Victoria Qiu (9) | STAFF REPORTER
I step off the train and sit down on a nearby bench, sighing. Glancing at my watch, I estimate around two hours before the next train comes to the station. Two hours of absolutely nothing to do and no one to talk to.
I set my briefcase down with a sigh and then I notice her. A little girl, no older than six years old, standing alone next to the rails. She’s wearing a dark red dress with a matching bow in her dark brown, curly hair. Upon meeting my eyes, she skips towards me.
I look around for her parents, but I should have known better. No one ever stops at this particular station, terrified of the rumors of murders and uncountable suicides this place held. People falling into the rails for no reason. Rumors of ghosts. Even the birds avoid this place, scared of the uncountable terrors this place allegedly holds. As I look around, the silence isn’t even broken by the wind. Just the light pattering of rain hitting the roof.
Honestly, I think that’s a load of crap. I’ve been stopping here for years and nothing has ever happened.
The little girl tugging my arm brings me back to reality. For such a young girl, her eyes looked so wise. Large brown eyes with fluttering eyelashes. As if she had thousands of years worth of wisdom, happiness, and pain hidden beneath her irises. It’s silly, I know, but something about her being feels almost millennia old. Maybe it was her maturity?
The girl tugs my arm again. On further questioning, the little girl’s name was Lucy Fern. Apparently, she had been stranded by the train and had no one with her. She gestured for me to sit next to her and asked me to play games with her. With nothing better to do, I oblige.
For the next hour or so, we played all the hand games we could think of. Patty cake, Concentration, Rock Paper Scissors, etc. It oddly felt comforting, playing in the station with the little girl. Her high-pitched giggles and coy smiles somehow melted away all my anxiety. All the creepiness of the station slowly slipped away along with the minutes on my watch.
When my watch started buzzing, warning me my train was arriving in ten minutes, Lucy begged me to play one last game. “It’s called Switch!” she said. “ We continue the pattern, whoever messes up dies. At any point, you can swap places by yelling ‘Switch!’” I smile and agree to play. How much harm could it do?
As the game progresses, I see the glee on her face quickly disappear. I used to be so good at copying patterns and I did exceptionally well with speed. Our hands move faster and faster and she fumbles with the pattern, fear growing in her eyes. I prepare to laugh and extend an hand out, ready to restart once again. What I don’t anticipate is her hand turning cold in mine. Her eyes slowly dimming, her breath fading, her body collapsing. She falls, choking but completely immobile.
I never realized she was being real when she said one would die.
Suddenly, I remember. “SWITCH!” I yell, and instantly I feel my lungs closing up. I gasp for air and slowly crawl toward my bag. I can feel my limbs tensing, my body shutting down, the sweet relief of air fading fast. The girl gets up, not at all shaken. On the contrary, she smiles a sweet grin and hovers above me. “Thank you,” she quips and skips off, pausing to drag my bag towards the edge of the rails.
I can feel my throat closing, the lights dimming, my breath fading fast. Already, the sounds of the rain become more faint. My watch buzzes once more, signalling the arrival of my train in five minutes. Maybe, just maybe, I can hold out until a train comes and helps me. My breath is fading rapidly, each gasp of air more precious than all the gold the world has to offer. Crawling towards the edge of the track, I mentally swear to never play with a strange little girl ever again. My body is already entering a comatose state, every movement throwing it in excruciating pain.
I try to grab my bag but I fall into the tracks, my head aching. My watch buzzes for the last time, and I turn to see the train’s lights coming from the tunnel, about to hit me. My throat can’t even force out a scream.
I finally realize. That wasn’t a game. And that wasn’t a little girl.
Screeeeech.
