8The Last Train
Alone on the train, Dean gazed out the window at the passing city lights. He was coming home from a dinner party, the mix of creamy pasta and whiskey not sitting well in his stomach. From his reflection in the scratched glass panel, he could tell he looked as sick as he felt.
Still it hadn't stopped the woman from the next carriage smiling at him. If he wasn't so ill he would have returned it. While she appeared to be on her way home from work, Dean couldn't help but think young girls shouldn't ride trains at this hour.
The whiskey still on his breath, he rested his head against the window, watching the distant lights of the city glitter across the river. He felt like he could fall asleep, the vibrations taking his mind off his upset stomach. Eyes nearly closed, something caught his attention.
A bright sign whipped past the window. As the next went past he noticed it belonged to East Park station. The last train of the night, Dean was sure it didn't run express. Suddenly confused, he turned away from the window, hoping the train wouldn't skip his station.
The fluorescent lights made it all too clear that he was alone. He didn't mind, he'd prefer to be left than be confronted by beggars or ticket wardens. The glass doors in front of him showed the movement of the cars along the tracks. Like a snake, the sections worked their way along the lines, twisting from station to station. A shot of red suddenly covered the door.
Dean sat blinking a few times, trying to make sense of it. Still the bright red film remained. He found himself first shuffling over toward the aisle and then standing. Legs weak and stomach curdling, it was all he could manage to stand up. The handles of the door turned, and with only a moment's delay opened. A ghastly sight left Dean wishing to be looking out the window once more.
A gray man stood harshly lit in the open doorway, a white shirt torn across his chest. The only features on his face were two lidless eyes, no more than giant maggots spinning in the sockets, and his mouth...
Dean surrendered his vision to the fang lined grin which split the beast's abdomen. How a mouth could exist here, he didn't know, but it was there, a foot wide and chewing a large pink bone. Dean felt his legs shift under his weight, doing what was necessary to balance the rest of his body.
One footstep found the creature in the light a little more, enough for the flash of silver to catch Dean's eye. A cleaver, a giant straight razor was at his side, the mouth on his abdomen letting the half chewed femur fall onto the floor. A clean slice had removed the leg bone, and the teeth had removed all but a few small pieces of muscle. Cold washed over the Dean, the cool air shivering fear into his body. He took some steps of his own, quickly running to the door to the carriage behind him.
Like oil spitting in a hot pan, he could hear the steps of evil slapping his eardrums as they followed. A bubbling accompaniment; the massive maw was gargling blood and letting it fall onto the plastic floor below. Dean hit the handle of the glass door until it opened for him, repeating for the door behind it. His heart beat like a snare drum as he sat in the airlock like room between carriages. Only a moment passed as he waited for the gates to slide open.
He turned about again, spying the white eyes of the beast staring him down. It kept a steady pace, the knife bouncing the horrible train lights around. Walking backward down the centre aisle, a head of brown hair passed to his right, this time offering no grin. The confusion on Dean's face spread to the girl as he backed away.
Ding.
His head hit the metal handles which sat near the exit of the train, leaving him on his knees, Alcohol cushioning the blow. Footsteps continued up the train and red carpet seeped under the doors. The young woman near the door suppressed a laugh, watching the inebriated man on the ground. She jumped when the doors opened, turning her head so fast it might have snapped off.
The scent of death came first, followed by the fiendish smile which produced it. A high pitched squeal caught its ear, the featureless eyeballs whirring in their sockets. Her brown hair bounced about her shoulder blades as she moved from her seat. A mistake anyone would have made, the thick blade slicing just below her shoulder.
Her skin paler than the bone which now lay exposed on the floor, she fell screaming madly. A puddle of her own red cells formed around her, grossly bright under the flickering lights. Something heavier than his dinner formed in Dean's stomach, his heart and lungs perhaps. Blood oozed from her stump, turning her blue blouse to rust.
The monster bent own and claimed the detached appendage, ignoring the woman from which he'd removed it. The scent of flesh had already started to waft through the air, a grotesque green tongue licking the lipless teeth around it. The gray skinned arm greedily stuffed the twisted wing into its stomach mounted mouth. The pointy teeth split the skin easily and soon spatters and patters were gracing the black plastic flooring. Words filled the void as the gobbling sound of bones snapping subsided.
Pleas for help took Dean's eyes off the beast. A face of many reds and purples looked up at him from under the tangled mass of dark hair. Tears welled up as her remaining digits extended for salvation. Dean didn't hesitate, crawling forward enough to grip her hand. No sooner had her soft white hands brushed his, than the beast swung its knife again.
Dean was close enough to hear her neck crack sickeningly, the cut not so clean and effortless this time. He felt her once tight grip die as the sawing motion continued the removal of her head. Unaware of his surging heartbeat and heavy breaths, he fell back onto his elbows, watching the brute grab a fist full of dark brown locks. The head hung sickeningly in front of the mouth, the slug-like tongue caressing her beautiful features. First her cute little nose and then her soft cheek. Dean closed his eyes, not wishing to see any more.
His eyes were soon forced open by a wet smack and crunch, something awful fell between his thighs; the head. Her eyes stared back in a look of hope, caught in the moment when Dean had tried to save her. Looking too long turned them into a horrified expression, the pupils like pin holes.
He looked up at what he thought would be his death. Instead he saw nothing. Nothing but the remains of a demonic brute's cruel work. No signs of the beast remained, having spared the intoxicated fool instead of the innocent. The sensation of cream and liquor returned, guilt layered on top. He turned to his left and let the bile flow from his lips. The splash on the plastic floor and the stench of stomach acid could never weaken the acts that had preceded it.
Once he was empty he lay on his back, shocked and dead inside. A tear grew in the corner of his eye, only dislodging once he turned his head to the side. His vision clouded as he focused on one last thing before he slipped into unconsciousness; the pale little finger in his pool bloody vomit.