Døllmaker | Cyan

(øne)

Abandoned, deserted, haunted, forsaken; All words most people used to describe the no longer in use and nearly forgotten train station. That's to assume people still talk about the hollow, rotting tunnels on the south-east side of town - Which, they don't. The tornado that shut it down occurred over thirty years ago. Older generations would prefer to forget that awful day and the town's youth doesn't know about it mostly.

Only those obsessed with the macabre and paranormal have shown interest in the forbidden debris. Of course, despite how scared even the occult were of the train station, the ghost stories didn't faze Ricky. He was a lot more interested in the beauty of abandoned places and the way his love interested looked against faded graffiti or sprawled out on a broken staircase. And that is how, on a Saturday evening, the two ended up in a place they legally shouldn't have been in. 

Ghost folded his arms over his chest as he watched Ricky throw branches out of the way of what they thought was an entrance. He stood there decorated like night's mistress. Fishnets ran up under a tight sweater dress with purposeful holes and runs in the fabric. His beautiful face of makeup was accented by a velvet choker and an additional string bow wrapped around his neck. 

Ricky glanced back at him briefly, noticing his stance. "Are you cold?" He asked. 

"No," Ghost replied with a slight hint of a whine, "Just a little creeped out." 

He laughed as he stood up straight. "You? Creeped out? I never thought I'd see the day." Ricky placed his hand along his hip. "Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you."

Ghost raised his eyebrow and paused briefly. He was hoping the look was enough to make Ricky correct himself, but it obviously wasn't. "What're you doing?" 

"Uh," He quickly pulled back his hand, "Sorry." 

He rolled his eyes playfully and began to walk in front. Ghost pulled a flashlight out of his jacket's pocket and flipped it on. The second the light lit the cracked and busted stairs in front of them, an intrusion of cockroaches scattered. A look of disgust curled along his face. If that's what's at the entrance, who the fuck knows what's further in. Ghost shined the light further in but it couldn't reach the bottom of the staircase for him to see what's at the end.

"You're going to get me killed one of these days." He said.

Ricky shrugged, "We're all dying anyways."

"...True." 

The two cautiously began to descend the staircase with only flashlights to guide them. This area had be taped off by police a long time ago. If something where to happen to them down here, no one would know. Most urban explorers and ghost hunters even avoid this place. No one comes here, except a few brave souls over the years. The legitimacy of their stories has always been questioned, considering their tales have been spread around like urban legends.

As they reached the bottom of the staircase, they were met with two directions. Ghost was pretty lost on where to go, but as always when Ricky drags him along on his little photography adventures, he was well prepared. He stuck the end of the flashlight between his teeth briefly to free up his hands. Ricky dug through his bag briefly before finding a folded piece of paper. 

He slung his backpack back over his shoulder. Exploring the walls with his light briefly, he spotted a sign that was barely readable. Somehow, he could manage to make out the number on it. He unfolded the map in his hand and located tunnel three. "We're here. From what I've heard, the fifth and sixth tunnels are the ones that are flooded. Those are the ones I want to find."

"How do you know they're not dried out by now? These place has been condemned for decades." Ghost responded. 

He shrugged, "Only one way to find out."