A Horror Anthology

The Platform - @finnyh

There are many things I am uncertain of, sitting here on this platform, but of one thing I'm sure: Somebody does not belong here. 

I steal another glance at the blonde-haired teen sat cross-legged on the floor in front of me, a little to the left, as he strums a tune on his guitar. His head is down, bobbing lightly, as he watches his own fingers produce a melody that none of the rest of us particularly enjoy. And yet, for his sake, we do not voice it. He is not playing to pass the time; he's not even playing to impress us. I suspect he plays because the silence of this unearthly platform makes him uncomfortable, and he knows why he's here.

Beside me, curled up with her legs drawn into her chest, is a young woman. She rests her chin on her knees, keeping herself closed off from everybody else. Her hijab is untidy. Strands of her hair fall in front of her doe-like eyes as though she'd fixed her appearance in a hurry this morning. Her expression is blank, and I want to ask her how long she has been staring at that crack in the floor tiles for. She knows why she is here, but not the reason.

Alone, at the far end of the platform, sits a hunched figure in a black coat that comes down to his knees, turned away from the rest of us. He perches on the only object on the platform – a kind of concrete block – with his knees spread apart and his elbows rested upon them. I've been staring at him for a while now and he hasn't moved an inch. I'm not even sure he's breathing. He's been here the longest and now, as time continues to dilate, he grows exhausted. This man knows why he's here, and he's waiting for the train like an old dog awaits its master's return.

The remaining two are a couple covered in blood. The man – dark-haired, in his early thirties and dressed in what was once a perfectly ironed suit – cradles his girlfriend. His fingers dig into the bruised skin of her upper arms, leaving pale circles whenever he readjusts his grip. The woman sobs under her breath; her grief is evident in the pink flush of her eyes and the way her hands writhe restlessly with the hem of her dress. She doesn't want to cry in front of her partner, but she knows why she's here and it's consumed her. I sense her boyfriend also knows why he's locked down here on this platform, but he is only fooling himself if he thinks he can undo his fate before the train arrives.

Lastly, I gaze up at the announcement board for the Helatide and heave a vocal sigh. What did I expect would change? There are no departure times, no stops, no destinations written in those orange LED letters, only scrambled numbers with no meaning that punctuate each heading. The announcement board has been broken since I got here, though I no longer know how much time has elapsed since I descended the stairs to the platform. Behind me is the track that the train, wherever it is, runs on: a single blue beam of light pulsating like the screen on a heart-rate monitor. I've never before seen a train in an underground station run on a track like that before, and, of course, I have to wonder how it works. What does it look like? And where does it go?

Over to my left, the teenage boy begins to hum to his tune. He's probably never heard himself sing before, or none of his friends and family have ever had the kindness to tell him he's insufferably tone deaf. But the silence is worse. His strumming at least tunes out the girlfriend's sniffs and sobs. Still, none of us chide him. The bedraggled soul beside me bores her gaze further into the cracked floor tile, the couple a little farther away turn a deaf ear to the world, and the mysterious man at the far end of the platform hunches still as a gargoyle.

How much longer will this dreaded wait continue? How many more hours will it be until we hear anything but our own thoughts and the twang of guitar strings? I shouldn't complain; I only have myself to blame for being here. The whole adventure had been my stupid idea. I, too, know the reason I've wound up on this platform, waiting for the Helatide to arrive. I sense every one of us knows our situation, why we are here, even if we don't understand it, and yet something isn't right. One of us doesn't belong here. Why can't I get it out of my mind?