Marcus' search for his missing friend takes him to a horrific place, at the outskirts of his city: The Stop at the End of the Line.
Story by Justin Church
Narrated by Ryan Walker
Foreword and Afterword by Joe Morin
Edited by Joe Morin
THE PROMPT
A guy breaks both legs from jumping/falling into the suicide pit, and landing on the other bodies to break his fall.
THE STORY
The Stop at the End of the Line
By Justin Church; Narrated by Ryan Walker
Please be advised: the following story contains scenes and discussions of suicide, gore, and the occult.
My mother always warned me to never miss my stop, never go to the end of the line. Everybody knew anyone who went to the end of the line never came back. Its official name is Terminal Station, but all the kids at school call it suicide drop.
My Mother thinks Terminal station is home to some kind of evil or something, and it pulls people in regardless whether they want to or not. It was always in the back of my mind while I rode. We live on the outskirts of the city, the second last stop. From the rear window of our apartment I could see the fields that lined the city, headed out in rolling hills– hills that I could only imagine led to the woods where the demon residing in the chasm pulled people to their end.
Local legend is that after the city by-law passed enforcing the criminalization of suicide, a girl named Beth McCormack went to the last stop just outside the city, walked down the forest trail and jumped into the chasm, and was never heard from again. There have always been people who have gone missing through one means or another, but my mother was sure that the rise of disappearances was a direct result of the by-law.
See what used to happen was some depressed person would go home and off themself, be found by their family, everyone would be sad, then move on. After the by-law, your family would all face the criminal charges of your actions. Some people went to jail, and the threat was enough to make people get a little more creative. Once the story about Beth started making the rounds, people had found a loophole, and suicide drop turned into the easiest place to go.
I’d never really seen a real forest, living in this city my whole life. We had the odd tree here or there in our concrete jungle, but a forest was a thing we only saw in movies.
Naturally I’d been riding the subway by myself since I was 8, and the ride downtown to the school was long, and so the subway became like a second home to me. I did homework, and used to hang out with my friend Alexander, until he moved away a while back.
Now my friends are a little different. I used to avoid the homeless people because they smelled funny, but eventually I got to know some of the regulars. It wasn’t hard actually, because we weren’t so different. We all called the subway home, the only difference is I had another home to go to, one with a shower. The woman I was closest with, Mrs. Gibbons, it turned out she was Alexander’s grandmother who he used to live with until she fell on hard times. That was why he moved.
I didn’t believe her at first when she told me, she was always exclaiming to her audience on the train, stories about her husband saying things like “My husband was a soldier, he fought the wars for y’all, died for your sins” or “My husband was a doctor, he made the downtown hospital what it is today”. But nobody really believed her stories. But she knew details about Alexander and things checked out.
I would have confirmed with him if I ever saw him, or tried to text him, but Mother would never allow it. She didn’t like Alexander because his parents were rich. He always came to school with new shoes and a flashy new smartphone. My mother didn’t even have a phone with a touchscreen, let alone me having a cell phone. But then there was Mrs. Gibbons, if she was Alexander’s grandmother, why was she on the streets? Did her family abandon her?
One day heading home on the train, I saw Mrs. Gibbons, sitting with a hard look on her face. She was quieter than usual. I sat down next to her and waited to see if she would talk to me. After a long while in silence, she finally spoke in a sad tone “I have received some terrible news. My boy, Alexander, he was seen riding the train up beyond the safe stops. He went to the end of the line.” I could see through her hard exterior, it looked as though she might burst into tears at any moment. I hesitated before asking “Is he…missing?” but she never answered. She didn’t need to. I knew what happened at the end of the line, everyone did.
Mrs. Gibbons and I didn’t speak for the rest of the trip. She just stared off into the blackness of the tunnel through the subway window ahead of us. My mind was swirling with the information I was just given. Alexander was gone. Even though we hadn’t spoken in over a year, he was still my closest friend. We had been friends since kindergarten and had done everything together. We had spent hours riding the subway together just talking. We could talk about anything.
I snapped back to reality as the train announced my stop. Ordinarily most of the homeless would get off at the stop before mine because it was the last stop that was still underground and provided shelter from the rain. Usually that was when Mrs. Gibbons would get off, and her departure usually alerted me to the fact my stop was next. Without thinking, I ran out of the car. There was no way I was missing my stop. Then I turned to look back and saw Mrs. Gibbons was still sitting in the same spot as before, staring out the window as the light of the sunset poured in through the window, lighting all the shadows of her hard face. Before I knew it, the automatic doors had closed, and I watched as the train pulled away, with Mrs. Gibbons still staring out that window. I knew that would be the last time I would ever see Mrs. Gibbons.
When I arrived at home, I didn’t tell my mother about Mrs. Gibbons or Alexander. She wouldn’t care anyways. I never spoke to her much at all these days. She worked long hours at the hospital and spent most of her free time sleeping or drinking, or sleeping then drinking. I used to sleep on the couch, but she got in the habit of passing out there for the night, leaving her bed free, which is where I spend most of my time. I laid back in bed, closed my eyes, and found myself thinking about Alexander. Why would he go to the end, what does he have to be depressed about? As far as I knew he lived in a nice home downtown, with his rich parents who loved him. He had a good life. And what about Mrs. Gibbons, was she really gone? It took a long time before I could push the two out of my mind and fall asleep.
I awoke the next morning, creeped slowly past the hungover form of my mother passed out on the couch, grabbed a stale piece of bread out of the refrigerator, and silently went out the front door. As my second home rolled to a stop, I got on hoping to see Mrs. Gibbons still sitting in the same spot. Sure it would be weird if she was still there, but at least I would know she somehow got away from Terminal Station. But there was no Mrs. Gibbons. I rode all the way downtown hoping she might show up at some point, but by the time I got to the stop closest to my school, there was still no sign of her.
I sat in class, barely paying attention, imagining what could have happened to her. I pictured her on the train, with the doors of the car open towards the dark wooded trail, the dark whispers on the wind calling out to her, forcing her to leave the safety of the train and away from Terminal Station. The train takes off the moment she exits and she does her odd shuffling down the forest path with that cold expression upon her face. Despite her wearing every piece of clothing she owned all at once, she shivered as the wind blew, and the trees closed in behind her as she walked. The dim moonlight barely lit the path ahead, but there was no path behind her any longer. No choice but to keep going, she made her choice when she stayed on to the last stop. Finally she approached the edge of the chasm, a deep pit so far down you couldn’t even see the bottom. Giant teeth lined the edges and tentacles of pure darkness lay strewn about like tree roots. Mrs. Gibbons leans over the pit and calls out Alexander’s name. She waits for a moment, and yet, does not even hear the reflection of her own voice, as if the being of darkness that lay within the pit swallowed it up. She tried to call out again but no sound would come out.
Mrs. Gibbons’ hard face turned into a look of pure dread as she began to analyze her surroundings. The trees had gathered so thick, it was as if even pure daylight couldn’t pierce through. The trunks stood like bars of a cell, lining the area around the pit, trapping Mrs. Gibbons with the being of darkness below, and only one option of going forward.
The shadowy tentacles creeped out of the pit, moving their way closer and closer to Mrs. Gibbons, yet remaining out of her sight. She stood up away from the pit, staring defiantly down, knowing what she had to do, the only way to learn the truth about her Alexander.
For a brief moment she mentally prepared herself for the plunge. Before she could make her move, the shadows grasped at her ankles, dragging her down. Her fingernails scraped at the ground, leaving deep trails scratched into the earth, leading straight to the lip of the pit. For one brief moment, she clung to the very edge of the pit, the tentacles burned the flesh around her ankles where it grasped. And then In a flash she was gone, disappearing into the darkness of the chasm, never to be seen again.
I awoke sharply as the classroom bell rang. My classmates rushed out the door. I tried to scoop up my papers to put them in my bag, but Mr. Barkley, my teacher, walked up to my desk. We both noticed at the same time, the dark doodle I had done in my dreams. It looked like the visceral scene of Mrs. Gibbons, dead at the bottom of the pit, with tentacles chewing upon her flesh. It was rather good, one of my better sketches, but the look from Mr. Barkley was enough to know it wasn’t something to be drawing at school.
I tucked the drawing into my bag. He asked “Is everything okay Marcus? Should I be concerned? You weren’t paying attention most of the day, and you’re doing drawings like this. You know, typically this would require a call home.”
I nodded in acknowledgement, “Yes sir, I know, I’m sorry.”
He paused for a moment, sighed and took my notebook. He pulled out a pen and wrote something in it. “I know your situation at home is tough, but I need you to be present and I need you to be alright. But if for some reason you have an emergency, you can call this number and we can talk, okay?”
“I understand sir, thank you.” I quickly took my notebook back and put it in my bag, and got out the door as quickly as I could. I didn’t really know what he was implying, but I shrugged it off and headed to the subway.
The ride was long and quiet. I didn’t do any homework or talk with anybody. I sat and stared at the spot Mrs. Gibbons had sat in just yesterday. I couldn’t get the images out of my head, the look of terror on her hardened old face. Nobody would even care if she was missing. Nobody cared if she lived or if she died. She would still be there in that pit, maybe even still alive. Was there a chance I could help her?
Now I can’t explain what happened next. Was it an act of bravery, curiosity, stupidity? But I know I wasn’t going for the reason anybody else did. I didn’t want to die. Part of me believes that I felt the pull of that dark force, telling me to stay on the train. The doors closed as the train pulled away from my stop, heading towards Terminal Station. Towards Suicide Drop.
I looked out the window at the familiar hills and watched as we went by. It took longer than I had expected to get to the stop, it seemed as if the train crawled to our destination. It was the most uncomfortable I had ever felt on the subway, and I knew the path I was on led in only one direction.
The train hissed to a stop, and the automated message came over the speaker “Terminal Station, door will open on the left. This is a terminal station, all passengers must exit the cars”.
I hesitated a moment in front of the open doorway, contemplating my decision, when a door swung open from the front of the train and a man stepped out. I hadn’t even realized there were drivers for the trains, I had always assumed they were automated. The man looked at me and said “You don’t have to listen to that message son. You can just stay on the train and we will loop back around.” He went back into the cab, closing the door before I could say anything. I heard his words but the meaning didn’t register in my head. This is Terminal Station, this is the end of the line, if you ride this far you have to get off, what he said went against everything I had ever been told about this station. But before I could wrap my head around this idea, I felt a tingling in my legs as they began to step forward, off the train and away from the station.
The train doors closed and it took off down the tracks, leaving me in the dark, with the lone light that hung on the ceiling of the overhang that was Terminal Station. I could see the forest path ahead of me. It really didn’t look much like I had imagined it when Mrs. Gibbons went. Clouds covered the sky, blocking out most of the moonlight, and yet the path didn’t seem as dark as I had imagined either. My curiosity drove me farther down the path. Maybe Mrs. Gibbons was still there, I could still help her.
I continued down the unfamiliar path, when I saw it, the edge of the pit. There were no teeth and no shadowy tentacles, and despite the lack of light, I was pretty sure I could see the bottom. It had odd shaped lumps below and looked as if it were no more than 60 feet down. Still a deadly drop, but nothing like the bottomless pit of my imagination.
I called out Mrs. Gibbons' name and waited. There was no answer. I called out again, and I was shocked to hear her yell up to me “Waddaya want?”.
“I’m here to help you Mrs. Gibbons.”.
“Leave me alone. I came to this hole to die.” I leaned a little further over the edge to see if I could locate where she was, but I couldn’t identify her amongst the lumps below.
But before I knew it, I felt the presence of a darkness. The same darkness that had gotten Mrs. Gibbons. I felt the flesh around my ankles burn, as the tentacle of darkness coiled around me, climbing up my body, wrapping around my neck. I tried to bolt upright, but it was too late, and I felt myself plummeting feet first off suicide drop.
I awoke to the tingling sensation in my legs I had felt before, but when I tried to move, everything hurt. I started to regain focus and look around when I saw what formerly were my legs. They dangled grotesquely, a tangle of shattered bones and torn flesh, like a cruel sculpture crafted by the impact. Blood seeped through mangled skin, rolling down the body I lay atop.
The information my eyes brought in came all at once. My legs were destroyed for one, but I was also atop what remained of Mrs. Gibbons. I couldn’t keep myself from screaming out through the pain, and the recognition of what I had done “I killed Mrs. Gibbons!”.
A few more minutes went by like this before, over my screams, I heard a deep rasping voice that called out “Marcus! Quit your blubbering Marcus, you’re giving me a headache.”
I quieted myself and looked around. Then I spotted him. Alexander, laying two feet to the left of the body of his grandmother with his head split wide open. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My jaw dropped. With a wound like that it was a miracle he could even speak. I whispered his name aloud but there was no answer.
With all my might, I used my arms to drag my body a little closer to my friend. Adrenaline worked miracles, as I seemed to feel little pain from my mangled legs, although the rest of my body certainly alerted me to its complaints. I reached out and grabbed Alexander’s hand, it was cold. He was dead, just like poor Mrs. Gibbons and the dozens of other lumps lying around in this pile. A shrill sound ran out from Alexander’s pocket. I reached in and pulled out his new smartphone, with the glass screen shattered.
Someone was calling him. I carefully pressed the broken screen to pick up the call and let out a faint “Hello?” with my voice quavering. A woman’s voice came over the phone “Jesus Alexander, we were worried about you. Where are you?”.
I said nothing as the woman paused. I didn’t know what to say. I was sure this was Alexander’s mother, but what could I even say to her? “Hi Alexander’s a little busy at the moment, can I take a message?” “Hi your son is dead and I stole this phone off his corpse, can you help me?” I said nothing and hung up the phone.
She didn’t want to know her son was here anyways, nobody would want to hear that. Besides Alexander made his choice, he came here and did this to himself. He was my friend, but he was gone, and I had to worry about me now, and this phone might be my only salvation.
The first number I dialed, I knew off by heart. I’d called it from payphones many times years ago when my mother still cared to know where I was. It had been a long time since, but I still remembered and dialed. It rang and rang and finally as I thought it was going to voicemail, I heard my mother’s voice “Hello?” I realized this was the first word she had spoken to me in over a week. I tried to keep myself calm and collected, averting my eyes away from the fleshy remains of what once were my legs.
I spoke as clear as I could: “Mother, it’s me, I’m in trouble.”
“Marcus? Is it really important? I’m very busy at work right now, can I call you back?”.
“No, I’m hurt, badly.”
“Okay” she said, “where are you? Can somebody there help?” I hesitated before answering
“I went… I went to the last stop. I’m at the pit.” The only way I could tell she was still on the line were the faint breaths coming through the phone, then she responded
“Are you at the pit or… in the pit?”. I knew exactly what she was thinking. I said, “In, but I didn’t try to-” the phone cut me off as the other end of the line went dead.
The raspy voice of Alexander’s corpse cut through the silence “She doesn’t care Marcus. Once you’re in the pit, you never leave. You made your choice already. You came here and did this to yourself.”
I screamed at the undead corpse “Shut up you liar! I’m not like you, I didn’t do this on purpose.”
“Nobody comes here by accident Marcus.” The corpse lay there with only the mouth moving, spitting out these awful lies about me, and without thinking, I swung my bag off my back and smashed it down as hard as I could on Alexander’s split open head. The head lay split even wider than before, with a large piece dangling by a chunk of flesh holding half the boy's face from falling away. I breathed heavily as I looked at what I had done, holding my now torn bag in one hand, and my notebook now laying in Alexander’s lap.
In that moment I remembered about Mr. Barkley. I reached over and grabbed my notebook, flipping to the page where Mr. Barkley had written his number, and dialed. This time it did go to voicemail, so I hung up and immediately called again.
Finally I heard the familiar voice of Mr. Barkley. Before he even had a chance to say hello, I blurted out who I was and what was going on. It sounded like I had woken him up “Slow down, this is Marcus? Marcus, I thought I told you to use this number in an emergency, not just for a goodnight call.”.
“This is an emergency, I’m in the pit, suicide drop. I am in the pit.”.
Mr. Barkley held on the line while he digested what I had said. “So you… what, jumped?”.
“Yeah but I had no choice, it was pulling me in.”
“Son, there’s always a choice, you made yours and it’s something you’ll have to live with.”
“Please Mr. Barkley, I need help!” The line went dead.
Alexander’s corpse cackled with laughter from both sides of his split face, “I told you Marcus, you made your choice, nobody is coming to help you, nobody cares about you, and nobody cares if you live or if you-”
“Marcus”. I heard someone call my name. I looked above but saw nobody. I looked back to Alexander, but the face no longer moved. I started to feel the pain from my legs and couldn’t handle it. I screamed out before blacking out.
The next time I opened my eyes, I was in the backseat of a car, with a blinding light coming through the windows. I thought I saw my mom in the passenger seat. Her words were echoey but I could faintly hear her say “Sit still Marcus. We’re getting you to the hospital, just sit still”.
“We?” I thought. I looked to the driver’s seat and through the blinding light, the man at the wheel looked like Mr. Barkley. They came, I thought. They both came! Alexander was wrong. I closed my eyes to block out the blinding light, trying to be content with the knowledge that everything would be alright. Yet, I still felt it, the grasp of the darkness wrapped around my throat. I couldn't ignore the fact that part of that shadowy demon had followed me. My mother was right, she always told me to never go to the end of the line, because once you go, you can never come back. A part of you stays forever lost in that pit, and a part of the pit stays with you.
DA END
