The Horror Day Anthology by Martin Livings (ed)

Author:Martin Livings (ed) [Livings, Martin]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-12-09T06:30:47+00:00

“Overheard on a train?”

Rhidian Rhead

‘Yeah! I always sit here’. The man said.

With a wave of his meaty middle aged hands he indicate the area of the end of the train carriage with its two long and facing bench seats on each side. He was speaking to Natalie, the young office worker who was sitting at the far end of the opposite bench seat. She was grateful for the width of the carriage between then, as the man’s hand gestures had spread but not to greatly dissipate the not unpleasant, and vaguely flowerlike smell of someone who been drinking heavily a fair few hours before. Natalie was dressed in a practical and drip-dry sort of office get up, suitable for the office and suitable for going out on a Friday night? Her arms were bare to the shoulder and she was wearing a dark red vinyl top and a short dark skirt of leather like material. The sort of getup that any messy office mishap could just be wiped off, without any fear of leaving a permanent stain. She was however wearing rubber gloves. Did this suggest an aversion to being touched, or to touching what other people had touched, or perhaps a desire for privacy? The talking man showed no sign of noticing this as he continued to speak.

She was sitting so quietly, avoiding eye contact and seemed to be desperately trying not to be noticed. Only a few more stops to go now, Natalie thought. ‘They call this the ‘Vestibule’. The man said to Natalie. He took every care to speak slowly and to correctly pronounce each of the word’s easy to slur syllables, as if to show he was a man of some education and not just a pissed passenger to be mutely endured on a Friday night.

He continued, in a more confidential tone, ‘From here you can see everyone who comes and goes’. ‘Who goes up and who goes down’.

The motion of his hands now seemed to mimic the path of the new passengers who had just joined the train, as they decided to go and try for a seat on the train’s upper or lower deck. ‘And If you don’t like the look of them’, He said, alcohol completely insulating him from any sense of irony, as his hands indicating the door to the passage between carriages. ‘You can get up and try the next carriage’.

Not waiting for any response from the woman he continued. ‘I always sit in the vestibule now, coz you never forget that first time’. ‘That time when you are tipped off first by the pale blood drained look on the faces of the passengers facing you’. ‘That silence’.

‘That silence but for the faint slow drip, drip, drip of someone else’s life blood that lets you know that there’s an Axe murderer on the train and he’s standing right close behind you’. ‘Axe in one hand and in the other probably a head held up by the hair and still bleeding. Blood and gore up to his elbows and plastered all over his face that stupid cock sucking mad grin.

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