Ghost Train

One

Cool metal was on Deneve's cheek as she woke up.  Smacking her lips to check for morning breath, her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to remember what had happened.  Strangely enough, Deneve couldn't recall anything.  She sat up groggily, propping herself up with a hand while the other rubbed at her eyes.  How long had she been asleep?  It felt as if she had woken from a very deep, very long slumber.

Standing up shakily, Deneve finally was conscious enough to realize she was rocking back and forth.  No--the metal platform she was standing on was the thing that was jolting.  She frowned.  How odd.  Peering around her, all Deneve saw was black, shadows, and darkness.  

The wall found her head first.  Deneve hissed in pain, rubbing the spot and cursing the moving thing.  Where was she, anyway?  Hands out in front of her, she walked into the blackness slowly.  As far as she could tell, nothing was of interest.  And so Deneve walked.  And walked.  And walked.  And walked.

My high heels should be killing my feet by now, she thought with wonder.  This is strange indeed.  Deneve continued along.  And she continued walking.  And walking.  And walking.

Ten minutes later, Deneve could feel herself growing frustrated.  What was this place?  Where was the light switch?  But more importantly, where were the other people?  At last, she stopped.  Turned around.

She called out, “Hello?”

Rocking softly with the jolts, Deneve waited for an answer.  And waited.  And waited.  Still nothing.  She felt the frustration returning tenfold.

Suddenly a deep male voice rang out.  Timid at first, then louder.  “Miss?”

Deneve almost cried from relief.  “Sweet Jesus,” she breathed out shakily.  “I was starting to think I was alone...excuse me, but where might you be, sir?”  Peering around, she saw only darkness and more shadows.

“Right here.”  The voice sprang from Deneve’s right.  

She turned on her heel.  “Oh, thank goodness, sir--”  But there was nothing there.  “Where?”

“Right here.”  From her left now.

"I-I'm sorry, I can't quite--"

“Right here.”  From in front of her now.

“Right here.”  From the right corner now.

“Right here.”  And finally, behind her.

Heart pounding, Deneve felt icy tendrils of fear caress her spine.  Run run run run run, her mind told her.  Turning slowly, her eyes found a massive...thing.  What it was, she wasn’t so sure.  The shapeless creature melted into the inky blackness of the walls perfectly.  Deneve was rooted to the ground, legs wobbling with terror, unable to voice anything.

Its eyes squelched open.  They were a lovely hazel.  Deneve probably would have appreciated them more if there weren’t hundreds of them, trained on her, from the thing’s fluid form on the walls, the ceiling, even the floor.  The eyes all blinked simultaneously, which Deneve found extremely unnerving.

And then it spoke, grimy rows of razor-sharp teeth flashing hungrily in a grotesque grin.  “I’m right here, miss.”

She couldn’t move, much less form a coherent thought.  All she could do was tremble helplessly at the sight of those bone-grinding teeth.  

The blob of a creature made a harsh coughing sound suddenly while Deneve’s feet grew roots.  A muffled voice from deep within the figure emerged.  It was the scratchy sound of an old woman that had not spoken in years.  Those lethal teeth twisted into a sick smile.

“Oh.  Oh.  Oh…”  The mess of eyes blinked all at once.  With a sickening pop much like the sound of bones cracking, an enormous nose fought its way to the surface by Deneve's legs.  The giant inhalation it took made her feel as if she were being dragged in.  Again, it breathed out, “Oh.  Oh.  Oh…

“It’s been so long since I’ve had such a pretty, fresh face...

“It will be such a pleasure.”

Deneve didn’t want to know what sort of satisfaction it would draw out from her.  Her own breath was suffocating her, slowly, slowly.  I don’t want to die.  I don’t want to die.  Biting the inside of her cheek, she mentally begged herself to wake up.  But she didn’t.

Closing her eyes, Deneve willed her pounding heart to calm.  This is just a silly dream.  It's not real. 

Even as the thousand-eyed creature spread to her feet, Deneve kept chanting her little mantra.  This isn't real.  This isn't real.  This isn't real.  Almost tenderly, a tendril of the blackness reached up to stroke her face.  The contact of it made Deneve's eyes fly open. 

At last she had to admit it:  This was real.  What kind of sick, twisted place was she in?  How did such a disgusting creature exist?  Deneve took in one final, long look, and closed her eyes.  She didn't want her last sight to be of something so horrifying.  Deneve welcomed death with her arms dangling at her sides.

Yet death didn't come, not even after a few minutes.  Laughter rang out.  "You can open your eyes now."

Deneve could not resist the urge.  Her eyes cracked open, focusing on the form of a tall young man.  He looked to be the epitome of an honorable gentleman: a top hat in his hands, crisp suit, even a walking stick.  His grin was brighter than his half slicked back, half messy yellow hair, his sky blue eyes dancing with amusement.  Deneve backed away in suspicion.  Where did that creature go?  This man had to be it.

This made the young man laugh again.  "Hey, I don't bite...where're you going?"

Deneve decided talking was not the best idea if she was trying to get away from this random stranger.  She turned and moved away quickly.  But Deneve being Deneve, she tripped on the air.  As she landed, there was no pain or even the sensation of hitting the ground, only the moving of the metal floor.  She frowned.  What in the world...?

No matter.  A painless injury was good.  But as she stood up, Deneve fell yet again.  Her ankle was lying at the strangest angle.  Deneve's first reaction was panic.  It looked as if the bone was ready to pop out.  The young man's footsteps approached her.  She kept her eyes lowered as he sat by her foot and reached out to probe it.  Still no pain.  Suddenly he gave it a sharp tug, and pop!  Deneve's ankle was back in place.

He stood up, looking down at her.  Deneve shyly took the hand he offered.  Pulling her to her feet, he smiled, tipping his head slightly.  Their hands still linked together, he shook hers softly.  "I go by Nicholas Samuel Davis.  And what is the fair lady's name?"  He flashed her that grin.

Deneve gave a little show of her teeth, shaking Nicholas's hand back.  "Deneve."

"That's a lovely name.  It means snow in Latin, I believe...ah, yes.  Are you lost, Deneve?"

She nodded, embarrassed.  "I don't even know where I am."

Nicholas seemed confused .  "But you should have...nevermind that.  Anyhow, Deneve, welcome to the Ghost Train...You're dead."