I heard the hiss of the bus’s hydraulic lifts from inside the station. By the time I was out, the bus was already pulling away from the curb.
I sighed and checked my watch. It would be another fifteen minutes until the next one. Not long, but long enough, and with not a thing to do in the meantime.
The station was dead silent. I was alone outside. There was just the ghost of a breeze on the night air, refreshing after what had been a hot, summer’s day. Moths fluttered around the lights that illuminated the curb in a fluorescent glow. If there was more of a view it might have been nice. But all there was to look at was the brick wall of the neighboring building, and a dumpster overflowing with garbage bags by the street corner. Even the steel canopy above blocked out the stars.
I sighed just to hear anything in the vast, empty silence. The station was normally bustling in the day, but in the dark of night it had become all but abandoned. By now I’d expected someone to turn up. Perhaps someone else who worked the evening shift. But no one seemed to be as unlucky as me in their timing.
As I stood there, I heard a crash among the garbage cans at the front of the station. A metal lid had slid off and reverberated like a drum hat until at last it came to a rest. My heart nearly leapt from my chest. I looked towards the commotion but saw no movement in the darkness.
Just a raccoon going through the trash, I thought. The little guy would be hiding now after making such a racket, even more spooked by the noise than I was.
A grumbling arose from above, and I had to wonder whether it was the muffler of a car that was about to pass, or perhaps the distant murmuring of thunder. But I soon became aware of the sound of scraping metal. I noticed soft thuds between the scrapes. Of metal squeaking. And all of it was coming from above me. Not from the street beyond like I’d thought, but from the steel roof, as though something had clattered atop.
Another thud and another scrape. And as whatever it was came closer, I became aware of just how huge it was. That there were two sets of scraping, one about five meters further back than the other. A horrible sniffing accompanied it, as though whatever were on the roof were searching for me. And sure enough, the scratching footsteps were getting closer as they made their way towards the edge of the steel canopy above.
I quietly allowed himself into the empty subway station. I shuffled backwards, careful not to make a sound as I watched the edge of the roof intently. I could see the very tips of claws curl over the side. First one set, next another. And then, with a flash of black and a thud, something fell from the roof.
Standing on my tip toes, all I could see through the glass door was a dark mass on the ground. In the fluorescent lights, I could make out a scaly definition. But what was most frightening was it’s size, as whatever had fallen was as large as a mini cooper while curled.
The creature began to uncurl itself, and as it did, I disappeared down the steps of the staircase that led into the subway. From my new vantage point, I could see only the glass door that I’d entered the station from. The glass had fogged in the meantime, and I realized that the creature must have its head practically against the door. The sniffing sound from before resumed.
Bells chimed from somewhere and then a voice spoke over the PA system. “Help keep the TTC safe. Report any suspicious behavior to a TTC official or a police officer…” said the recording.
I felt numb, not knowing how the creature might react, and I looked to the door in time to see it fly open. In a second, I had whirled around and was flying down the tile staircase. Shit, shit, shit. My heart raced. I jumped down several steps at a time, feeling my leg threaten to give out upon landing.
I bolted around the corner and on to the subway platform. I could hear whatever it was sliding down the stairs after me. I whimpered.
What had I done to deserve this? He wondered. What cruel twist in circumstances had made this my fate? I cursed myself for all the things that I could’ve done differently. For working late, and worst of all, not running for the bus when I had the chance.
I ran clear to the end of the tunnel. A quick glance over my shoulder and I could see a black shape standing at the bottom of the staircase. In that brief glimpse I could already see it taking its first decisive step towards me.
I jumped from the subway platform and onto the tracks. I dashed into the darkness of the tunnel. Behind me I could hear a small thud from the creature also falling onto the tracks and then scuttling. It grew louder quickly. A sound accompanied it: meh, meh, meh, as though the creature were tiring, though that didn’t seem to slow it. In seconds, the sound was upon me. I could practically smell the hot breath from below.
I felt a pressure on my calf. A vice-like grip had clamped on and with it came the sting of thin, scalpel-like teeth plunging into my skin. I could feel something warm and moist sucking on the blood that streamed from the wound. A muscular tongue slathered the site with sticky saliva. I tried to wriggle myself free but the creature jerked viciously, and I fell to the ground.
I screamed. The creature, rough and scaly, climbed atop my chest. I could feel his skin scraping against the creature’s like a coarse file as I tried to push it off. Feel the weight of the monster crushing my chest cavity, it’s claws digging into my sides. I could smell the rancid, sour stench of the creature’s breath. The last thing I remembered experiencing was the feeling of a vice upon his neck and two rows of prickles digging in.
The next day, my discovery would make the papers. “Body with Mysterious Wounds Struck by the Morning Train”. A story filled with horrified accounts of the terrified people who saw the blood upon the front of the train as it pulled into the station filled its pages. Reading it, one might’ve been baffled, especially when it came to the marks upon my neck. And sure enough, rumors of a monster in the subway would start to go around. But a less showy story of that day, told on page 3 of the paper, told a story that was perhaps a little more telling. “Komodo Dragon Escapes Black Market Pet Shop”, read the title over a modestly sized article.