DIS

🙛

Pale and nearly translucent like an apparition, you lean onto the grimy wall of the subway station, your glance trailing on and off the rotted tracks slithering into the dark. The ads and posters on the wall are moldy and the once-vivid letters seem so distorted that they look like they’re written in some aeon-long forgotten language.

The sign behind your back carries only three simple words, half-hidden beneath what seems like a decade of muck:

KINGTOWERS HOTEL STATION

The station that doesn’t exist.

The station that was never completed.

Still, you’re waiting in the dark as you waited decades ago when you slid down the wall and lit your cigarette, hoping that the delayed train will arrive and take you to the University, musing about the ever-growing avalanche of problems, and issues, and setbacks. Back then, He materialized out of dust particles, like a peculiar light. He asked to borrow your lighter and offered his humble help in return.

He'll materialize again this night, in one form or another. When you hear the train clattering and rumbling in the dark, the fear and ardor cut deep into your bones. It's coming. The piercing shine of the headlights pools into the station and blinds your eyes for a moment. Then it stops.

And blinks.

As the walls around you start to tremble.