52 seconds
-254 Views 0 Comments 2 Likes
Theodore 'Teddy' Stoke
38 years old | Male | Journalist
Quiet | Caring | Mild mannered | Brooding
Summary:
After someone jumps in front of his train to work, Teddy sees what he could only describe as a shadowy doppelgänger of himself. As the day progresses, he becomes nauseous and pale. His nights become plagued with nightmares of shadow people, waking life he feels he is being followed by something always in his peripheral vision, and he cannot explain gaps in his memory throughout the day. Could his sickly appearance be due to the sheer exhaustion of his restless nights, or something much more sinister?
FC: Hugh Dancy
5 AM. A bridge bathed in darkness overlooking the train tracks. Drip… Drip… Drip… the silent sobbing of an individual pushed to their limits, tears flowing down their face and onto the tracks below. Unmoving, they stood atop the barrier protecting those on the bridge from the sheer drop. The first train was due any minute now, but it seemed like a lifetime away. They contemplated their life, their family, each of their partners past and present. Unable to say goodbye, for the dark shadow looming over them. No one else could see it, no one else believed them, in an age of science no one believed the supernatural, but it was all too real. A noble decision, or so they believed, to stop the shadow before it could take hold. Body weakened by the constant battle, mind held by but a thread of sanity. It ended now, before all was lost, before it could hurt their family. A horn blew out in the distance, the thundering metal serpent loomed ahead, its bright light their only salvation. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was peace and warmth, a calling to the heavens, the song of angels in their ears. They took their final step forward, to freedom.
The brakes were slammed on the train, jolting forward the passengers. Such events had to be reported. The conductor warned the passengers over the loudspeakers not to look outside, though even if they did, the gruesome scene was mercifully out of view. With a groan, a curly haired gentleman got up from where he’d fallen and sat back in his seat. A set of dark blue eyes scanned the blackness outside, but saw nothing but his reflection initially. As his eyes adjusted, one small mark upon the window caught his interest; a tiny, dark splatter of fluid. A brow rose, then he leaned in closer for a better look. It was fresh, it was dark, and slowly trickling down the glass. The sudden stop, the warning, he easily put two and two together. It was blood, but from what, or whom?
As he pondered, the lights of the train started to flicker, and the thick scent of rot began to flow through the air vents. Covering his mouth and nose, the wild haired gentleman looked around at his near empty carriage, trying to make heads or tails of what was happening around him. As the carriage plunged into darkness for a moment, he caught a glimpse of something outside. Tall, looming, featureless. A shadow that wasn’t chained to a surface. Its outline shifting like smoke, until it formed the shape of a man, the very man looking back at it. A pair of hauntingly bright eyes opened, and slowly the features revealed a near identical copy of the passenger, though void of colour. Locking eyes, the copy smirked, causing the passenger’s reflexes to kick in and jolt back away from the window. The lights flickered back on, and the only other passenger looked over, concerned, toward the startled man now at the opposite side of the carriage. Nothing stood in the window, and the silence was quickly broken by the conductor talking over the loudspeaker.
“We’re having an issue with the electrics, we apologize for the inconvenience. A secondary train will be by shortly to continue your journey,” noted the conductor, followed by a whoosh of static.
The rest of the day was ordinary. Work, break, work, but the curly haired gentleman couldn’t take his mind off of what he saw that morning. Never did he mention to his coworkers why the train had been delayed, feeling he didn’t even have the answers himself. By the time it was time to go home, he felt sick to his stomach. The thoughts going over and over in his head, leaving him nauseous and pale. Instead of the train, he opted to take a taxi home. As he walked through his front door, dropped his keys in the bowl, hung up his jacket and sat himself down, the man was visibly unwell, and more quiet than usual. Something felt wrong, though he couldn’t explain what.
