**This is a little horror story I wrote a while ago. Feedback would be much appreciated. ^_^**
Hey, man! Where the hell are you? He texts.
Chill out, I’ll be right there. I’m 3 stops away! I text back.
Well, you better hurry! Drinks are going fast…and getting warm…
Kk be right there.
I look at the time on my cell phone. 3:00. I have to make it to the bar around 3:15. The sounds of the train’s chugging and metal clanging as it sways about is like a metronome slowly putting me to sleep. I look out the window, out into the urban scenery as the sun is just about to finish setting. It’s getting late. I’ve been at work for almost 7 hours. My eyes are getting heavy, my muscles tense and ache, and the overwhelming force of it all is weighing on my whole body. I let out a yawn, though trying to fight sleep before my last stop. However, the weight of my tired body defeats me and I give into sleep.
When I wake up, I hear a loud chiming as the train doors open next to me. Startled, I rise up in a groggy haze and rush out the door. When I’ve completely come to, I look around me and a wave of dread sweeps my body instead of tiredness. A mechanized voice blares, saying, “This is the Pleasantville stop. The next stop is… Bull Ave.”
The doors shut behind me and I look back at the train with a wave of regret. Despite its pleasant title, Pleasantville has been said to be anything but “pleasant”. This particular neighborhood is the usual site for gruesome murders, dangerous criminals, and even some frightening ghost stories. One particularly frightening story I remember from childhood is one about a young woman in her mid twenties waiting by this very stop who was chased by, from what she was able to make out, a strange man who appeared to be holding nails in between each of his fingers as though they were throwing knives . She was able to make it to a police station to report what she had seen, but then her family found her lying in bed with a slit throat and a bloodied nail in her hand the next morning.
After waiting a while, I get this overwhelming feeling that I’m being watched. I look around me to make sure there’s no one next me. I realize upon looking around that this side of the station is not only the wrong side to be waiting on, but also frighteningly dark. I hurry over to the other, brighter side of the station so that I can catch the train that goes in the opposite direction. I wait there a while, when I starts to get very dark. I look around me in the dimly lit station. I look up and notice that there is a round black object above me that, in this dim light, I can just barely identify. A surveillance camera! Praise the Lord! If anything should happen to me, at least there’s a chance someone will watch what’s recorded on the camera and bring it to the police so they can find me!
I check the clock on my phone; it’s 7:15. Already well into the evening.
My whole body starts to feel like someone threw an ice bucket over it for the Ice Bucket Challenge as the autumn wind blows onto it. Suddenly, I see a flicker of light beaming from the top of the stairs. Someone’s coming! At least I won’t just be sitting here all alone…
I see the person with the flashlight, whom it is still too dark to make out, walking towards the steps, albeit very slowly. Then I hear something, probably metal, plunk onto the floor. The person, in an older male voice, mutters, “Shoot… that was my last one…” He points his flashlight in my direction and jumps as if he’s spotted me.
“H-hey! Y-you there. You think you can help me with somethin’ there, kiddo?”
“C’mon, now. Don’t be shy,” the old man says, revealing sort of a southern accent.
I hesitantly go up the stairs.
“What can I help you with, sir?”
“There’s a nail waaay in the corner over there. Could you pick it up for me?” He points to the edge of the stairs, close to the train tracks. That’s a looong way down. I ain’t about to die tonight! I am about to tell the old man to get it himself when I notice he’s missing a leg. Then, grudgingly, I nod my head and hop over the railing. I steady my legs for the long climb down and inch closer and closer. When I reach the platform, I release my arms from the railing, walk over to the edge, and allow myself to drop forward.
I land with a loud thud. On my knees. Ouch…Guess that step was further from the ground than I thought.
I shine my flashlight around the area and search for the nail. Yeah. A nail in the middle of the train tracks. It’s like finding a nail in a haystack. I stumble upon the nail as I walk under the tunnel. I climb back up from the platform and walk over to give it to the old man. But, he isn’t there anymore.
I wave my flashlight around to see if he’s around. Then, I look behind me and see a silhouette of a man. He raises his hands and reveals nails where there should be fingers. He inches closer and closer.
“Thank ya’, kiddo. I’ve been needin’ that…”
In a panic, I drop the nail and run for my life. I run so fast, my lungs can’t keep up. I turn to an alleyway and then see the man with the nails for fingers running at me. How’d he get over there?! He was behind me a minute ago! He swings a pipe at my head and everything turns to black.
Just then, I remember everything. The story I heard as a kid. The Pleasantville train station used to be a mill factory. But, in that mill factory, the workers were treated horribly, even tortured, if the work they produced was not up to par. There was an old man there who was desperate to feed his grandchildren since their parents were too irresponsible to raise them themselves. He specialized in nailing the pieces together. One day, he was tortured to death and killed. Now he haunts that very spot to this day, claiming victims left and right who dare to traverse Pleasantville.