Wicked Whims

The MorningStar Express

Written by P.D. Vance

Not a soul lost since 2033.

Orion eyed the brightly lit display banner with a mixture of awe and disgust. The MorningStar Express is the oldest running express train. From coast to coast, it only took a few hours to circumvent their planet.

Tightly, she clutched her ticket in her palm and surreptitiously glanced around her. In the dead of night, the Falcyon Train Station was a pit of despair. It stank of oil, gasoline and the tinge of body odor wafting from the crumpling cloth seats in the waiting area.

She'd never been here this late, but an urgent telegram roused her from sleep and beckoned her out to her family's train station. Destination? Unknown.

On the telegram were only a few words:

Orion.

MorningStar.

3:02 AM.

-Maeve

Cryptic, but Maeve always was. She rarely spoke more than a handful of words at a time and the vacant expression she favored hardly even left her face. Orion wasn't entirely sure the woman could smile or laugh, but she certainly could get angry and when she did, you'd better watch out.

Closing the neck of her black, knee-length trench coat, Orion scouted the lonely waiting area a second time. Despite the late hour and a pregnant moon hanging over the city, it was decidedly dark. And it crept about the station like an intruder readying to burgle.

At the ticket booth, a man swayed back and forth, keeping time with the jaunty tune echoing from the speakers raised high above her head. His grey-white hair stuck in all directions and his skin was pallid and worn, sagging on his tired frame. And when he gave her the ticket to board her train, his cheerful voice died and caught an edge.

He warned her of a single rule. One rule to ensure she made it to her destination and wasn't in danger of being let off before then.

"Don't lose your ticket, Miss. The devils run wild in the fields."

At first, she loathed to believe him. After all, they hadn't lost a soul aboard the Falcyon in well over 200 years. Besides, her family owned this station and all the trains within it. Not a single conductor in her 34 years had kicked her off a train.

They tried, especially on those rare occasions when her ticket took its own route aboard the whipping wind deluxe. Far too many times in the past had she tucked a hand into her pocket and found her ticket—and herself—wanting. As soon as she took the helm of the family business, the first thing she'd institute was a strict system for keeping track of passengers to nullify the need for paper tickets.

But, as time wore on, something insidious wriggled its way into her brain. And she constantly traced the vapid environment in search of whatever left a bad taste in her mouth. Goosebumps rose on her skin, sweat peaked at the top of her head and her right hand shook no matter what she did.

Perhaps, her mother was right. This place is cursed.

"Mister Salinger?" Orion called, making her way across the blue and white terrazzo floors to the ticket station. He stood as he was before, a wiry grin stretching his lips and his eyelids closed. "Will the train be here soon?"

His head continued to bob for a few more seconds, the beat of the song echoing a bygone long past. Almost no one listened to the music from the early 1900s, but somehow, it poured into this station like lead. The quick tune should put a pep in your step, but it dragged on Orion like fingers sinking into her coat.

By the sun, why wouldn't the song change?

Her pulse jerked as something heavy fell in the distance and skidded, clambering across the floor with sloppy slaps as it skirted to a soppy stop. Giving her back to Salinger, Orion stepped forward and craned her neck, hoping to catch the sound again. Weighed silence stretched beneath the wilting fingers of the winding music, leaving her breathless and afraid.

Sweat wet her palms, and she anxiously swiped them down her jacket. With no luggage, no weapons—not even a purse—she was vulnerable and alone.

"Get it together, O." She murmured to herself, voice low enough to avoid it catching the empty walls to reverberate. "It's just a little noise. Nothing bad ever came from a little noise."

As she straightened her shoulders, a shadow cast across her. It was far taller than hers, humanoid, but remained still. Whimpering, Orion swung around, aiming to strike out with her right hand before they caught it.

Staring down at her, face no longer bearing a bright smile, was Mister Sullivan Salinger. His crinkled black uniform pitched and caught, lightly fluttering as the air conditioning cut on. He kept her fist suspended in the air, wrist imprisoned in the bony claws on his right hand.

"Careful where you swing those arms, Miss." He winked, dropping her arm with a warning squeeze. "Someone might think you're trying to hurt 'em."

"My apologies, Mister Salinger." She righted her trench coat and crossed her arms. "I thought you were a kidnapper or a robber."

"A kidnapper or robber? Ha! You've been watching those silly shows on that television too much. Ain't no robber or kidnappers here at the Falcyon Station at these times. They know better than to start trouble or try hurtin' a conductor."

Her cheeks colored, and she looked down. "It's strange here, in the night, in the dark. So many shadows and sounds and smells. I'm not sure how you work here so late."

"Oh, Miss Falcyon, this is the best shift and I've worked it well over 30 years. Won't catch ol' Salinger nowhere else. I belong here and so do you—for now. I reckon the train'll be here soon to take you where you'll stay."

"30 years? My gosh! My father must pay you a lot for you to stay around."

Mister Salinger bobbed his head and tipped his head. "It's not him who pays me."

Orion wasn't listening.

"Mister Salinger, since you're here, can you tell me what time the MorningStar will arrive? It's 3 AM and I still haven't heard any train horns."

"The MorningStar Express arrives at precisely three strokes past three in the morning, every morning. It's never early. It's never late."

Odd.

"It'll be parked just over yonder, miss," Salinger pointed to the right, where a set of clinking railroad tracks gleamed in the night. Moonlight shined down on them, crafting a deliriously scary trail into the distance. "You'll see it. The ol' MorningStar is the oldest train still in operation, and she's a fine beauty. Engine runs real smooth—Tory makes sure of that."

"Thank you, Mister Salinger."

He nodded and reached up, tipping his hat to Orion. "O' course, Miss Falcyon. Safe travels and don—"

"Don't lose my ticket." Orion cut him off, popping the beige rectangular piece of thick cardstock out of her jacket. Gold lettering slashed across the front, spelling out the name of the train station, schedule, her seat number and the price she paid. It shimmered and shined, catching the dim lighting.

She'd never seen a ticket quite like this one before. Curious, she lifted it to the light and tilted it. Glitter ran through every inch of golden ink.

"Mister Saling—" Her voice cut off as she turned. Mister Salinger wasn't standing near her anymore, nor was he in the ticket booth. Perplexed, Orion moved closer to the old booth, glaring through the ticket plate glass.

Where had he gone?

Stumbling back, Orion turned and came up short. There, resting on the tracks was the largest train she'd ever seen. Massive, black and trimmed in silver, it exuded charm.

When had it arrived? There were no horns, no squeal of the wheels against the tracks and the bumbling bleat of the engine purring went unheard. Something solid settled to the base of her stomach.

"Are you boarding tonight, Miss?"

"Y—yes..." Orion hissed quietly, wetting her lips. There was something... dark about this train. "Is this the MorningStar?"

The young man stepped off the stairs and nodded, adjusting his hat. "Yes ma'am. This is the MorningStar Express."

"Black?"


"Yes. The Falcyon family commissioned her in 2045. Ain't she a beaut?" He knocked on the steel exterior and grinned, wide and sure. "And she's still one of the fastest out there."

Unlike the sleek bullet trains her family kept, the MorningStar was a nod to the past. There was a single circular light at the front of the engine, leading back to the raised nest for the engineer. Four steps, as pitch as the rest of the train, led down from the nest to a wrap-around walkway.

Each car behind the engine was a box featuring six silver edged rounded windows split in half. The Falcyon name slashed across the bottom half of the car in neat calligraphy, spelling from one end to the other. At the rear, the caboose reared up in silver and black.

The young conductor was right. She is a beauty.

"Let's get you aboard, Miss."


Orion offered her hand to the young man, noting his dark brunet hair, thick eyelashes, and the fullness of his pink lips as he raised her up. He motioned to the left, aiming her for the first-class car and stepped back down.

"I guess you're the only soul for tonight."

Uneasy, Orion glared back from where she came. "Yes. No one else has come into the station at all tonight."

"It's no matter, Miss. We'll get you fed and since it'll just be us and a few souls from the Crimton Station, we'll have plenty of time to get to know each other."

Flopping into a seat, Orion closed her eyes and eyed the lavish furnishings. Leather seats, thick carpeting and heavy silver curtains hung over the windows. Made of the finest glass, she could trace the outlines of the entrance turnstile.

With a huff, the engine pulsed and train wheels launched into action. They slipped on the tracks but made no sound. Orion popped her hand into her trench coat, gently running her fingers across the top of her ticket.

Safe and sound. So far, she'd kept close the rule Salinger imposed. Slowly, the edge of her mouth curled up and her eyes glittered, wondering if her father knew the man came to work looking more like a scarecrow than an attendant.

"Good evening, souls..."
Orion raised her head, glaring at the speakers above the windows. Crackling with static, they hissed and popped as the youthful voice of the conductor wafted through.

"Welcome aboard the MorningStar Express. I'll be coming around shortly to stamp your tickets, have them at the ready, but before we continue into this ride, there are rules we examine on this train."

Rules? She didn't know of any extra rules?

"First, don't lose your ticket. If you lose your ticket, you'll be let off of the train wherever the engineer stops us. Second, we ride through the Winged Flower Orchard, don't pick the flowers or they'll never leave you be. Third, at no time should you help the weary travelers who amble along the tracks—you'll be lost, too."

Lost? Travelers? Winged Flower Orchard?

Just precisely where were they going? What was this? A joke? Had they transformed her father's train into some sort of flim-flam?

"And last, but not least, don't mind the eyes. They'll leave you be if you leave them be."

Eyes?

"In any event, the emergency exits are located at the front and rear of your car. Otherwise, enjoy your ride and the sights. My favorites are always the blue clouds, gold silk waterfalls, and flying whales."

Silk waterfalls? Flying whales? Orion could barely believe her ears.

But the conductor's claims were true. A few miles outside of town, the scenery melted into nothingness and twisted, turning into a thing born of fevered dreams. Mouth agape, eyes wide, she pressed closer to the cold windows, eyes affixed to the landscape.

Bold blue grass ran for miles, happily climbing the hills in the distance. Trees scaled the air, aiming for the blue clouds on white trucks and topped with swirling pink folds. There was no sun, but light glowed from the horizon.

Houses peppered the landscape, flinging into view as the train sped past. They were all shapes and sizes, taking on the hue of the swirling tree-tops, stark white, olive green and everything in-between. Where a waterfall spat gold silk, a pair of eyes materialized.

Lazily, they blinked. Almond-shaped with rich chocolate irises, the eyes tore through Orion's mind, filling it with sadness, as their gazes clashed. More and more eyes took to the skies and ground, popping from places Orion never expected.

Soon, they sat on the grasses, floated above the waving wheat and rode on the backs of air-bound humpback whales with green flesh. Abhorred, she turned away, sinking her hands into the plush leather of her seat. Soon, the roll of curtains and the dying of the light brought her eyes back open.

"Hello, again."

"Hello, conductor."

He smiled, exposing oversized white teeth. "Ticket, please?"

"Oh, yes, of course. I have it right here."

But when Orion's fingers looped into her inside pocket, the ticket wasn't there.

"Wha—" Heart hammering, she tore open her jacket and delved deeper, searching all of the pockets, both in and out, to find it. Her breath shortened, coming in deep gasps as she prayed to find it. "I'm sorry—I've seem to have misplaced it."

Where had it gone? She hadn't moved and no one else had come through this car.

"If you cannot provide proof of purchase, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to disembark."

"Disembark?" Orion balked. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"No ma'am," the conductor said. "But it doesn't matter. No ticket, no seat."

"Excuse me! I am the daughter of Raylynn and Maxie Falcyon! We own this train."

"Oh, well, pardon me." He tipped his hat and bowed at the waist. "It's a pleasure to meet the daughter of Raylynn and Maxie Falcyon. Though, I'm sure they would've taught their daughter the importance of a train ticket."

Ears tinted pink, she narrowed her eyes in anger. "I don't appreciate your attitude and neither will my father when he hears of this."

"I imagine he won't care much, Miss. Death tends to do that to people."

"Oh, he will!" Orion stood abruptly and the conductor stepped back, eyes darkening threateningly.
"Do you mean to harm me, Miss Falcyon?" She frowned. "I must warn you, attacking a conductor comes with a heavy sentence."

"I wa—what? I had no intention of harming you!"

His face brightened. "Good to hear, Miss Falcyon. Now, please provide your ticket, or I must ask you to disembark."

"I'm not leaving this train."

"If you do not provide proof of purchase or a ticket, you will leave this train, Miss Falcyon. You can choose to do so of your own volition or you will be escorted out."

"By who?"

"By me." The dark voice behind her carried a heady presence. Gulping, Orion didn't turn around. "Do you have your ticket or not, Miss Falcyon?"

By the time the train came to a stop, the fields of colored grass and waving wheat were far behind them. With a soft sigh, they chugged to a stop near the towering stalks of a cornfield. They swayed and groaned with the wind, flailing wildly as the cold winds cut across them brutally.

Shivering, not from the cold, Orion pulled the belt of her coat taut. Standing at her left was the conductor, cool and calm, his handsome face fixed into a detached mask. Strapped to his waist was a ticket counter with a small weight attached to a jar of slow-boiling silver ink.

"This is your stop, Miss."

"My father is going to fire you as soon as he hears what you've done. This is your last chance to take me back aboard and avoid this fate."

"Your threats mean nothing to me, Miss Falcyon." He dipped a hand into his waistcoat and produced a flat, oval stone. It was thin and white as bone. "Keep this. It'll light your way."

"And if I find my ticket? What happens then?"

He motioned to a train station in the distance. "Show the ticket to the attendant and we'll stop at our next pass-through."

"You're making a mistake."

Shrugging, the conductor buttoned up his waistcoat and tipped his hat. "Have a good night, ma'am. Those who ride the MorningStar Express and find themselves amongst the lavish furnishings clutch close to the cardinal laws. Perhaps you'll understand their importance for your next ride."

"Fuck you."

"Goodbye, Miss Falcyon." He turned and sauntered back to the train, climbing the lowered steps. "May I offer one last word of advice?"

"You kick me off the train to offer me advice?" His right eyebrow raised and he didn't respond to her tart reply. "Fine. What is it?"

"If you see a man with no face, don't stare—run."

"A man with no face? Have you lost your mind?"

"Remember the advice, Miss. Oh, and don't scream, it's easier to find you that way."

Without another word, the conductor disappeared inside of the train and it started up. Running to the side of the train, Orion threw her hands up to grab the side and hoist herself up but slammed into an invisible wall. It cocooned her form before thrusting her roughly into the green cornstalks. Winded, head pounding, she struggled to stay conscious.

Light from the train receded as it churned ahead, letting a veil of darkness unfurl across the land. Darkness encroached eagerly, gliding over and delving within the stalks with greedy delight. Frightened and bleeding, Orion fumbled across the ground.

Beside her lay the stone from the conductor. It glowed like a lantern, lighting up the narrow gap where she rested. Stalks feathered around her, rustling as another breeze carved its way through the field.

"Okay. Just head for the station in the distance and stay away from the faceless man." Scoffing, she twisted a lock of her black hair and groaned. "That's the most ridiculous advice I've ever heard."

Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Wrathfully, she yanked the stone from the ground and aimed it around, peering through the pockets of darkness to ensure no one was close to her. A murder of crows croaked and their wings took flight as she lost the battle with her fear and took off in a dead sprint.

The stalks clawed at her clothes and tears stole down her face. Sweat prickled at her neck, trailing down her spine until it met the line of her jeans. Feather-light footsteps fluttered behind her, matching her speed and determination.

Emotion clogged her throat and she whimpered, lengthening her stride and running until her legs hurt and her lungs protested. Still—she didn't stop. Not when a hysterical laugh broke the night. Not when the stone nearly slipped from her grip. Not when a soft melodic voice called her name.

Orion ran.

She ran until the corn stalks split and the rows widened, leaving behind a trail anchoring the train tracks to a house on a hill. It lorded from the top, three stories holding wrap-around terraces. Lights enveloped the inside behind heavy curtains. Shadows, bent and crude, haunted each room.
Torn between going to the house or running for the station, Orion paused on the road. She weighed her choices, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip as she bounced on her toes. Her pursuer no longer ran, and the steps she heard didn't ring.

Cautiously, she took a step toward the house and stopped. At her back, the corn crackled. Gasping, she seized her jacket, praying nothing was behind her.

Counting under her breath, Orion waited until the beat of the number three before she made a circle. A man stood in the distance. Dressed in a suit, he was barefoot and far taller than the stalks. He was thin—too thin—with long white fingers, a narrow neck and held a long stick in his right hand.

Sobbing, Orion whispered a prayer. Her heart stampeded, slamming rapidly against her chest as her eyes continued to rise. Frozen, she could do nothing but hope she hadn't met the dreaded faceless man.

His head, oddly shaped with a boiler hat on top, lifted to expose his face. Horrified, she scrambled backward and fell, knocking her head against the ground again. Where his face should be, scarred skin covered every inch.

He had no eyes.

He had no nose.

He had no mouth.

In place of his features were deep-set scars crisscrossing his skin from his chin to the hat on his head.

Faceless.

He was faceless.

Just like the conductor said.
Whimpering, Orion rolled into a ball and scooted further away. His head tipped and he stepped forward, big stick clutched in his hand. Paralyzed, she watched as he came toward her and raised it above his head.

Is this how I die?

She didn't have time to consider her last thoughts. The stick was soaring downward, aiming directly for her head, but instead of striking her, it battered the reaching arms of a stalk. The cornfield is alive!

Green stalks, once Orion thought twisted with the wind, shot toward her hungrily. They raged against their roots, knocking the ground with powerful strikes. The ground rumbled ruefully, shaking and quaking, underneath her. Glancing at the faceless man, she rolled out of the way as a massive corn stalk shot out of the dirt.
It was nearly the same height as the faceless man, covered in ears of corn. They shifted, battling back the faceless man and his horde. Like ants, more faceless men poured in to fight off reaching arms.

Recklessly, Orion rose to her shaky feet and took off toward the train tracks. They called for her, taunting her from the distance. She looked back, nearly tipping as she caught sight of the first faceless man in pursuit.

Clenching her teeth, she ran harder, aiming for the tracks and hopefully to find the station beyond. More stalks reached out, lashing out dangerously close to her feet and ankles, but Orion refused to stop.

Adrenaline pumped through her veins. Fear long gone, she fought to stay steps ahead of the man ripped straight from nightmares. Growls, moans and the stench of rotten flesh assaulted her nostrils. Undeterred, she continued on her way until a war cry rang out and something struck the faceless man, knocking him to the ground.

Sprawled out and motionless, the faceless man lost. Over him, a man wearing a dark cape stood. He was taller than the stalks but shorter than the faceless man with dark boots and long, white-blond and black hair.
"Are you alright, Miss?"

Orion skidded to a stop and held up her fists. She couldn't fight very well, but she'd be damned before she let this man take her down.

"Who are you?"

"They call me Zem."

Cocking her head to the side, she tasted his name on her lips. "Zem. Is that short for something?"

"Not exactly." He answered, turning to face her. A handsome man stood before her, dressed completely in black. Armor covered his chest and thighs, leaving his shins to be covered by his thick boots. Silver studs crisscrossed his chest, holding what Orion assumed were weapons under his cloak. "But you can call me Zem."

"What do you want?"

"Did you come from the train?"

His features, fine and well-made, brought a shiver to Orion. Dark eyes over a straight nose, high cheekbones and a full mouth made her swoon. From the width of his shoulders and his height, she had to guess he was nearly a foot and a half taller than her.

"Yes. What do you want?"

"Many things, Miss." He paused, studying her. "Your eyes are exquisite."

Blushing to the roots of her hair, Orion broke eye contact and muttered. "Thank you, Zem."


"May I interest you in a spot of tea?"

"Tea?"

"Yes," he pointed up the hill, "there's my home and you're certainly welcome."

Longingly, Orion stared at the house and then back at the train station. It was much closer, offering a distinct look at the turrets and four stories. It was a black shadow casting across the acres of empty land around it.

"I promise I'll take you to the station myself when you're ready."

Reluctantly, Orion nodded. "Alright."


As she stepped over the faceless man, he awoke and reached out, shaking his head violently and until Zem kicked him. With a dull thud, he collapsed into the dirt.

"They're diabolical. You're lucky I saw you running from my home."

But as Orion neared his home, she couldn't determine how he saw her. His windows, though wide and open, didn't offer any help with seeing. The field was dark, and she was much smaller than the threatening stalks. His home, dated on the outside, but a modern marvel dressed in monochromatic colors on the inside, was gorgeous.

His couch, white and black, was square and had large cushions. Orion relaxed as she sat, shimmying deep into the comfort. Zem sat across from her, thoughtful eyes watching.

"What are those things?"

"The corn?" Smirking, he poured her a cup of steaming tea. "They help the environment."

"And you planted them?"

"Not exactly." He said vaguely. "Tell me about yourself."

While she stared, the faceless man rose from his position. Raising his left hand, he pointed at a distracted Zem and shook his head. Then, he mimed a knife slashing his neck.

"Hello? Are you hearing me?"

"I—I'm sorry. I was distracted. What did you ask me?"

"I wanted to know more about you."


Laughing nervously, Orion shook her head. "I'd really rather get back to the train. I have somewhere to be."

"Where?"

"A friend told me to take the train and I need to find her."

"Surely she wouldn't mind you being a tiny bit late because you've made a friend?"

"I'm sure she would."

"Stay. I insist." His smile, once warm and inviting, turned brittle and detached. To hide her shaking hands, Orion stuffed them into the pockets of her jacket and rushed to his door. He was right back her, easily keeping up with his long stride.

"I really must advise you to go back inside, Orion."

She paused. "How did you know my name?"

"That's how you pronounce it, right?" He held up a piece of paper and her stomach dropped.

"How did—how did you get my ticket?"

"Well, Miss Falcyon, you should've followed my advice and not lost your ticket. O' course, you're the bosses' daughter and all, don't want to be bothered with a little ol' ticket."

Salinger.

Bolting away from him, Orion tore down the hill, away from him and his house. She tripped and tumbled, rolling until she met the bottom. Crying out, she stumbled to her feet.

Growls and groaning echoed around her and from the snapping jaws of the corn stalks came rotted bodies. They threw against one another with foaming mouths and empty eye sockets, leaving blood and entrails in their wake. The wretched stench of corpses perfumed the air, bringing tears to Orion's eyes.

"Changed your mind?"

Snatching away from Zem, she shook her head. "No. I'll be leaving now."

"I don't think you'll be going anywhere, Miss Falcyon."

"What are those things?"

"Hey! Don't be like that! Despite their deaths, they're beautiful. Just worse for wear is all. You'll understand, see. The longer you're here. They'll protect us and keep us safe."

She didn't want to hear another word. All Orion wanted was to wake up in her warm bed. "They look disgusting! They look like... like zombies!"

He laughed boisterously. "You're one to talk!"

"Excuse you?!" She shouted, hands on hips.

"Look at yourself, Miss Falcyon. You're practically one of us. Forgotten—left alone—never to be seen again and soon your eyes will wander the land, too. Hoping to find a lost traveler whose body you can haunt. Unless you'd like to join me—that is."

Orion took the palm-sized mirror from Zeke and flipped it open. Stunned, she raised a hand to trace the contours of her face. In the mirror, someone else stared back.

Her hazelnut skin was translucent, white and wispy like the clouds on a sunny day. The dark eyes staring back at her belonged to her, but they were lined with thick, long black lashes and her hair was a mess of floating curls behind her head. Blood clung to the left side of her face, steadily dripping down from her temple and mouth.

What happened to her?

"Is this—is this some kind of sick joke?"

"What?" Zeke asked, eyebrows furrowing. "Why would you think this is a joke?"

"I'm no—why is my skin weird and where are my clothes?"

Slowly, his features relaxed, and his eyes bulged. "Oh, they didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"Nothing." His head shook. "Why are you out here?"

"I lost my ticket and the conductor wouldn't see reason. When my father learns he threw me off the train, he'll lose his job, his pension, and anything else he holds dear."

"Your father's money and influence mean absolutely nothing here and didn't they tell you to never lose your ticket?"

"Yes," Orion said, stuffing a hand through her hair. "But someone must have pickpocketed me or something. I couldn't find it anywhere."

He peered at her questioningly, "what was your destination?"

"I don't know. The ticket said, end of the line."

"You're in the wrong place, Orion."

"Obviously!"

"No, you don't understand. You're in the wrong place. Your soul doesn't belong here. The dead only have one destination and should they get lost, they end up in places like this—like mine. In my care."

"And where is here?"

He grinned then, exposing two rows of crudely sharpened, bright white teeth. It transformed his face, bringing dark shadows where his cheeks sank in and eyebrows raised. Frightened, Orion stumbled back, but her foot caught and she fell, landing hard on her back.

"Here is where the torturer becomes the tortured, but since you don't rightfully belong here, I can't touch you."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you better run, girl. The stalks and the ruined fleshies here are hungry and every time they eat you alive, you'll return here, next to me. But be careful, you come back one too many times and you'll remain here forever—and it'll be my turn to eat."

Then, he reached up and grasped around his chin. With a crack, his face opened, leaving a gaping hole. In his hand, he held up a mask; the features deadened and unmoving.

When he spoke again, the mask moved, lips spilling chilling words.

"You should've listened to the conductor, girl. When you see the faceless man, run."