A man stumbled down into an underpass, knocked his head against the wall and fell unconscious. He woke up and could better take in his surroundings. The underpass was brightly lit up; the white tiles along the floor were discoloured. The lights flickered every so often especially when the thunder echoed through. The rain hammered the floor outside. He glanced at his watch, it 3:33 in the morning. He climbed to his fight and slowly walking along down the underpass to the other side.
At the end of the underpass a huge bolt of lightning struck a tree and the clouds above erupted into a monstrous roar of thunder. The lights behind him flickered and one by one switched off, until the underpass was engulfed by complete darkness apart from the street lights on either side until they too went out. He was left with the dim light from his watch. The rain continued to drop onto his face until that too stopped, odd seeming he could still here it.
He looked behind and the lights ignited from the other side until the underpass was illuminated again. When he turned around the exit that was once in front of him had been replaced with a wall. To the right and left of him were other ways the underpass lead. He was confused how could this be, where did the exit go. He pressed his hand against the wall to see if it were real. Sure enough the wall was cold, damp and most importantly it was real. There was graffiti below his hands on the wall. “Choose” had been painted on in a dark crimson red. Beneath that toward the floor a picture of a dismantled body, there was no telling if this were of a woman or a man.
He turned around and to his pleasure the entrance was still there. He walked through the shallow murky puddles back toward the entrance. There was a darkness that set its self upon him, not physically but spiritually, he could feel the lights dim and bitterness in the air. His body was brought to a halt by a pane of glass so clear he could not see it. His breath appeared on the glass and the rain tapped against it. How could this be, who put this glass there he asked himself. No matter how much weight he put against it; he could not even put the smallest of crack in it.
The only choices he had left stood waiting either side behind him. A young boy’s voice began to echo through the cracks in the tiles. Drops of blood leaked from the dank mould above his head. He walked to the other side and decided to turn right and see what was waiting around the corner. It almost seemed like he was stood in the exact same underpass, the stain on the walls, the mould above his head, and even the words ‘choose’ wrote on the wall at the end. The only difference here the drops of blood rose from the floor to the ceiling. Despite the bizarre nature of the blood it made it easier for him to avoid them. Confused he walked to the other side where again he was offered a choice between turning right or left.
The wind suddenly howled through the subway and thunder followed behind with an enormous roar. The lights to the left of him illuminated and scored the mould from the tiles. To the right it stayed dark; the illuminated lights could not penetrate the darkness. He took this a sign to turn left and continue along what he deemed to be the safest route.
To his displeasure he was greeted with the same scenario. The voice he heard before deepened and brought chills to his spine as it whimpered across the tiles. The blood no longer dripped from the ceiling or the floor; instead there was a steady stream of crimson either side of him. The light became darker with each turn. He could still hear the rain pat against the glass and the occasional growl of thunder. The graffiti at the end of the subway now looked like it had be hand painted in what he hoped was red paint. A shadow stood next to the words, it looked like that of a small boy. Enflamed eyes stared back at him, the blood halted and rain fell still. The shadow took a few steps forward and evaporated into the tiles. The mould on the walls began to move, it looked like tiny creatures crawling down the tiles and across the floor. They all headed to his direction, he took a step back and looked to where he came from to perhaps head back.
A dark mist had set down on his previous route; there was no sign of the previous entrance. The tiny creatures moved closer, he could hear them crawl along the floor. His skin already started to itch even before they reached him however the walls behind bubbled and hissed as the mist swept across the tile. He had two options, either run through the mysterious mist or attempt to jump over the crawling floor and take a right or left. He leapt across the floor and brushed pasted the boys shadow with no hesitation.
To no surprise he was greeted with the same passage, and like the others this one was darker and more mysterious. Candle sticks now replaced the lights that we screwed to the wall. Brown water drops fell from the ceiling. There were no tiles, stone walls with rotten wooden beams were in place instead. The floor a mixture of dirt and stones. Dead rats littered each side of the passage, this really was the worse one so far. The words were still written on the wall in front however these were now scratched into the wall with what looked like fingernails.
He took small steps forward, his feet squelched through the soggy mud. Behind he could he footsteps, he slowly peered over his shoulder and saw a boys hand reach around the corner. The hand was covered in rotting flesh with no finger nails. It pulled the rest of the boy’s body around the corner. His clothes were tattered, flesh peeling and rotten. The boy stared at the man and opened his dry toothless mouth, “Choose” he whimpered.
“Choose what” the man replied.
“Meet your maker or head back and face the truth” the boy whispered back. He stumbled forward and his thigh bones pierced through his skin. He did not scream nor cry but only stared at the man. The boy fell to the ground, his arms cracked as he hit the floor. His body now disintegrated into dust and laid to rest amongst the soggy ground.
The man was horrified at watching the boy disappear like that but quickly composed himself. A sudden rush of wind swept through the passage and blew out the candles one by one. He was engulfed in complete darkness, the wind came to rest and he was surrounded by silence. Behind a faint light rose from the ground until he could see his shadow stood before him. He turned around and the usual wall was no longer, instead there was an underground station platform.
He stepped forward onto the platform, it seemed like any other underground platform he had stood on before expect opposite he saw a sign “Acheron”. He did not recognise the name, this had not been a station he had been too before. He looked up and down the platform and saw only one person sat on a bench reading a newspaper. He walked hesitantly over to the man.
“Hello” he said cautiously.
The looked above the paper, half of his skin was missed from his face leaving exposed muscles and bones. The odd cockroach crawled from out his check, each one that crawled back into his mouth his crunched with his stained teeth. “Are you coming along too” the man replied.
“Coming where?”
“With the Reaper of course, what did you get sent here for?”
“Get sent here for? I don’t know what you mean, I was in my car next thing I know I’ve woke in these bloody tunnels” he was confused by this decaying man.
“There must be a reason, you don’t get summoned for nothing.”
“No I pulled over in my car and got out, I slipped and woke here.”
“Well whatever it is I’m sure you’ll soon find out, talking of which looks like he’s arriving.” The man folded his newspaper and stood up.
Lights from a train appeared in the distance. A gust of smoke blew through the tunnel, the train hurtled through and came to grinding halt. It like the platform looked like the usual underground trains. The doors opened, he looked inside but there were no other passengers. At the front of the train he noticed a tall dark shadow. There was only one person on the train and they were at the front. This must have been the driver he thought to himself.
“Better not keep him waiting” the decaying man boarded the train.
He however did not, he stood back and waited for the shadow to move. After a couple of minutes it did. The driver’s door opened. A figure in black walked from out the train holding a long sharp scythe. Its ghostly walk towards him sent shivers through his body. The figure looked up, there was no face in the hood only darkness. It lifted its arm and pointed to him. He stepped back and looked down the passage from where he had come, it was still engulfed with darkness.
“Come forth” the figure spoke in a deep voice.
The man afraid did not move forward, instead he took yet other look behind.
“Now” it repeated.
This time without hesitation he turned and stepped into the darkness. The walls trembled with the roar of the figure. The tiles above crumbles and fell in small pieces. The floor shook from left to right. To escape the danger of the collapsing tunnel he ran as quickly as he could. The tunnel became lighter and lighter until he reached the end. The rain continued to tap against the glass preventing him from leaving. He repeatedly hit the glass as he heard the shattering footsteps of the figure that followed him. Next to him the rotting corpse of the boy appeared.
“You must choose, face him or face your truth” the boy whispered as his body crumbled into dust.
The figure appeared at the opposite side, it walked closer and closer. The man was running out of time. Furiously he kicked the glass, a small crack appeared he was making the glass weaker. With every step the figure got closer. There was only one last thing he could try, jump through the glass. He took a few steps back and ran toward the glass. He leaped shoulder first into the glass shattering it into a million pieces. Behind he could he the figure roar one last time.
He woke back in his car. His head thumping, eyes blurry and ears ringing from the broken car horn. He wiped blood from his forehead. As his vision slowly returned there was a horrifying sight that waited for him in the middle of the road. The boy from his dream lay motionless in a mangled heap. He mangled to open his door and stumble over to the body. He fell to his knees once he had realised what he had done. The figure from his dream stood on the other side of the road unnoticed and spirit of the boy next to him.
“He can wait” the boy smiled.
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