Why was he wearing a helmet made of tin foil? I thought. Maybe he’s one of those UFO freaks.
“Lotta lost souls in them cities,” he said, a plume of rancid garbage wafting over. I noticed that his lips didn’t move. I looked around. There was no other on the train.
“The Lost Ones, thems you gotta look out for.” Still his lips didn’t move.
Train stopped. Lights out! Even emergencies. Pitch black.
An echo-scream flared from the bowels of the endless winding underground.
“Sound like animals trapped in time, don’t they? The Lost Ones are comin’
to rip yous apart.”
“What the fuck?” I blurted, not sounding at all like a Partner in Law at Burns and Badden. “They’re just coming for me? What the fuck about you?”
“I’m wearing a helmet,” he whispered. “They can’t hear me think.”
“Well I can!” I said angered by another scream, this time closer.
“Yeah, but you ain’t them,” he replied.
The next scream was in the car. Panic time. Whatever these things were, one was scampering right for me. I lunged across, grappled around for the old guy, grabbed his helmet and crashed it onto my own head. I stumbled back, completely blind in the dark.
His yelling was crushed by crunching, spitting, and slurping. Whatever it was, was enjoying him as a meal and I, though morally bankrupt, was safe – for now…
© kym darkly