DuckDetective13

  What’s in the box? What’s in the booooox?

  Cold_Reboot

  Seriously, gonna need a trigger warning if you’re planning to go full Se7en on us. That movie freaked me the fuck out.

  Z3ke (Original Poster)

  It’s not entirely like se7en. Instead of Gwyneth Paltrow’s decapitated head, it was me all curled up like a regret-filled jack-in-the-box, sweating bullets and trying not to exist too loudly and cursing my stupidity.

  I was stuck in that crate and everything was going wrong. It wasn’t an “oh shit, something dangerous is nearby,” kind of wrong either. It was more of a “fuck all things forever” kind of wrong. I tried quieting my heart as it slammed in my chest and then cursed the fact that I wasn’t a monk who knew how to slow my heart beat through meditation, all while forcing myself not to scream in panic and push the lid off the crate and make a break for it.

  That’s when I heard it. Special emphasis on the it.

  Wet, labored breathing was just outside the crate and it sounded like someone was trying to suck air through soup. Something was moving outside, rifling through all the offerings. The presence that I’d felt stalking me through town was there, making my neck itch as I tried imagining what was happening in the crypts. A few moments later and my crate was picked up.

  I assume that my crate was placed on that cart the two guys had wheeled down into the church basement. The next thing I knew I felt us rolling and was sure that my crate was traveling through the crypts.

  Sure enough, a couple minutes later we were outside. I don’t know how I know that we’d left the crypts though, because all the background noise you’d expect to hear while traveling through nature had been turned off. Everything was silent. There weren’t any animals or insects or humans or anything buzzing around. It was like the entire outside world was holding its breath and trying to be as unobtrusive as possible so as not to draw any kind of attention to itself.

  My nerves were on edge as I was wheeled around, and I felt the presence hovering just outside of reach. Unlike when I was in the town and only got faint traces from the presence, this time I was able to feel a little bit more. It felt…old. It felt ancient and heavy. And it felt aware.

  The next thing that happened (and this is not going to make a lick of sense) is that my perception shifted. I’m not speaking metaphorically. I’m not saying that I suddenly understood things from a different point of view. It’s more like my senses stretched. It was like my hearing had ballooned out and I could take in everything that was happening around me.

  I was suddenly seeing in the third person. Or at least, it felt like I was seeing in the third person. I can’t really describe it and I know you all are going to complain, but when was the last time you’ve ever been able to see in the third person? When was the last time any of you were stuck in a crate on a wagon that was being wheeled through nature and you could see outside the crate like it was a video game cutscene? Try describing it.

  It was almost like I’d suddenly developed sonar or something. I’ve got no clue how it happened, but I was able to hear birds scattering in the distance. I heard animals chittering and running around, and they weren’t anywhere close to the cart. I could “see” us rolling along a worn path, but I was still in the cramped and darkened confines of my crate. All my senses were suddenly weird and unwieldy and awkward and both muted and expanded at the same time.

  I don’t know how long that lasted for. I didn’t have a watch and I wasn’t counting the minutes and time seemed a little off. But eventually we stopped and the cart was parked off to the side. I heard wood scraping and that labored breathing and I knew that something was grabbing all the crates and unloading them into a clearing.

  Something sniffed at one of the crates and it sounded like a long, syrupy inhale. It was like whatever had sniffed at the crate wanted to memorize the taste of it. I heard a crack and then the sound of wood splintering.

  The presence came back and started moving amongst the crates. It brushed against the edges of my awareness and I tried making myself smaller in the crate. I’m sorry that I can’t really describe more about the presence or the creature or whatever it was that was outside of the crates. It was an experience that is…indescribable. All I can say is that every instinct in me was screaming out and demanding I breathe quietly and stay still and pretend that I’m nothing, while simultaneously begging for me to run away in a panic.

  I started racing through different scenarios. What would happen if the presence found me? What if it notices me? Where could I escape to? How could I fight it? What would it want from me?

  While all that was going on I was still stuck in that strange out-of-body perspective of seeing everything in the third person, floating above and behind my crate with no control over my senses. I couldn’t focus on any one thing or look away and concentrate. It was all just a jumbled mess of emotions and sensory information.

  The presence was there. I could feel it. But whenever I tried looking at in it my “vision” my senses would just slide off it and split to the side. The air around the creature refused to hold sound and the darkness of the wilderness seemed to swallow all the details of the creature.

  I was still able to get flashes of images from it. I saw as it reached out and pulled something free from one of the crates and was just barely able to get a glimpse of what it was: a small wooden box. It was the same box the priest had carried back at the church. The one that carried the eye of that old man.

  The presence shuffled away from the crates, carrying the small box in front of itself. I could barely get a sense of what was happening but I could feel as it opened the box. A soft hiss escaped its mouth…or whatever passed for a mouth for the creature.

  It was pleased. Satisfied. Overjoyed at what it was holding. The presence lifted the old man’s offering and held it up to get a better look at it in the moonlight. A chittering sound emerged and caused a shiver to run up my spine. Then, a subtle shift and the presence popped the eye into its mouth.

  A surge of emotion washed over the clearing. It was bright and warm and overwhelming and it radiated from the presence. Joy. Relief. A deep, satisfying contentment that knocked me off balance and threatened to overwhelm my senses. It rolled over me in a wave and I felt emotions pouring from the presence. It was feeding and delighted and excited.

  Then slowly, so goddamn slowly, the presence drifted away. It wasn’t gone, it had just…stepped back. The wind returned and the some small creature out in the wilds gave off a quiet, cautious chirp, scouting whether it was safe to be out and about.

  After what felt like half an hour of sitting in the crate, waiting for something to happen, I finally felt like it was somewhat safe and I could move about. I slowly pushed the lid off my crate. Inch by inch. Just a crack that would allow me to see outside. My senses reeled themselves back in and I was able to see normally now.

  In front of me were woods. It was a sparse bit of trees and dirt and scraggly brush. Moonlight spilled over the crates and the offerings that had been collected. Everything had been piled up and tossed to the side, like “here’s your offerings, enjoy.”

  I crawled out of the crate and slowly slipped to the ground before crawling away, keeping low on my hands and knees and belly. Low and slow. Quiet movements. Try not to make any sound.

  Whenever I brushed against a leaf or a twig, it felt like thunder in my ears. My entire body would tense and I would wait for the presence to return. But nothing happened and I would slowly go back to crawling while trying to keep my breath locked behind my teeth.

  I didn’t want to chance a look around. I just wanted to get as far from the crates as possible and not tempt fate by searching for the presence. There was a part of me, something primal and ancient, that screamed in my head: don’t look around. Don’t look or it’ll see you. It’ll know.

  So I heeded the voice and kept crawling. It felt like miles but was probably only fifty feet or so. My hands were shaking and my knees were scraped to hell and my entire body shook with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. The burlap sack that I’d grabbed from the crypts and stuffed a bunch of offerings inside was slung over my shoulder. I was biting down on the top of it with my teeth to keep it closed.

  As I was crawling to freedom, the presence returned. It was right behind me and I could feel it getting closer and closer. People always talk about the fight or flight instinct activating in dangerous situations. Well, I’ll tell you now that I fucking flew. I scrambled to my feet, slipping a bit on the leaves and twigs on the forest floor, and ran.

  I ran and the presence chased me. Maybe not physically. Or maybe it was chasing me physically. I don’t know. I didn’t hear any footsteps or growls or anything like that. But…have you ever turned the lights off in a basement and it’s pitch black and suddenly you’re racing up the stairs like your life depends on it? You know that there’s nothing behind you. Of course there isn’t. Storybook monsters don’t really exist. A serial killer didn’t sneak into your house to hunt you and drag you down into the dark. But at the same time, why risk it? There’s something in you that screams out, RUN FASTER RUN FASTER RUN FASTER YOU IDIOT GET OUT OR IT’LL CATCH YOU.

  Yea. It felt like that. The presence hadn’t forgotten me. It hadn’t disappeared. It was chasing me. But more than that, I felt something from it. It felt like it was still making up its mind on whether or not I was even worth chasing. Or maybe it was just patting at me like a cat sadistically pats at a trapped mouse. Maybe it was chasing me and not catching up because the fear coursing through my body made my meat taste better and it was taking the time to marinate me in panic before taking a bite.

  I ran. Hard. Blind. No idea where I was headed, just as long as it was away from the presence. One hand was clenched around my burlap sack and my feet were kicking up dirt like I was a cartoon roadrunner. I didn’t bother pacing myself or trying to control my breathing or anything like that. All I did was run. Run as fast as I possibly could. It was pure fear. Pure animal flight away from danger.

  The entire time I was running, the presence kept pace behind me. I could feel it. It wasn’t close enough to touch me and it never overtook me. It didn’t snarl or growl or make any sound to tell me it was there. But I knew. I knew that it was there because a voice screamed in my head whenever I started to flag and slow down a little.

  It’s coming. It’s coming. It’s right behind you.

  I’d stumble and the stabbing pain in my ribs flared up, threatening to fold me in half, and then the presence would surge and push me to go faster. The presence was playing with me. Toying with me. Reminding me that it was there.

  I felt it behind me and slightly to the left, so I veered to the right and kept running. A moment later the presence bloomed to my right so I moved left. It happened again and again and again, each time forcing me to change direction. It was steering me. Herding me. And while I ran, I felt an overwhelming sense of joy leak from the presence. It was enjoying this little game of ours.

  My lungs were sucking in air like bellows, and my chest was on fire. A metallic-tang battery-acid taste climbed into the back of my throat. I started cursing every shit health decision I’d ever made in my life. Every cigarette I’d ever smoked, every burger I’d ever eaten, every drink I’d ever drowned, every time I ever took the elevator up one floor in a building, all of the pisspoor health decisions I’d ever made in my life had come back to haunt me and my body was staging a full mutiny. All I could do was scream out curses in my head as I ran.

  Finally, I saw lights. For a brief moment I thought that the lights were a figment of my imagination. A mirage. Maybe neurons in my brain were misfiring and giving me a false hope just to soften the inevitable. Maybe I was dying and these were the lights people claimed to see before they slid into the afterlife. But as seconds ticked by and I kept running, the lights didn’t waver or flicker away. They grew. They brightened. And when I got close enough, I saw the train.

  It was just sitting there, idling next to a short train platform. Dim lanterns flickered in the distance. The train looked out of place in the Deadlands. Everything around it was decayed and rotten. The ground was covered in dust and the trees looked like they were about to fall over. But this train was pristine. It was salvation. It was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen in my life.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  As I got closer to the train I felt the presence close in. Anger poured off it and I realized we weren’t in a leisurely chase anymore. It had decided that it was tired of this game and was going to finish it. It rose behind me like a wave and the whole world at my back felt like it was boiling. The presence didn’t want me to get to safety. It didn’t want me to get on the train. It wanted to end the chase before I could get to more people.

  I can’t remember the last fifty yards of my run. All I remember is the blur of my body flailing forward and my lungs screaming and my burlap sack thudding against my ribs hard enough to bruise and the raw-throated breath coming from my mouth. I remember seeing someone standing near the rear of the train. The conductor? He was an older guy with a long blue costa and thick gloves and a red scarf that covered the lower half of his face. I saw shock written plain on his face as I exploded out of the dark like a horror movie victim who somehow escapes to the final act.

  He shouted something at me but I couldn’t make out the words. I just launched myself onto the back of the train and screamed out to him.

  “GO! MOVE IT. NOW!”

  There must have been something in my voice, some raw, deep, primal note of terror, because his entire body jerked like he’d been slapped. He rushed onto the train and pulled a wire that ran along the inside of the wall.

  A shriek split the night and at first I thought it came from the presence. A moment later I realized it was the whistle on the train. The entire train shuddered. Metal screamed as wheels turned, agonizingly slowly like they didn’t understand the urgency.

  The presence snapped. That smug thing that had been toying with me like a cat pawing at a dying mouse became angry. There wasn’t any play coming from it. It turned vicious and furious. Then, as the train started pulling away and the presence couldn’t keep up, it grew content. It wasn’t angry that I’d gotten away. It didn’t feel frustrated that I’d reached freedom. It felt…satisfied. It was the same feeling that rolled off it when it had bitten down on the old man’s offering.

  I gripped the metal railing of the train, my hands cramping with how tightly I was holding on. Every part of me screamed to not turn around. Just breathe. Keep you face forward. Don’t look back. Don’t give it attention.

  But curiosity is a stupid and dangerous impulse. I turned around.

  I couldn’t see anything out there. There weren’t any monsters or demons. The presence wasn’t around. The only thing I could see was the dusty plains of the Deadlands and the trail of my footprints that stretched into the dark. The feeling of satisfaction coming from the presence was still there, but I couldn’t understand why.

  I was on the train. I’d managed to escape from whatever had been chasing me. I hadn’t been ripped to shreds and left to bleed out in the Deadlands, and that counted as a win in my book.

  The train was a little weird. Not weird when compared to the Veilstrider. That train was otherworldly. This one was positively mundane when compared to the Veilstrider. But it was still weird.

  Silver piping twisted along the ceiling like vines. The lighting in the cars was a soft amber glow from lanterns hung on the sides, and the decor of the place was steampunk-like. All the passengers were wearing clothes that wouldn’t have been considered fashionable back in New York. They were decked out in a whole bunch of leather straps and vests and way too many pockets.

  After catching my breath and peeling my lungs off the floor of my chest, I took a cautious few steps into the train and immediately felt a dozen pairs of eyes latch onto me. Everyone in the car turned to stare at me and take me in, looking at me like I was a hobo wearing a trash bag, shouting about aliens and waving a flare gun. I mean…I can’t exactly fault them.

  Looking down at myself, I had to admit that I did look out of place. My Converse sneakers were crusted in dirt from the Deadlands. My jeans were stained with mud and grass from when I'd been crawling through the forest. My shirt and jacket clung to me with sweat. I smelled like fear and at least two days without a shower.

  I wandered over to the nearest empty seat and collapsed into it, trying to make myself small enough that everyone would ignore more. That obviously didn’t work, and it wasn’t long before the conductor of the train tracked me down.

  He was the guy I’d spotted out on the platform when I was running away from the presence. Back then I wasn’t able to make much of him, but in the light of the train I was able to get a better look. He was a big guy with a heavy coat, thick gloves, and a face mostly hidden by a wild bushy mustache and a large red scarf.

  He definitely wasn’t as intimidating as fake Lance Reddick, the conductor on the Veilstrider, but he still had an air about him. He had an aura that seemed to say “I’m in charge here and everyone better recognize it.”

  He came up to me and stopped next to my seat, crossing his arms and glaring down at me. “You got something chasin’ you boy? What was it?”

  I blinked up at him, my exhaustion limiting the annoyance I felt after hearing his tone. “Uh…didn’t exactly stop to ask.”

  He gave a slow nod before glancing out the window, scanning the darkness as if he half-expected to see some nightmare creature clawing at the train. After a beat, he turned back to me.

  “This line ain’t free. Where you headed?”

  “Wherever it’s going,” I shrugged. “Just…as far from the Glens as you can take me.”

  “That depends on what you’re paying with.”

  I was just about to pat my pockets out of habit before remembering that I didn’t have a wallet or keys or anything else. Then I remembered my burlap sack that I’d stashed a bunch of offerings in. I’d dropped it on the seat next to me when I sat down, my lungs too busy trying to relearn how to breathe for me to bother rifling through all the bits and bobs I’d grabbed. Now, I opened up the sack and spread the contents out on a little fold-out table in front of me.

  The sack was positively bursting with stuff. There was a tiny handmade doll with button eyes and a stitched black mouth thread, a hand-crank flashlight, a few pieces of clothing that wouldn’t fit me unless I suddenly lost thirty pounds, a couple cans of food, a small bone-handled knife that was tucked away in a cracked leather sheath, and a couple other odds and ends that were scattered with the rest.

  “Does any of this buy me a ride?” I asked, motioning towards the offerings. “And maybe a sandwich while we’re at it.”

  The conductor pursed his lips and leaned over the pile of trash. He started rummaging through it like he was at a garage sale, finally pausing at a small round disc that looked like it had been carved out of an animal bone. The front of the disc had a symbol that looked like a stylized C. He turned it over in his hands and then gave me a nod.

  “Yea. This’ll take you a few stops down the line. Might even get you something hot to eat.”

  Twenty minutes later I found myself in the dining car at a table eating real food. It was a rich meat stew ladled over warm flatbread. I washed it all down with a drink that tasted as if coffee and ginger ale had a weird but surprisingly functional baby.

  The dining car was surprisingly quiet and I was seated off by myself. A couple of the passengers shot me confused looks, mostly aimed at my sense of dress, but nobody asked me to leave and I figured that was the best I could hope for. I’d reached a strange sort of detente with the other passengers. I reeked of sweat and fear and dirt, but I’d paid for passage on the train and was mostly left alone.

  Every bite of the food I took slowly started quieting the panic in my brain. My fingers stopped twitching and my thoughts slowed and shifted from panic to low-level dread. For the briefest of moments I allowed myself to believe I was safe. I allowed myself to think that the presence had given up and I’d soon be safely ensconced in civilization. Of course, it only took another hour or so before I realized I’d been lying to myself.

  It started as a twitch in the back of my head, almost like a pressure change. I was staring out the windows, watching the train race through the Deadlands, when I felt it.

  The presence was back. The air got heavier and my breath caught in my throat. The lights on the train flickered once. Then again. Nobody panicked at that but I saw a bunch turn their attention to the lanterns. A few more glanced around uneasily, wondering what had happened, but most of the passengers didn’t care what was going on.

  I felt the presence slide over me. Not behind me or ahead of me, but around me. I could feel its elation at having found me again. It was happy. No. That’s not a great description. It was murderously joyous. It gushed gleeful, hideous joy at the thought that its prey had jumped straight onto the dinner plate, basted itself with juices, and handed over a knife and fork.

  My heart dropped and I quickly grabbed my burlap sack and shot up from my seat. I looked around only to realize there was nowhere for me to run to. I was on a train. I was stuck in a metal coffin hurtling through the Deadlands with nowhere to go.

  I chose to run towards the front of the train. It was my only option. The train car was calm for about thirty seconds as I hurriedly made my way forwards. A couple of the passengers shot me withering looks, wondering why I was making such a commotion. Then the pressure ramped up and the feeling of the presence hit everyone and a ripple of wrongness rolled down the length of the train. Conversations cut off. Heads turned. Eyes darted. Voices dropped to whispers.

  “Do you feel that?”

  “What was that?”

  “Is the train slowing down?”

  “Is there something on the tracks?”

  I kept moving forward, jumping over bags in the aisle and brushing past confused passengers who were finally waking to the realization that something very very wrong was rushing towards them. Then the windows exploded.

  They detonated like glass grenades going off all at once. Shards shotgunned through the air and passengers screamed out in pain and shock and surprise and fear. Through the jagged holes that once held windows, there came monsters.

  Eaters.

  It was sudden. Just bam and they were there.

  I know what you all want out of this story. You all want me to describe the Eaters. You want me to paint a picture of what they looked like. The problem is that I’ve tried writing down the next few paragraphs a couple times, but I keep getting it wrong. I write out a bunch of sentences and end up going back to delete them because I’m not really getting the fear right. I can’t paint you a clear picture of what they looked like. At least, not enough to make you all understand what they are. But I’ll try.

  The Eaters don’t look like your average monster or alien or horror show. They look like someone tried to remember what a human looked like and got every single detail wrong. Instead of flesh and blood, the Eaters are creepy dolls made out of chewed-up rubber and broken bones.

  Their faces are stretched and melted things with no mouths, just smooth, featureless skin where jaws should have been. Their sunken eyes are black pits that pulsed with…joy. You’d think that they would radiate hunger, what with being named “Eater.” But no. They pulsed with joy.

  Joy at the carnage they were about to bring. Joy at the passengers they were about to feast on. Joy at the fear they evoked and the terror they cloaked themselves in.

  Their arms were way too long for their bodies. Cartoonishly long. Nightmarishly long. They unfolded and stretched and grew like someone had made tendrils of meat and wrapped them around too many joints.

  The worst part about the Eaters is they don’t bite or devour or munch. They touch.

  I saw a woman who’d been peppered by glass shards get to her feet and try running away from an Eater who’d burst into the train. Her scream came out high and sharp and I saw the Eater reach out and lay one of its bony, rubberized hands against her chest and it was like watching a balloon pop in slow motion.

  Her skin tore open and it was like it just…gave up. Something inside her lifted into the Eater’s palm. It was a wisp of smoke that glowed a faint blue. Then the woman crumpled to the ground. Her body folded in on itself and then cracked and flaked away. There wasn’t any blood there, just dust and bones and pieces of what used to be her.

  That set off the panic. People shoved and clawed and climbed over each other as they tried to escape the Eaters. I ran. My burlap sack slammed against my back as I pushed through the bodies, past outstretched arms, past passengers frozen in place by sheer terror.

  I heard the presence laugh. I don’t think it laughed out loud, and I don’t think any of the other passengers could hear it. It was more that the laughter was rattling in my bones. I felt cold fingers tap at the base of my spine and whisper in my head, run little morsel. Run faster.

  So I did.

  Listen, I’m not proud of what happened next. I’m just going to say that up front. I know you’re all going to complain about it and say I should have stayed and fought and attacked the Eaters and tried to be a goddamn hero. But fuck that and fuck you for suggesting such a thing.

  I raced to the front of the train, hoping to get as far from the Eaters as possible. I stepped on someone’s bag and maybe someone’s outstretched arm. I elbowed my way through the chaos in a desperate bid to escape.

  You can all say “why didn’t you fight back?” or “why not turn around and face the threat, are you a coward?” Let me respond with this: suck a dick.

  I don’t have magic. I don’t have a sword. I don’t have a class. Even if I’d taken that bartender class that was offered to be, what would that have done? I’ve told you all before and none of you believed me then and you won’t believe me now, but this is NOT a fanfic. This isn’t a power fantasy. This isn’t a story about a hero trying to save the world or right the wrongs or do anything remotely similar to that.

  This is happening to me. This is real for me. I was a guy who had a sack of stolen church offerings on a train filled with literal nightmares.

  Put yourself in my shoes. Imagine that you’re riding the subway late at night when a literal soul-eating abomination explodes the window and climbs into the train car. Then that monster touches a woman to death. Are you going to seriously sit there and say that you would charge at it and throw hands? Fuck no. You’re gonna do exactly what I did which is to run the hell away.

  The train was a mess. There was a bunch of screaming and shouting and panicking. People clambered over seats to try and get away from the chaos while others were frozen in place, realizing that none of this was going to end well. I slipped in something wet and slick and cracked my knee on the floor. I bit my tongue hard enough to taste copper. Then I turned around and saw it. An Eater. Less than a meter away from me.

  Its arm unspooled like a fucking met slinky. Its fingers brushed against my ankle and pain exploded in my leg. The thing didn’t cut me or anything. It was more like my skin suddenly decided not to be part of me anymore. It felt like I was unraveling.

  I screamed and it wasn’t one of those tough manly screams that you hear in action movies. It was a real scream. Ugly. Raw. Filled with terror. And then - wham.

  A flash of fire. A metallic crack like someone smashed a steel drum with a crowbar. The Eater flew backwards and slammed into the side of the train with a sickening crunch. A woman stood between me and the Eater. She was tall and strong. A walking fortress carrying a staff that burned with green fire on both ends.

  I scrambled to my feet. My leg screamed at me and my heart tried punching its way through my ribs, but I stayed standing. The woman probably didn’t notice me as I moved away, trying to keep her between me and the Eater. She took a single step forward and swung her staff and another Eater fell back. It shrieked like glass breaking in reverse before it took a couple steps away.

  Now, I’ve played enough video games and seen enough movies and watched enough anime to know exactly what she was: a protagonist. She had gear. She had skills. She had a class that didn’t involve serving drinks to people. All I had was a bag of offerings and a limp and a bunch of panic.

  I tried staying upright but my leg was on fire. I backed my way into the connector between the train cars and stood there, watching her fight. She spun and ducked and swung out her staff and swept out the legs from another Eater before slamming her staff down onto its chest. The fire caught it and a sharp hiss filled the air. Another Eater lunged at her but she punched it in the side of the face with her staff and it backed off. Green fire met “flesh” and the monster shrieked out in pain.

  And the presence grew furious. I wasn’t feeling glee or joy or excitement from it anymore. It was radiating pure rage.

  Standing there, watching her fight, I really wanted to help her. But what was I going to do? Maybe I could toss some of my cans of food at the Eaters, but what would that even do? I wasn’t trained for this. The best I could hope for, if I jumped in and stood by her side, was to get in her way and screw everything up. So I did what I thought was the best thing for everyone which was to just watch and hope that she had everything handled.

  A man brushed past me, jostling me as he charged forward. The dude was built like a freaking gorilla. For a brief moment I was elated, thinking that he was rushing to help the woman fend off the Eaters. But he didn’t make it to her side. He stopped in the center of the car, right where the train cars connected together. He knelt and propped open a small hatch in the floor.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” I shouted, my voice cracking in fear.

  The hatch released, unveiling a lever in the middle of the car. He pulled it and the coupling connecting the train cars disengaged.

  At first I couldn’t understand what was happening. My brain stalled as I stared down at the man. Then I looked up and the distance between me and the woman with the staff started to grow.

  She turned mid-swing and glanced back towards me and the man. Her eyes locked onto mine and I saw that she wasn’t angry. She wasn’t scared. She was…confused.

  Why?

  That was the question splashed across her face. The gap between us grew wider and the presence rang out angrier than before. Her train car started to lose momentum and drift away. The Eaters tried to surge forward like floodwater breaking a dam. They climbed over seats. Over each other. Over her. She screamed out in pain as one of the Eaters latched onto her arm. And the last thing I saw before she vanished beneath them and the train surged away, were their hands.

  Dozens of them.

  Reaching.

  Clawing.

  Stretching out.

  Not for her. For me.