in his seat, and it was solid like normal. His muscles were as tight as the time he had to get on the train in the first place.
“Ghosts, dead, subway? Did anybody die on the subway recently?” John’s blood ran cold after whispering that question. “Wait! What number is this train again?” As John said those words, the train started to rumble louder and louder, like it knew that he figured it out. The lights began to flicker, and gibberish text began to appear on the overhead text signs. He figured it out. He remembered he was on train 1381. The one that crashed three years ago into a brick wall of a tunnel. He must have been too fast when he was running to notice. Notice something impossible. Realize it wouldn’t be a good idea to get on that train.
“YOU THINK THIS IS A JOKE NOW, BOY?” John panned over his vision to the conductor, who was even taller than before. His body kept lighting up, then darkening under the flickering lights.
“No. Not really anymore, sir,” John squeaked out with fear, but some bout of confidence left. At that instant, the train began to turn heavily to the left, the train coach swinging to the right. “Woooooooooowwwww!” John screamed as the train kept tipping.
“Why aren’t you scared, dude? I think the train’s gonna crash!” John alarmingly asked.
Everybody was silent. The conductor disappeared at that instant.
“OH NO!” At that instant, glass cracked, metal clanged, rails scraped, bricks were demolished, and last screams were made.
Three days later
Ryan:
“Which channel is it, hon’?” Ryan was sitting on the couch trying to find his favorite channel, National Geographic.
“I don’t know. Maybe look at the news? That’ll give you something to watch,” his wife yelled from the kitchen, her volume mostly hindered by the sound of the sink running and clanking dishes. Ryan shrugged his shoulders and put on ABC news.
Ryan looked directly at the television, mouth dropped wide open and hands trembling. The reporter explained, “Today in the subway tunnel between Fifth Avenue and Lexington Avenue/53rd Street, a dead body has been found, right at the location of the 1381 crash three years ago. It must have been an oversight when the investigators and law enforcement were cleaning up the wreckage. The weird part about this is that the area after the cleanup was confirmed clean six times. Also, forensics confirmed the body has only been dead for three days, even though the 1381 accident occurred three years ago. He was found under a pile of bricks and was severely dismembered. Fortunately, the body was identified as the body of John Albertson, giving the family and friends closure as to why he was missing. Nobody will be able to figure out exactly what happened. Was it an accident? On purpose? Or did something impossible happen? What happened to John Albertson? We may never know, so it is left up to mystery. ABC News.”
