Ghostbusters 3

Subway.

Each of Tom's footsteps echoed in the dark tunnel of the New York underground subway system. His torch barely illuminating his path ahead, each further footstep taking him further and further into the darkened recess of the underground, tom looked around mumbling under his breath he reached for the walkie talkie on his belt, lifting it to his mouth.

'It should be around here, I can't see it though?' Tom groaned.

He lifted his finger off the button awaiting a reply, the reply that came was a inaudible mixture of static and the occasional word Tom could not make out, slipping the walkie talkie back on his belt he walked forward, his long arms on his gangly frame reaching out to the old walls that surrounded him. Then the light of his dimming torch bounced off some silver in the corner, silver that had seen better days, silver that was slowly but surely losing the battle against the rust.

Tom walked towards it, a old silver box, pulling on the handle Tom ripped the door open and inside a small tap, Tom turned it, and as he did he could feel the force, the vibrations of the water coming back on. He smiled to himself, slamming the door behind him.

'You can hear me can't you Thomas?'

Tom looked around, looked at his walkie talkie,he spun round shining his ever dulling light in each corner, every crevice of the tunnel.

'Thomas, the poem, read the poem' the voice boomed once more.

Thomas continued to look around, before moving forward out of the darkness, his pace picking up with each and every step.

'You think you can run, Thomas? You are my chosen one'

Tom continued to run, his legs barely able to carry him, until he tripped, falling over a piece of train track, his hands in front of himself, his face, his hands grazed. Tom pushed himself up, the voice gone, shaken Tom started to run again, into the light of the train station up ahead.

Tom lived with his dad on the outskirts of Manhattan, since the passing of his mother 12 years ago. Toms father had struggled with her passing, and since Tom was living alone at the time he decided to more back with his dad to support him. Tom had always tried to be what his dad called 'normal' but no matter how hard he tried he was a loner, his first and only girlfriend at the tender age of sixteen dumped him after a mere four months because he was as she and her friends was weird.

It'd been two weeks since heard the voices, two weeks of wondering if he was going insane like his great aunt Sarah. Aunt Sarah was one of the kinder people in his family, this was despite the fact she thought her womb contained a parallel universe that she would talk about to anyone that would listen and those that had no interest at all, last he saw of her he was seven after that he heard she had been placed in a mental asylum just north of Boston, Tom was unsure whether she was still alive or not as his father refused point blank to speak about her.

Tom sat in his father's basement that had became in past years a solace away from everything, he had a bedroom upstairs, but that was largely untouched this year as he spent more and more time in here, the only time he left it was when he was working for the
Local railway company. The television blared with old re runs of 1980's TV shows about people that were not meant to be solving murders yet found them self doing so anyway.

Tom flicked through the channels looking for something better to watch, something, anything better than this, yet there was nothing except TV shows he had no interest in or he had seen numerous times before so Tom flicked off the TV.

Tom leaned to the side of him, his hand rummaging for a pillow, grabbing one, he lifted his feet onto the sofa and rested his head. Dozing off, sleeping.

'So, where was he then?' Blared the TV.

Tom jumped from the sofa, staring at the TV, the TV he had just turned off. He walked over to the plug socket and pulled the old plug out placing it on the cold wooden floor. Tom walked back to the sofa, still staring at the TV, still wary. He lifted his feet onto the sofa once more and tried to get some sleep, this time though it wasn't as easy this time his heart was racing from the scare of a turned off TV blaring at him, until eventually his heart beat slowed, his eyelid's became heavy and he dozed off.

'If I were a betting man, this horse will be today's winner' boomed the TV.

Tom once again jumped from the sofa, his heart racing faster than before, so fast it felt it would burst from his chest. Tom stumbled round the room, holding the edge of the sofa to steady himself, tripping over his own feet. Tom looked over to the TV set, to the plug, the plug still on the cold wooden floor. Toms eyes darted back to the TV screen and the horse racing that was on. Sweat poured from his head, his hands now clammy. Tom walked backwards, his feet feeling for the base of the stairs of the cellar his gaze still on the television watching the man on TV talk about his horse in the upcoming race.

'Of course my horse can win, he comers from a amazing line of winning horses' whispered the man in a gentle, soothing Irish accent.

The man on the TV continued to speak before slowly looking down the camera.

'I know you can hear me Thomas' the man smiled, still with his Irish accent, a accent that was no longer soothing to toms ears. The mans face seemed to stare at Tom, as tom ran up the stairs, the mans eyes seemingly following him as he did, before tom ran out of the front door and into the cold evening air.