The Platform

It was darker than it should’ve been. Probably courtesy to the mostly dead light beams along the tunnel ceiling. Or maybe it had something to do with the platform. The air felt heavier, too. Almost damp. Not with moisture, but something just as clinging. Something that took residence upon my flesh like a second skin. An almost viscous substance I couldn’t quite feel enough to wipe off.

The platform, on the other hand, was just as disturbingly off. On either end, where the old, ugly and faded green tiles arched the openings for the train, were void of anything at all. The tracks seemed to disappear into the nothingness, begging the question if they led anywhere at all. Looking closer, the metal tracks appeared a little worse for wear. They were filled with missing chunks of steel, nails and wooden pieces missing entirely, and a healthy coating of a dark substance that I guessed was rust. What I hoped was rust.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been waiting. Or what I was doing before this. Glancing behind me, the splintering oak bench creaked beneath me as I shifted, echoing in the vast chasm. I was completely, utterly alone, save for a single individual over near the west end of the tunnel. I almost missed them. They looked to nearly blend in with the gnawing emptiness just a short distance from them.

Placing my hands on my knees to stand, I felt the cheap polyester trousers, reminding me to get better ones soon. Hesitating, I noticed my knees felt different, too. Bonier, almost. Too thin. Another thing is wrong here.

Moving my legs, they didn’t want to respond to me. It felt as though I was trudging through water on the way to the stranger. Murky, dark, vegetation filled water. Something akin to a bog or some form of quagmire. The squeaky, worn out leather of my shoes announced my presence as I continued. The only sound aside from low buzzing flies and distant humming of the cylindrical lamps above.

The man was well dressed. Very well dressed. He wore a black trim suit, tailored well to his body. The darker complexion with matching features and hair spoke to someone of good comings. Someone who shouldn’t be here. He looked young, too. Far too young for the slim black cane he held with his right hand. It looked more like an accessory as he bore no or very little weight on it. His black Panama hat seemed at odd for the rest of the outfit, but he made it work, adding to the overall theme of eeriness from this platform. I wondered why he was so dressed up this early. Was it early? Or maybe evening? When did I get here again? Where was I going?

Stopping a few feet from the stranger, I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, sir, do you know when the next train is coming?” My raw and cracking voice echoed lightly off the back wall of the tunnel platform. When had I last spoken?

Dark, charming eyes met mine. They were a warm chocolate brown. No, mahogany, or maybe an old aged bourbon. “You’ve been waiting.”

The lower, rich tones of his voice reverberated across the voided train tracks. The sound didn’t echo like my steps and voice had. Yet another thing off here.

“Yes. Do you know when the next train is arriving? I don’t want to be late.” Where was I going? To visit a relative? Work? Traveling alone? Maybe on the way to get new trousers. Yes, that must be it.

The strange man adjusted his cane, turning to face me fully. This man was without a doubt from a good family. His suit was far more immaculate than I had originally thought. With his straight white teeth, broad smile, well ironed tie and the pristine white shirt behind it, there was no other explanation.

“Where are you going?” The man asked, voice again not echoing.

He hadn't answered me twice now. Perhaps I was too much of a stranger. But his question did prompt my thoughts. “I’m going to get new trousers.” That must be it. That’s why I’m at this station.

He smiled, eyes looking darker now. Maybe closer to a deep carob or burnt hickory. The seemingly normal gesture was more unnerving than calming.

He turned back, staring again into the nothingness void where those tracks disappeared.

I moved a little closer, extending my right hand. “I’m Elias Wittle, sir. Pleased to meet you.” The smile on my face was forced. I felt the skin stretch, tighter than it should’ve been. I think my lips split a little, feeling sudden wetness there. Were they bleeding?

The stranger looked back to me, extending a dark hand to my own. His grip was strong, well rehearsed like he’s done this thousands upon thousands of times.

After a moment I took my hand away, noting he hadn’t. Nor had he stopped looking at me with that unnerving smile. With my hand free, I realized the lack of warmth. I hadn't felt any heat coming from him. No coldness, either. Just nothing.

The man cleared his throat quietly. “I am Scythe, nice to meet you as well.”

My brows furrowed. That was his name? Maybe his siblings were named “Wheat” or “Rake”. You never quite know what kind of names other families will come up with. Or perhaps it was a family name.

Licking my lips, I tasted a little copper, reminding me of the penny in my left pocket I had forgotten to take out. I tried another smile, having to force the contortion of my face to supply the image. “Do you know when the next train is coming? Or where everyone else is? Or perhaps the time?” I had too many questions that needed answering, but I had a plan. Get on the train, buy new trousers, go home. Simple as that.

“You’re not buying new trousers today.” Scythe replied, his eyes, a syrupy shade of brunette umber, doing a slow roll over my body.

Embarrassment heated my face, the only heat I could feel. It was shameful to be conversing with such a well dressed man when my clothes were in this state. How had they gotten so dirty, anyway?

Taking a breath to reply, lungs feeling stiffer than before with the movement, I paused. I had mentioned earlier to him buying the new trousers, but I had thought he ignored me as he still did not answer me about the train. Why was he so certain I would not be shopping today? “Why do you say that? Is the train going to be delayed?”

Scythe turned his body fully to look at me now. Those eyes were without a doubt darker. They looked to be nearing a shining onyx, bearing little resemblance to the warm brown mere minutes ago. “Where are you going?”

Annoying filled my system. Maybe I should just go back to my bench and wait for the train seeing as Scythe clearly wasn’t going to be of any help. “As I said before, I am going to get new trousers. Do you know what time the train is arriving?”

Sudden noise got my attention. I turned my head to the east tunnel entrance, neck cracking with the movement. The sound got louder, reminding me of an engine and the clanking of wheels spinning along the tracks. The train was coming.

Wanting to say goodbye and leave things respectful, I turned back to Scythe. What I was standing before me was the same man, but wrong. Scythe’s trim black suit was now onyx robes. They shifted in the nonexistent breeze. The black hood, mirroring that of the endless void next to him, was pulled high above his head, allowing me to see his face.

Scythe smiled, the train getting louder. Closer.

Staggering a step back, I felt the lagging in my limbs more now. They didn’t seem to want to respond at all. That smile, those teeth, were sharper. Whiter than bone and looked more menacing than any gallows or a firing squad.

Scythe’s entire eye was black now. Blacker than the void surrounding us. Hungry, greedy, almost. He stared at me, tilting his head slightly to the right, the movement generating a loud popping sound. “Where are you going?”