I heard all the warnings from everyone for months.

“Don’t walk down dark streets!” , “Carry protection with you always!” , “Never walk after dark!”, “Don’t walk home alone!”

I shake my head and laugh to myself, don’t walk home alone? How was I supposed to find someone to walk me home from work every single evening? They were all just crazy old folks who never dared leave that dusty small town. They tried to scare me away from moving to the big city, but at almost thirty years old I was itching for change. I guess moving in the dead of winter wasn’t my best idea though. It is almost full night at only seven P.M. and the temperature plummets with the setting sun.

I pull my thick black beanie to cover my ears and shoved my leather gloved hands into my green snow jacket pockets. My leather boots crunch over the black slush that was leftover from this mornings ice storm. The wind and snow died down, but the air still held fast to the bitter frost. I wiggled my nose, hoping to get some feeling back as I come to the entrance of the old subway station. Trains quit using this stop years ago I was told, but still used as a reprieve from the unforgiving elements outside. I thought about the blissful warmth down underground, away from the threat of fresh snow. Just a shortcut I told myself. A few minutes through the old station and I would be home, and that much warmer.

The cement of the stairs leading underground are slick with ice and I instinctively reach my hand out for support against the railing. Only when I try and slide my hand along, something sticky holds my gloved hand in place. I peel it away and in the dim light am only able to make out a syrup looking substance. With a disgusted groan I take off my gloves and shove them into a pocket, at least I will be out of this cold soon. I make my way down the rest of the steps and slip through the gap in the metal gate put up to keep people like me out. I’m not here for trouble though, just a short cut.

I try and let my eyes adjust to the abrupt darkness, but end up grabbing my phone to use as a flashlight. When the light clicks on I am able to see old metal benches pushed up against the wall, cement pillars evenly placed alongside the track labeling the different stops and schedules for the long forgotten train. Dust flitters through the light from my phone, turning everything into a haze that is difficult to see through. I push forward through the station. I stay far away from the platform, not wanting to accidentally take a tumble into deeper darkness. I can hear water dripping somewhere from old pipes and melting snow, a slow methodical _drip, drip, drip. _The air underground is thicker and warmer causing my limbs to tingle with the sudden temperature change.

“Don’t walk home alone” I say sarcastically out loud with a soft laugh. None of those old coots have any idea what they are talking about, the city is nowhere near how they described it to me.

I am so lost in thoughts of a warm bubble bath and leftover pizza, I almost miss the scrape of metal on metal. My body screeches to a halt before I consciously make the decision to stop moving. I hold my breath hoping to hear it again, to be able to place it to a reasonable source. My blood rushing through my ears almost muffles the next scrape, but I hear it unmistakably coming from my left side. The side leading to the drop down onto the tracks. My hands tremble causing the light to dance along with the dust motes turning the scene in front of me into a blurry mess. Almost against my own will again, I begin to inch towards the ledge, the rubber soles of my boots soft against the worn concrete. It comes again, the scraping, like nails dragged along an old chalk board right beneath me. I just have to tilt my phone down and I can see…

A sack. Or at first that is what my brain conjures up. It looks like an old sack laid along the center of the train tracks, only with further inspection am I able to process what I am staring at. It’s a man. Matted dark hair veils his face leading down to a body much to thin to have been of any use when he was alive. There is a dark pool around him that spallaters up both sides of the wall below. What I assumed to be a sack is a long sleep gown that has been torn to shreds barely hanging on to the skeleton beneath it. I feel a deep vibration start in my core and barrel up through my throat. Just as I open my mouth to release the scream I hear a new sound. Someone chuckling to themselves. I whip around thrashing my light in every direction. But it only disorients me makes me dizzy. The low chuckle turns into a horrible high pitched laugh. As if the owner of the sound has been told the best joke they’ve heard. The laugh bubbles loud and unhinged seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. I turn in what I think is the direction to get out of here, but my foot slips on the slick floor and I start to fall backwards. I land hard on my back and begin to gasp for breath that I no longer have. Before I can try and get myself sat up, movement directly to my right has my attention. I slowly turn my phone light in the direction of the shadow and am met with a monster out of a horror film. The man, I assume, has facial hair so thick and dark I can hardly make out where his eyes are supposed to be-if he had any. Endless black pits stare directly into my soul as he stands to full height. Well over six feet tall his thin frame looks no better than the dead man next to me. Thin as a rail I can count every one of his ribs as he shuffles closer. His hands end in horrible cracked yellow nails that have been sharpened into talons. They drip with a thick dark liquid that causes a dripping noise that I assumed was water earlier. The last thing I hear before the phone is knocked from my hand and I scream is,

“Don’t walk home alone”