Justify — A Short Horror Story

When we lie to ourselves.

He’s watching me. I can feel it. That six sense people get when something’s wrong. Since boarding the subway, I felt watched. It makes little sense. He’s supposed to be dead.

But there he sits a few seats ahead of me in the last car of the train. That possibility is even more terrifying. I glance up again to verify if I’m going insane. The man is fixed in his chair and staring at me. His brown eyes fixating on mine. The smirk he features shoots chills down my spine. The scar on his left cheek is a constant reminder. His hair is a messy slop of dark brown, with falling strands over his eyes. He looks so tranquil and collected, given the history.

I grab hold of the seat bar in front of me as the train makes a sudden violent shake, as if it rode over something on the rails. The power goes out and I’m immersed in pure darkness. The tunnel lights provide no direction to our destination or history. As I try to discern what could have gone wrong, the train’s lights turn back on, followed by the tunnel.

Squinting, I search for an explanation in my surroundings, unsure of what to expect. That’s when I notice the man is gone. Panic rises in my body, fear taking over all my senses. Was I just imagining him there before?

Everything goes dark for a moment, then the man reappears standing in the walkway. Eyes replaced with white bloodshot ones. No pupils. Just white. I want to scream; I want to cry for help, but I can’t find my voice. All I could do was watch.

The man disappears amidst flickering lights. I search around, struggling to find something real in this nightmare I’m trapped in. He isn’t real. He couldn’t be real. After all, he keeps vanishing. Could this be a hallucination? A sickness?

There must be a rational explanation as I don’t believe in ghosts. Yet, there he is. Gazing from the opposite end. He turns as I observe him and opens the door that leads to the neighboring car. Then the lights shut off again.

Not knowing why, if it was me or some external force controlling me, I rise and shuffle into the walkway. I freeze there, finding myself now able to regain control of my body. The man is in the other train car, just glaring at me, no longer showing his signature smirk. Despite the distance, I could see his outfit has changed. It’s now the same outfit I remember him in. The one from the other night.

The lights flicker on and the room is empty. I had almost forgotten people were there. Prickling sensations make their way up and down my arms and legs, and a headache forms. Maybe it’s feasible to hallucinate one man, somehow, but the entire train car?

Standing still and making eye contact, I saw something move in my peripheral vision. I couldn’t help but turn away to investigate, seeing something red showing up. The windows were… bleeding. Crimson liquid seeped into the train, finding its way down the walls and pooling onto the floor. I no longer could feel my body again. The mere fear I felt made me paralyzed.

Coldness engulfs me. The man is now just a silhouette with white eyes. He’s looking at me, observing me, enjoying my reaction. The lights flicker, some remaining on, others alternating, almost unsure of themselves.

Then the whole train pulls to a stop. We weren’t even close to the next station, the station I’m getting off at. It’s my exit from this hysteria I’m trapped in. The tunnel walls surround the train, darkness closing in from all sides. Claustrophobia hit me for the first time.

Tapping sounds come from behind me, and I felt an ice-cold chill make its way down my spine. There shouldn’t be anything behind me. I’m in the last train car. Tapping turns to slow pounds on the train’s door window that leads to the tunnel. I keep my eyes on the silhouette in the next train car, who’s still staring at me, anxious it would pounce the moment I broke contact. However, the tapping didn’t seem to cease.

I turn gradually, keeping my eye on the silhouette until I made a 90-degree turn clockwise. I turn my head completely to face the door. It’s glass, which would offer a splendid view of the tunnel had it been lit up. I could see my reflection whenever the nearest light flickered on. I look worn and broken, a mess without a care how others see me. Like I haven’t taken care of myself in months. Those brown eyes showing signs of pain and terror.

The tapping persists, but now I see its source. It’s my reflection. The facial expression wasn’t my own. It’s smiling at me. My manic face from that night.

It stops tapping, tilts its head and studies me. I couldn’t find any ability to move. With no control, I instead feel forced to watch my reflection move at will. It pulls out a gun, but not any ordinary gun. It’s my pistol. Then it positions the gun at me. The grin fades and its expression turns hostile, a rage I knew all too well. I knew what was coming, but couldn’t look away. I have to watch.

The shot rings out, and the window explodes into a shatter of tiny pieces of glass. I regain control of my body and protect my eyes from the shards while stepping back. I look back and see the shattered window, blood pouring in through the hole.

Darkness seems to slither in like a giant black cloud. I could see it with the help of the flickering lights. It smells of smoke but feels ice cold. The closer it got, the colder I felt. The nearest light to the cloud, one that was flickering, shut off permanently. I took another few steps back while I watch the darkness get closer. The next light goes out. I continue to take more steps back, backing towards the other train car, toward the silhouette. When I looked back, the silhouette was still watching me.

Unable to distinguish threats, I run towards the silhouette, its white eyes scrutinizing my efforts. As I run across the train car, I look back momentarily to see the advancement of the black smoke keeping pace with my movements. There’s a moving, shadow-like presence in it.

I dart through the train car door, leading outside and to the next car. The black smoke surrounds the outside, making it impossible to see the next car. The only viable sight was the white eyes staring at me.

Out of options, I try the door, and to my dismay, it’s locked. My heart sinks a few feet at the realization. I’m trapped. Going back is futile. There’s no escape for me. I just stare at the silhouette. It now shows a pure white mouth, as an open-mouthed smile. It’s enjoying every moment of my anguish and confusion. Like it wants this to happen. Like it’s controlling this.

“Please!” I cry at the entity, “Please don’t do this.”

But it only smiles while the black smoke engulfs me. I slump to my knees, expecting the worst, whatever it was. I felt colder and started coughing from the smoke. Then I open my eyes when I realized I had closed them in the heat of the moment. Spinning around, I look back down the walkway, continuing to cough. All the lights were off, but ultimately, I didn’t need them. More silhouettes are in the car with me — some studying me, others looking elsewhere. They all glow with a dim white light.

I recognize one of them. The only one that matters. The one I knew to be gone. He’s here in this train car with me. His silhouette transforming to reveal his features. A mystical white light ignites above him, showing off his face. Downcast eyes, but smiling face. It’s the same grin he made when he was cheerful. His mouth curves further up to the right; nose wrinkles ever so slightly. The mess of his dark brown hair over his eyes. He typically did something about it. He preferred to be orderly. This doesn’t represent him on any day, but on a particular day.

Tires screech loudly, swerving, then skidding. I could hear a thunderous clash and bending of metal around me. Several screams circled, followed by the sound of sirens off in the distance. It was so sudden, so quick. It catches me off guard, thinking something struck the train. My vision clouds momentarily, returning me back to that night. Seeing the impact, knowing he didn’t survive, but the other one did. Seeing his face before coming back to the train.

“Mr. Hill,” I hear a whisper to my right say. I briefly glance right and see nothing. “We are sorry to inform you, but your son was in an accident.”

Unsure of what to say, tears form in my eyes as I say, “No.”

“No!” I shout in no particular direction, but at the events taking place all around me. They’re forcing me to relive it again, even though I haven’t finished grieving yet. Tears run down my cheeks, dripping to the floor.

My son stands up from the seat he is in and saunters into the walkway, still staring at the ground. I saw all the damage done. The twisted right leg. The broken arm. Blood spewing out of his chest where metal used to be. He had smashed his fingers, and they were dangling loosely from his hands. I looked back at the face, now replaced with reality. The cuts, deep gashes on the cheeks and forehead. The blood trickling out of them. A large chunk of metal still embedded in his skull. Tears roll down his cheeks, mimicking mine.

Then he faces me. Pure white eyes, not the beautiful brown they formerly were. He whispers to me, in his soft tone, the kind that could ease your stress and anger in a second.

“I never wanted this,” the spirit intones.

I drop to my knees, bearing no ability to hold my emotions in any longer, nor being able to control my coughing. I cry and scream out. Curse the Gods for having let this happen to me, to my family. Of all the people that could have been picked to be dealt this card. It was cruel.

“Son,” I respond. The spirit’s smile causes more bleeding from his aggravated wounds.

The spirit limps its way closer to me. With each step, the sound of a heartbeat monitor beeps. Beeping starts normally, then weakens. The closer the spirit steps, the worse it got. Once the spirit is right on top of me, the monitor flatlined. He drops mere inches from me. It was too late. I was too late. I close my eyes, finding myself crying.

The spirit touches my shoulder, shooting an ice-cold shiver through my bones. I frantically look up and see anger and animosity on my son’s face. It’s almost unrecognizable. This being howled in my face, making me jump back and scooch away until I hit the train car door.

“Oh, father?” it toys with me, “Why did you leave me?” The spirit’s head jerks to the right, as if observing my movements more attentively, studying my reaction. “You weren’t their father. You left me.”

It isn’t my son’s voice anymore. Something more demonic corrupts him. I sit back against the door, tears streaking down my face, obscuring my vision. The demonic interpretation of my son crawling on all fours towards me.

“Why did you do it father?” it asks laughing manically in between sentences, “Was it worth it?”

A gunshot plays out. I shut my eyes fiercely. My heart stops beating for only a moment. Another shot rings out. A scream. A woman, screaming in the distance. I open my eyes to see my son laying on the ground. I found him in the same position by the wreckage that night. I look up to catch the man staring at me now standing in the same train car, not as a silhouette but his true features once again. He had two red stains on his chest, each dripping blood down his shirt. Another shot rings out, and another hole develops in the man’s chest. Blood spills from the wounds while the man continues to smile at me.

“Stop,” I say, uncertain. I’m re-experiencing it as I have for the past several weeks. Control slips away. I feel helpless, listening to shot after shot. Holes appear in the man who smiles at me. Then a woman appears behind him to his right. A child appears to his left, all smiling at me. Then all shedding tears.

“Stop it!” I bellow at them as they stand there. Another gunshot rings out. I feel my hands splash into a liquid on the ground as I struggle to sit up higher against the door. Blood pools around me as it continues to seep into the train car.

“Was it worth it?” another whisper hisses next to my right ear. Coldness washing over my ear accompanied by a tingling sensation. I could hear more whispers all around me.

“Why did you do it?”

“Was it what your son wanted?”

“You weren’t there for him.”

“Were you ever there for him?”

“Why didn’t you stop him?”

“Why didn’t you stop me?” says a voice that didn’t sound like the rest. It’s rougher. I glance up at the man again. He isn’t smiling anymore, but looks miserable. He looks…remorseful, yet furious. Blood pours from him like a waterfall. I shake my head, slightly at first, then more viciously as he whispers in my head.

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Was it your judgment?”

“Was it?”

All these whispers swimming around my head, invading my mind. I could hear them, but they weren’t only whispers that talked into my ears. They were my very thoughts. The man falls in front of me, splashing into the pool of blood, letting it rain over him, his family, my son, and I. I clench my hands but stop, realizing something was in my right hand. I peer down. It’s the gun, still hot from the shots it took. I look at the dead man in front of me and watch the family run to him, crying and shrieking in pain. He’s a father too.

It’s him, though. It’s his negligence. He’s the one who did it. I did what had to be done.

“I had to,” I say loudly, though no one is listening to me. All I could hear was screaming and wailing. The panic and anguish in this family’s eyes. Their expressions mortify me.

“I had to!” I shout at them. They continue to ignore me.

I got up and headed towards the woman on the ground next to her dead husband. I stop halfway, turning around, whirling in circles slowly, seeking to get a grasp of matters. Silhouettes appear in all the train cars again, all of them looking at me. They all had their eyes wide open, focused on me. I sense fear in all of them. Scared of me.

“I had to!” I scream at the silhouettes, “He was my son! He was my son!”

The lights flicker, and I’m shoved to the ground hard. I slam my head on the floor, closing my eyes in the process to take in the pain that added to the throbbing headache I already was experiencing. I open my eyes and gasp.

Thanks to the fully lit tunnels, the train is bright again. The floor isn’t a blood-filled pool; instead, it’s just a typical dirty train floor with scattered food particles and dust. The shattered windows were now fixed. The silhouettes were replaced by the same people from before. Although now their faces resemble terror, all looking at me.

I’m forced out of the train at my destination station. I stumble before regaining balance in front of several armed policemen, all staring at me, ready for whatever move I make. The cop behind me moves in close and says, “I hope it was worth it, John.”

Worth it? After weeks of hell, I had a genuine answer to that question…

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