It was the kind of night that encouraged one’s heart to beat faster. Dense fog, and an empty platform. Quiet as a grave, some would say.
The next train would arrive at eight, so twenty minutes to wait. He didn’t want to go downstairs to the platform, until a few minutes before boarding, so he started pacing back and forth. He texted his wife, telling her he’d be late, but she’d already left to pick him up and said she would just wait at the station.
The fog deepened. He could barely see a foot in front of him. He told himself there wasn’t anything to be afraid of. After all, he was a six foot two, well built, man who knew how to fight. But something was off.
The fog felt as if it was caressing him. Wrapping itself around him. He knew it couldn’t be whispering, but he didn’t know where else the whispers could be coming from. He took out his phone. He’d call her and talk until it was time to catch the train. But the phone’s battery was dead, which was impossible, since it was fully charged ten minutes ago.
Then he heard his name being called. The voice was throaty, deep and delicious. He shook it off and thought maybe it was time for a check-up. But he heard it again. And then again. He felt someone run a hand down his face, then his back. It felt so real, but he was the only one there. He’d been working too hard. That was it. It was time for a vacation. He just needed some time off.
Then he felt soft lips against his and he fell back against the bench that was behind him. He wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Not funny,” he should out loud.
A female body was suddenly pressed tightly against him. Fingers running through his hair. Lips, once again on his. He dropped his briefcase and tried to push whatever it was away, but the only thing there, was fog. His hands fluttered in front of him, as her laughter washed over him. He was finding it difficult to breath. Fear wasn’t something he was used to and his senses went into overdrive. Eyes wide, he tried to see through the fog. He couldn’t remember what time it was, or where the stairs were. The fog was too thick. He couldn’t think.
Her hands were all over him, under his clothing, tugging his face forward, toward her waiting mouth. His shirt was open, he was shivering, damp and cold.
“Yummy,” she whispered, into his ear, licking his shoulder, which was bare.
He started shouting.
“There’s noting to be afraid of,” she said, breathlessly, nipping at his chest.
“Nothing at all,” said a new voice, as more hands began touching him.
“What are you? What do you want?” he said, trembling. “Tell me,” he begged. “WHAT DO YOU WANT?”
They found his body on the platform, the next morning. The sun was out, the trains were running on time, and everyone was talking about the strange fog they had noticed the night before. Not one person mentioned the naked man covered in bite marks who had been found on the platform. After all, it wasn’t the first time.
Photo: Jonas Jaeken