ParanormalCommunity is hosting a magazine for Halloween!
...or do I mean #WATTOWEEN .
Come read stories and poems gathered from the Collective of the Wattpad Paranormal Research Society, along with featured columns:
*HORRORscopes for October!
* Dre...
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The Agents of the WPRS write a compendium of supernatural creatures.
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RAT KING
"Of all things I've seen done, you must forgive me Magistra, this is the most impressive trick of the WPRS so far. When they told me you had a sweet hook up with the MTA, I expected a couple of free MetroCards, but this..."
Magistra concealed a smile; she liked Ollie. It had been a while since the Director of the Board went out on the field with someone as green as the agent in training. Old gods forgive her if she were to consider sending him with anybody else, not on this mission. She was quick to correct her trainee on the assumption that they were alone.
"If you believe these subway carts are empty, Oliver, you still have some time left in the oven... Listen; look."
The E line advanced through Queens, empty to the eyes of all. Around them, the screeching sound of metal against metal, free of signs of human interference. Magistra leaned back, her head against the window. Even if a third of her face was covered by a scarf, small puffs of white danced around her as she breathed. Ollie cursed a bit, teeth chattering. The drop of temperature being a clear sign.
Ghosts of commuters past rushed around them. Some not even spirits of the dead, but trails of energy; snippets of life left behind after years of steady routes. Gray apparitions they were, faceless, always in a hurry. The more Magistra fiddled with the veil between perception and reality, the more tangible the presences became.
Ollie caught a whiff of perfume and felt the soft brush of a city post against his cheek. The gentleman reader seemed unfazed by the young man's appearance: worn out jeans and leather jacket. His worried eyes, made slate gray by time and memory, kept reading headlines of Wall Street collapsing under the weight of October, 1929.
The subway stopped, and all memories dissipated with the sudden tremble underneath their feet; both Magistra and Ollie taken a little off their guard by that last, stubborn try of the machine to keep going wherever oil, metal and speed find a final rest.
Queensbridge and 21st was equally silent; the station closed under pretense of repairs. As trainee and director stepped out of the cart, they were greeted by half a dozen officers, both of NYPD and MTA.
"We are trusting the authorities better judgement here." Siebens, the ranking officer, a worn lieutenant missing both a close shave and a cup of coffee, extended a hand to Magistra. The man couldn't help react to a firmer grip than expected with a tight, acknowledging smile. The lieutenant valued strength and though the young man seemed hesitant, the scarf clad woman had it in droves. As they walked towards the center of the station, the officer confided:
"You have government clearance ma'am, but honestly, we expected Homeland Security. It took us quite a bit of wrapping our heads around whatever it is that you do, and well, now I'm just plain curious. Just for you to know, Miss... Magistra? There are no rookies here." Ollie felt slightly accused by the cop's observation, but kept quiet as the man continued. "We have seen weird as the day is long in the city, but nothing quite like this. Sheesh! The intel on this girl..."
