What a Horrible Night to Have a Curse

The feeling was mutual between Tom Belmont and the city of Chicago - they didn’t like each other. The only reason he came here was the sales; he just knew how to talk to people here. True, he suffered a bit and felt weird and uncomfortable, but the money, food, and the pleasures made it worthwhile. Every year when Chicago came up on the calendar, it was always faced with an initial dread. His experience had shown that it always ended up a success, but still… ick.

Fuck it. It was almost over. He just won over a juicy client and was lucky enough to get a blowjob from a funny and sexy blonde in a bar bathroom. He had one more schmooze fest with a very promising client tomorrow, one more night of getting drunk and full on good food courtesy of the company credit card, then a plane ride home. He missed his family; he was eager to see them again.

God. It was such a fucking success. He signed them; his knowledge of good restaurants and natural charisma sealed the deal. Celebratory shots. He was 44 and in relatively good shape; he could do it.

He stumbled out of the bar at 12:30. Shit… where was he? Cross streets. Okay. He wasn’t that far from the blue line. That would take him directly to his hotel.

He fell asleep on the train.

So there he was, leaning against a post at the Kedzie pink line, impatient. It was only six minutes away, but he was drunker than he wanted to be, and he forgot to take his medication tonight. He was usually so good about it.

Two minutes. Just a little more.

The station was more crowded than usual; a music festival was ending, and the crowds were deep.

Finally here. The train was more than congested; fuck it, he’d wait for the next one.

The next train was still going to be crowded, but not as much. If he had known better, he would have taken the last train.

A couple from the music festival were taking selfies of each other. The flash on the phone was set to automatic.

It took three flashes to bring him into an epileptic fit. He stumbled forward, shaking. Everyone was lost in their own little worlds, not paying attention to the man walking clumsily towards the tracks until nothing could be done. He stepped wrong and fell onto the tracks.

The tracks were electrified.

A woman saw him fall as the train was approaching.

“Stop!” she screamed. “STOP!!!”

The train stopped within inches of him.

Tom lay there on the tracks, twitching. His head made contact with the third rail. His right arm had curled up, twitching in rhythm to the electricity pulsing through him.

Whenever he had a seizure, he would leave his body. He never told anybody about it; it was a secret he kept for himself. This time was different, however. He was still outside himself, but he could feel it.

He didn’t feel any pain; it was just the sensations. He could feel his curled arm hit his chest each time the current ran through him; he could feel his nerves, crying out in confusion; he could feel the heat.

“Oh my god oh no oh my god he’s dying,” a woman said as she paced the platform and sobbed, shocked as the crowd just stood there, staring in morbid curiosity and doing nothing. But what could they do? They had nothing to grab him with; they couldn’t pull him out. What else was there to do but stare and pray?

“It’s not a spectator’s sport,” a woman said as she sat against a post, facing opposite the spectacle of the dying man.

CTA didn’t know what to do. They weren’t prepared for this. They had nothing to rescue the man with; going down to the tracks to rescue him would ensure the same fate; the third rail was still live.

People broke out of their shocked stupor; cell phones calling 911. Sirens approaching.

It was too late. The man known by family and friends as Tom Belmont had stopped moving.

A part of him remained. He was still there at the station, watching what was happening, but he was growing disinterested. He felt a pull to go somewhere else, and it was compelling.

He still felt the sensations, but they were more subdued. What he felt most was heat. It was almost pleasant. There was a sort of comfort to it.

The crowd began gasping and screaming as smoke began rising from his body. A few people fainted when his head caught fire.

Tom had seen enough. He had other places to be.

It took only two minutes for the crowd to leave the station, and an additional three for emergency crews to arrive.

He was pronounced dead five minutes later.