Web Published Fiction
Writer's Call
Mind the Gap
by Sara Sumpter
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A few words about Sara Sumpter
"As an only child I spent many hours creating fantasy worlds to occupy myself - I had many intriguing yet imaginary friends.
It seemed a logical progression to try and put those talents to work in fiction writing.
I've always been intrigued by the fictional world and by the art of crafting a universe that others can join in through reading.
Growing up, the fantasy writers Peter S. Beagle and Tanith Lee were favorites and particular inspirations. I always wanted to live in a world where unicorns and monsters abounded - writing those worlds for myself is the next best thing. "
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Mind the Gap
Deanna was in Paddington Station standing on the platform of the Bakerloo Line. It was Tuesday morning and most of the rush hour traffic had yet to die down. The platform was crowded and claustrophobic. People milled here and there, jostling each other, stopping to read an advertisement or buy a Cadbury's candy bar. Deanna pushed herself back against the upward sloping wall and watched the edge of the concrete carefully. It was unlikely that from her position she would fall into the gap, but she was still worried about the possibility.
Deanna hated the Underground stations. The ceilings were low; the width of the platform was miniscule. She was amazed that people didn't have accidents more often. She shut her eyes and stayed glued to the chilly tiled wall, even though it caused her skin to break out in goosepimples. Behind her, in the next room, a train arrived. A breeze sprinted through the tube carrying with it the sound of a voice. "Mind... the gap," this voice cautioned. "Mind... the gap."
Deanna hated the voice too.
She looked up at the electric sign that hung from the ceiling off to her right. It gave the estimated arrival times of the approaching trains in dull orange lights. The next train was only a minute away and she was glad. She wanted to get away from this city, away from the tube stations, away from the funny smells and sounds and feelings, away from the sense of being consumed by the massive city citizenship. She doubted Paris would be much better, but a friend of hers had told her that at least the subways were nicer -- more spacious, brighter, safer.
A roaring filled the air, a squalid squealing of agonized brakes -- as the thin brake pads wore even thinner -- and the train pulled into the station. Deanna steeled herself, but couldn't help tensing when the voice, masculine, dry, uninvolved, said, "Mind... the gap. Mind... the gap." She knew it was just a recording, but there seemed something so taunting about that voice, so patronizing. She shook her head and pushed forward, confident now that a train filled the gap that she feared falling into, stepped onto the train and found a seat.
The color tones on the trains were generally garish, and this was no exception. Deanna sat down on bright red plush and reflected on her trip whilst around her Londoners and foreigners alike swirled, taking seats, vacating seats, standing, sitting, walking.
She'd been in London for the past three days as part of her big summer tour of Europe. She went to the British Museum and made faces at the mummies, bought CDs and clothes and makeup on Oxford Street, and even saw one horrible play in the West End Theater district. Now she had reservations on the 10:23am Eurostar train to Paris, and her only regret was that she'd have to come through London again on her way back home.
Next to her a young woman in beige slacks alternated the Daily Financial Times with a mini-mag on the women of Prince Phillip, husband of Queen Elizabeth. Deanna glanced at it, noting that one of the women was silver screen legend Merle Oberon, and looked ahead again. Down the aisle was a group of girls from some foreign country. They had thick choppy accents and were engaged in a long lament about how awful it was that their friend, with whom they were staying, had a house as far out from London as South Kenton.
THOCK!
Startled, Deanna jerked her head to the left in the direction of a loud noise. She didn't notice anything. From above her came a recording. The voice was female, cultured, and very chatty. "The next station is Edgeware Road." The train was slowing down and came to a stop. A bell sounded and the doors slid open. The recording continued. "This is Edgeware Road. This is a Bakerloo line train, calling at all stations to Elephant & Castle."
A few people got on the train, among them an elderly heavy-set woman in a black sweater. The sweater was embroidered all over with hot pink and electric blue leaves and flowers. She smiled gently at Deanna and sat down directly across from her, settling carefully back into the plush seat.
Deanna looked above the woman at a poster over the window. It proclaimed that riders who could not show valid tickets would be fined ten pounds. Deanna put her hand in her pocket to remind herself that she had a valid ticket. A brisk wind tousled her hair and she glanced over to the left again. She realized what she must have heard. The emergency door at the end of the train had swung open. From her position, which wasn't overly close, she could just see the edge of the gap between the two cars. She was suddenly very aware of the feel the wind in the tunnel, though, and it bothered her.
"The next station is Marleybone. Change at Marleybone for the mainline railway."
THOCK!
As she watched the emergency door slammed shut again just as the train pulled into the station.
The doors slid open and a few people filed in as others filed out. A young woman with her small daughter stepped on. A group of kids followed. As they sped up again, Deanna looked around at the posters on the station walls. She noticed one for Miss Saigon. "You'll miss Saigon," the poster promised her. No, I won't, she thought. That play sucked. She hadn't enjoyed Miss Saigon at all. Her grandmother had recommended it to her, but she'd found it to have a stupid plot and bad music. She wished she'd gone to see Jesus Christ Superstar instead.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the emergency door swing open again. She didn't hear it, though. The train was now a gaggle of noise as the foreign girls chattered on about dance clubs, and the kids who'd just gotten on argued about their mobile phones. One boy, who looked to be about thirteen, wanted to use a girl's phone. He wanted to program his mobile number into its directory. She claimed she had it already.
"The next station," the garrulous recording informed them all "is Baker Street. Change at Baker Street for the Circle, Hammersmith & City, Metropolitan, and Jubilee lines."
A man in a suit stood up as the train slowed. He clutched a smart looking briefcase. He strode to the end of the train, never once looking at the open emergency door. The train pulled into the station and stopped. Deanna tensed waiting for the emergency door to slam, but it never did. The doors slid open and the man stepped out.
THOCK!
Deanna jumped. It was odd that the door hadn't slammed until after the train stopped. She sighed heavily, and turned back to watch the man's progress in the station. He was gone. She turned fully around in her seat and stared out, but couldn't see the man anywhere at all. There were no exits near this end of the train. "He must've really been motoring," she remarked to herself and shrugged it off.
She looked up at the Tube map and counted the stops until Waterloo. There were six.
Down from her the kids were still arguing. "Come on then," the boy said. "What's my mobile number? Call me right now if you've got my mobile number."
The girl sitting across from him laughed and refused.
"You're thirteen years old," Deanna muttered. "Tell me what you're doing with a cell phone in the first place."
The heavy-set woman across from her smiled and rolled her eyes. Deanna returned the gesture. The emergency door flew open again then, the weight of the wind against it like two great hands shoving with all their might.
Hands?
Deanna blinked. It couldn't possibly be, but it was. There was a pair of hands on the floor by the emergency exit. They were ashen hands; crusted with grime, slick with oil. The fingernails were long and bent against the ground. A head followed the hands and powerful, blackened shoulders as well. Deanna sat straight up in her seat, eyes glued to the gaping opening. Around her the walls of the tunnel were flying past, and yet something was crawling out from under the train.
"Don't worry, love," said a kindly voice. The heavy-set woman across from her smiled. "Nothing works on these old tube trains. You mustn't let it bother you."
The woman looked at the door and stared off into the distance. Deanna also looked back, expecting that the hands had been a hallucination of some kind. Too much noise, maybe. There were no hands on the floor, no head emerging from under the train. There was, however, a very strange man now standing by the door.
His clothes were black. At least, maybe they were clothes. Deanna looked at him for a long time, and the stuff covering his body was black, but it was also fluid. Sometimes it looked rough, sometimes glassy smooth. It seemed like it was part of him. It rippled when he moved. "That's," she stammered. Deanna cleared her throat and raised her voice. "That's not something you see every day, is it?" she asked the woman across from her.
The lady looked at the door and man and raised her eyebrows noncommittally. "These tube trains are old, Love," she explained. "I've seen busted emergency doors a dozen times."
Deanna gaped at her. The woman smiled back encouragingly, like a teacher with a disadvantaged student -- confident that with enough time and patience the student would eventually get the lesson. Deanna looked around at the other passengers, searching for another pair of eyes that seemed to see what she saw. There wasn't a single one.
The young woman told her daughter funny stories, bouncing the child on her knee, the kids still argued. ("Alright, what's me mum's number then?") The foreign girls wished their friend lived on Oxford Street, and the heavy-set lady in the sweater, after making her commentary had gone back to minding her own business. Other passengers did the same. Deanna looked back towards the exit, and he was still there. He saw her watching him and winked and his hollow, sunken eyes were covered briefly by blackness.
"The next station is Regent's Park."
Several people stood up. They all turned in the direction of the man and the emergency exit. Even people who'd get out faster using another exit gravitated to him. They lined up and stepped off. Deanna watched them as they exited.
THOCK!
Not one made it off the train. They all disappeared. Vanished into thin air. Deanna sank as far down in her seat as she could. Not wanting too, but somehow drawn to it, she looked back at the thing in the corner by the exit. He caught her eye and grinned. His lips were bluish, and when he smiled she couldn't see any teeth. But a thin trail of dark red liquid spilled out of his mouth and down the edge of his chin. Where was he sending those people? What was he doing to them?
"This is Regent's Park," the recording told them all, derailing Deanna's train of thought. "This is a Bakerloo line train..."
They started up again, and moved on down the line. The creature, for Deanna couldn't consider him a man at all anymore, stayed stationary. He didn't budge from his position. The door opened again and the wind, rustled at her legs and in her stomach. Deanna stretched her legs as far out as she could, stretched them so they'd block the aisle, and closed her eyes to pretend sleep.
"The next station is Oxford Circus. Change at Oxford Circus for the Victoria and Central lines."
With her eyes cracked Deanna saw the young woman with her child stand up and turn towards the creature and his exit. They came to her outstretched feet and stopped. "We'd better go the other way, darling," she told her little girl and turned away, waiting at the other end of the train to exit. Other people did the same.
The train came to a stop and the usual dance took place. No one went out the dangerous door, though. Deanna was relieved. As the train started again she snuck a glance at the thing. It was no longer smiling at her. Instead, its glazed eyes bored into her. The scrapping of the wheels on the track was plainly audible from the still open door. Deanna kept her eyes mostly shut and faked sleep.
"The next station is Picadilly Circus..."
The boy and girl with the mobiles and their friends stood up, saw Deanna with her feet out, shrugged, and headed for the other exit. Deanna smiled to herself. The train again slowed, and next to her the woman reading Financial Times stood up and walked past the emergency exit. Deanna sat up rigidly, remembered that she was pretending sleep, and sank back down again. The train stopped, the doors opened.
THOCK!
The woman was gone.
The recording told everyone to please mind the gap between the train and the platform.
Deanna turned her eyes to the creature and fairly snarled at it. It skimmed its lips far back, nearly to its ears, and bared its teeth, which she could now see resembled a shark's. She shut her eyes as the train picked up speed again. The door slipped open again.
THOCK!
She jumped as it slammed, and watched the thing pull it open again. Deanna looked at the map again. "Two more stops and then it's our exit," she told herself, mumbling into her coat. "Just two more stops. You can make two more stops, and then you'll never have to ride the Underground again. You'll take the bus next time, I promise."
"The next station is Charing Cross," the recording told her. Deanna rolled her eyes. "Change at Charing Cross for the mainline railway, the Jubilee and Northern lines."
The train slowed and Deanna shut her eyes again. With the kids gone it was getting quieter. They arrived at Charing Cross. She knew because the recording told her so. The foreign girls had stood up and come towards Deanna. Now they paused.
"Excuse me," said one and shook her violently. "We need to get through."
There were three of them. She stared at them pleadingly. They tapped their feet.
"We're gonna miss our exit," another nearly shouted. "Come on!"
Deanna meekly pulled her legs in and let them pass.
"Damn long train ride," one of them said.
"I wish Jay had a house in central London," another lamented.
They stepped through the doors.
THOCK!
One by one they vanished.
Deanna didn't try to pretend sleep any longer. The doors slid shut and they continued on. The next stop was Embankment according to the recording, and the recording was happy to tell all and sundry that you could change there to the Circle and District lines. No one got off at Embankment, though. At least, no one in Deanna's car did.
They started up again, and she watched the creature closely in case it tried to come near her. She wouldn't be going out his door. They screeched through the tunnels, the sound making Deanna's teeth ache, slowed, and stopped at Waterloo. She stood up gratefully, collecting her duffel bag as fast as she could. The woman across from her also stood up, and turned away from her.
"Oh," she cried.
The woman turned back. Deanna thought fast.
"I just have to tell you I love your sweater," she said and turned away from the emergency exit. "Did you do the embroidery yourself?"
The woman smiled and walked with her. "Yes, love," she said. "After my George died I needed something to pass the time. This was one of my first efforts. I sewed the sweater myself as well as doing all the embroidery. It's a favorite of mine -- wear it all the time."
"It's beautiful," Deanna said and glanced back. The creature was there. It was hissing at her. It made no move, though, to come after them.
"Well, bless your heart, dear," the woman said and they stepped off the train.
Deanna heaved a sigh of relief. The lady in the embroidered sweater smiled at her. "That door really upset you, dear," she observed. "It shouldn't have. No one's going to fall out, you know. We all know our way around this old system too well for that."
Deanna laughed, a nervous, high-pitched titter, and tried to smile back. Behind them the ever-talkative recording was asking everyone to "please stand clear of the doors."
The doors closed and the train whisked away as she and the lady walked on to the exits. Just as it hit the tunnel she heard the wheels shrieking again. It sounded to Deanna as though the entire train cried out.
© 2000 Lazette Gifford
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