The Subway Horror

The underground station echoed with metallic groans as the last train screeched away. A gust of stale wind blew trash across the platform. Samantha and Kevin, exhausted after their late shift, dragged their feet toward the exit escalator.

Then came the sound. A scraping. Like metal dragging against tile.

Out of the shadows emerged a towering figure. He wore a filthy janitor’s uniform smeared with grease, his bald head glistening under the flickering fluorescent lights. In his hands: a massive pipe wrench, red with rust and something darker. His breath reeked of gasoline and cheap beer.

Samantha’s eyes widened. Kevin whispered, “Run.”

The figure grinned—several teeth missing—before slamming the wrench against a vending machine. Sparks flew. Candy bars rained down, a grotesque parody of generosity.

The chase began.

Kevin shoved Samantha forward. The wrench man swung, grazing Kevin’s shoulder. He cried out in pain, stumbling. Samantha grabbed a broken glass bottle from the ground and jabbed at the attacker’s arm. He roared, dropping the wrench for a split second. Kevin seized it, driving the heavy steel into the man’s ribs.

Blood sprayed across the tiles. The man staggered but didn’t fall. He laughed—an unholy sound echoing through the tunnels. With frightening speed, he grabbed Kevin by the throat and smashed him against the tiled wall. Samantha screamed, lunging again with the broken bottle.

Police sirens wailed above



The Subway Horror

Two officers stormed down the stairs: Officer Daniels, a sharp-eyed rookie, and Officer Cruz, an older cop clearly past his prime, munching on a half-eaten hot dog.

“Drop it!” Daniels shouted, gun drawn.

The hulking figure turned, bloodshot eyes glowing with madness. “Feed me…” he growled, gripping Kevin tighter.

Cruz muttered with a mouthful of bread, “Jesus Christ, it’s always my dinner break.”

Daniels advanced. “Let him go, now!”

The madman hurled Kevin aside and charged. Daniels fired. The shot cracked, echoing in the tunnels. The man fell, wrench clattering beside him. But even on the ground, he clawed at the air, snarling, until Cruz stepped forward and casually stomped his skull against the rails.

Silence.

Samantha sobbed, clutching Kevin. Daniels holstered his gun, still tense. Cruz wiped mustard off his shirt.

“Goddamn psycho,” Daniels muttered.

Cruz shrugged. “At least I didn’t spill my hot dog.”

The dead man’s eyes remained open, fixed in a hateful glare. His gasoline-soaked stench still filled the station.

Daniels looked at the corpse. “Even dead, you make this city worse.”

Cruz sighed. “Paperwork’s gonna take longer than my shift.”