The Shadows Gave No Warning

“There was only one rule: don’t open the door.”

It was one of those random rules they threw at us that didn’t seem to make any difference to the job.

See, I worked late shift at a bus station in lower Manhattan. It seemed a perfect fit since my life never really took off. After school, I tried the college thing, and just kinda ended up here, broke and alone. Now, I’m that weird 40-something checking tickets and loading bags after midnight. I looked homeless and smelled of diesel and bad cheese.

Everyone knew me, as that well-known stranger, a little misplaced and always alone. So, the job seemed well suited for me, and people let me be.

One cool October night I noticed a strange figure standing against the door we had been instructed to steer clear of. When I waved him away, he shot me a toothy grin, tipped his hat and disappeared into the shadows. I was busy loading the last bus, so I didn’t think any more of it.

About 3am, as the moon pierced through the clouds, sending streams of light onto the back building, I noticed him again. He stood knee-bent, casually against the door, the red glow of his cigarette flickered as he inhaled the haloed mist. “heya, boy” he muttered. “ Got a key for this thing?” He asked tapping the lock against the metal door.

“Get away from there,” I warned, heading his way. As I got to the door, he was gone, but the door was ajar. Hesitating, I pushed the door open, following the trail of smoke into the darkness. The eyeless shadows encouraged me, like in a trance, further into the damp room.

As my soul was ripped away, I tried to go back, as if I could.

Originally published at https://vocal.media.