The Passenger

A metallic gust whipped past John as a train thundered into the subway station. The cold rush of air from the speeding cars caused his heart to punch into his ribs. It was his first time taking the subway home. He stood on the platform and watched as the train screeched to a halt. The doors hissed open in front of him. But he hesitated to board.

A soft voice from behind interrupted his trance. "You okay?"

John turned to see a small Vietnamese woman.

"You get on?" Her English was broken, but her tone was warm. She smiled up at him, her eyes crinkling in gentle encouragement.

"Uh, yeah," John stammered, his feet shuffling forward. "Sorry."

They stepped onto the train and took a seat next to one another.

John's gaze flicked around the car. Across the aisle from them a young black man slouched in his seat, his eyes hidden beneath the flat brim of a baseball cap. Tattoos crept up his neck from under the collar of his leather jacket.

John shifted in his seat, nervous energy tingling his limbs like ants crawling on his skin.

The woman sensed his tension and gave him a reassuring smile. "I Minh. He Marshall. It you first time on night train?"

"Yeah," he breathed, swallowing hard. He tried to relax. "First time. I’m John."

"No be so worry," she said softly. "You be okay. You safe."

John glanced back at Marshall, his pulse throbbing along his temples. The man played with a thick, gold chain around his neck and grinned at John.

"Yeah, white boy. You aight," Marshall growled. His gold-plated teeth glinted as his lips curled into a sneer. "Ain't nothin' here gonna hurt you."

The man crossed his arms and stared at John. Were Marshall's words meant to reassure him or mock him?

John's eyes darted around the train car, the back of his neck prickling with sweat.

Minh pointed toward a young man near the back of the car. He sat by himself with large, old-looking headphones on. His wildly colorful hair, denim jacket, and ripped jeans gave him away as a punk rocker. "That Cory," she whispered. "He in a band. He nice boy."

John nodded stiffly. "And him?" he asked, noticing another man several seats ahead. This man was dressed sharply in a crisp suit, typing something on his phone with an air of importance.

"Frank," she replied. "He job at a bank. Always work."

The train rumbled and roared forward. The overhead lights flickered. Once. Twice.

And then darkness swallowed the car.

John blinked, his breath catching in his throat. His gaze whipped around the car trying to make out the other passengers. But in the pitch black, there was nothing but an empty void.

A searing stench filled the air—like burning, rotted meat. The lights flickered back on, casting the train in an ethereal glow.

John gasped.

Cory, the punk rocker, no longer appeared like a young man. His skin was charred and peeling, his face a mess of bubbling and melted flesh. He twitched violently in his seat, his eyes wide and unblinking.

John's rapid breathing made it feel like he was suffocating.

He turned toward Frank. His body hung limply from one of the train car supports, a belt tightened around his neck. His suit was wrinkled and his face was purple from the lack of oxygen.

John stood and spun around to face Marshall. He was smiling the same chilling grin but his skin was decayed and hanging in strips from his face. His chain and hat were missing and his eyes were vacant. The right side of his skull was mangled with what looked like several gunshot wounds.

John felt bile rising in his throat. He glanced at Minh. Blood dripped from slashes across her arms and legs and her body was split in half along her midsection. Her once bright eyes were clouded and dim.

John shook his head, trying to snap himself out of the nightmare.

The lights flickered again.

For a moment, everything returned to normal. All of the passengers were back to their original appearances.

Marshall stood and rubbed his hands together. He made for the door of the train car. "Aight, Minh. Catch ya later, white boy," he said with his signature grin. He stepped toward the closed door of the train and passed right through it!

John gasped, feeling the weight of the terror sink in. He turned back to where Cory had been sitting. The seat was empty. And so was Frank's!

"What's going on?" John exclaimed.

The train slowed and jerked. The screech of the brakes pierced his eardrums.

"It our stop," Minh said, standing up next to him.

John looked down at his hands and froze. His fingers were fading, becoming transparent, the skin barely visible. Panic shot through him as he looked up at her. His voice cracked. "Wh-what’s happening to me?"

She sighed, her soft voice tinged with sadness. "It night train. For ghost." She met his wide eyes with a solemn expression. "I here. I guide you."

"Guide me?" His mind spun in confusion, his heart racing as memories suddenly flooded back.

The subway platform.

The rush of the train.

The leap.

He hadn’t stood watching the subway train pass. He had thrown himself onto the tracks in front of it!

The woman’s eyes were gentle, filled with the same sorrow he now felt. "I do same thing. Long time ago."

John’s breath hitched as realization hit him. He was dead. A ghost.

The woman reached out, her fading hand resting on his arm. "You not alone. We all here. Waiting for next stop."

The train doors opened. Together, they stepped into the darkness and disappeared.


Author's Note ▼

Written for The Grim Reaper Contest  . Flash fiction (less than 1,000 words). Open prompt.

Word count: 959