Case

Presswick train station was old, far removed from the ones you'd see in the big cities today. The white paintwork on the platform walls was chipped and cracked, whilst the damp stench of the local sewer works lingered in the air. The station inhabited a town that looked like a lot of other small towns, though if you dug deep enough you would find a wealth of dark stories buried beneath. Stories of an evil surrounding the old cotton mill and the faces of the dead at the bottom of the local swimming baths. These are the tales that were passed down from parents to their children without hard evidence and truth. You'd be forgiven for thinking the worse of the town that it inhabited. After all, this was a place that had seen better and busier times, before the days of industry and holiday makers disappeared and people discovered more exciting climates. You'd find no designer clothes shops or coffee houses here. This was a place that people used in order to vacate the town for work and brighter places. No-one came to this place unless it was absolutely necessary and in spite of social media and all those town summer campaigns, it had been a long time since anyone had made the decision to holiday in a place such as this.

At the end of the platform, there was a small black brief case with rusted golden locks and a brown-coloured worn handle. There was no-one else on the platform, so whom it belonged to would be anyones guess. Some might question how it came to be there, but it's more than likely that most people would walk on by without giving it a moments thought. That's the curious thing about most people. They're so busy rushing around, that they never stop to look at the things happening around them. Someone's watching you, always from across the street. They're learning your habits and your routine; where you go, what time you take your lunch. They're following you. They're closing in on the back of your neck; slowly and methodically, but you'll never know. When you close the front door and slip off your shoes, they're waiting outside in the shadows of that old house on the corner or that school that burnt down. They're on the other side of the road and they need only cross, open the door that you forgot to lock and enter that place that you call home. It is only with good fortune that we wake in a cold sweat with just a feeling of suspicion that something is not right.

Ella entered the platform, seeking shelter in the sanctuary of the station waiting room. It was one of those old platforms without a roof and a heavy rain had been falling for the better part of the last day. It was now finally beginning to cease, sitting in between the mud and the overgrown weeds of the old train track. The nights breath was blue and its arms wrapped tightly around Ella's chest. In one hand, she held her shoes and in the other there was an open bag of chips from the local takeaway, though they weren't as enjoyable as she had come to expect. The late night rush of drunken college students in high-vis jackets and an argumentative hen party had seen to that. This was the kind of place that she found herself at the end of these kind of nights, surrounded by what she was now viewing as the squalor of the town.

Ella was a pint-sized girl with high cheekbones and a slim figure that the men in the office at work took great pleasure in chasing after. They were always showering her with flattering words in the hope that they would find themselves on her good side, perhaps leading to a date or maybe something more. The truth is that they always wanted something more. They wanted to touch her and move their hands over her thighs in ways they'd seen people touch each other in all those online adult videos. They didn't want to make her their wife or even their girlfriend. She was more of a trophy to parade in front of the people of the town on an open top bus, in the way that the heroes return on cup final day. Ella knew the games and the tricks that these men played but she wanted more than a fumble in the backseat of her managers vintage Ford Capri. She had never been that kind of girl and Presswick left her feeling trapped, as her desire for far-off lands continued to grow. She had an insatiable appetite for adventure and she had known for sometime that she would not find it in this place.

Ella peered through the window to the inside of the waiting room, but the door was locked. There was an unplugged vending machine and a series of dusty looking magazines on a table in the middle of the room. She checked the timetable on the small map to the left of the doors, seeing that it would be another twelve-minutes until the next train arrived. Next to the timetable was a piece of laminated signage which read, "This station will be closing soon. We thank you for your custom over the years". If she smashed the window and entered inside, she imagined that no-one would care. Ticket inspectors and station security were scarce. You might see one during a morning commute, but to see one now was as rare as seeing another person on the platform at this time of night.

After attending a colleagues birthday party in town, she had made her excuses and left the bar. Her co-workers had been talking about the party all week and in spite of her insistence that she was unable to attend, Ella reluctantly accepted the invitation. She'd have much rather spent her Friday night watching a boxset in her onesie, than spend it with her colleagues discussing customer service and management objectives. "And we've got to look at our long term strategy if we want to get ahead. It's as much about tomorrow as it is today," someone would usually say. This was what always happened on work nights out and it usually went something along the lines of the following.

1. Meet everyone at the bar.
2. Make small talk with colleagues.
3. Reluctantly agree to go in on buying everyone a round of drinks, because everyone is buying a round.
4. Listen to Margaret talk about her grandchildren.
5. Listen to the manager discuss his future business strategy.
6. Listen to the manager talk about his divorce.
7. Check phone.
8. Dance with colleagues, even though it's not really the music she enjoys.
9. Reluctantly do shots with colleagues.
10. Say goodbyes and leave.
11. Go to the local takeaway.
12. Catch the last train home.

There were three wooden seats in the middle of the platform and they were all damaged. One of them housed several cigarette burn marks, whilst the one next to it was missing the seat itself, meaning that only the back remained. The third seat was the better of the three and although the wood was rotten, it was the best that she could hope for as she sat and anticipated the trains arrival. Ella could almost feel the warmth of the coach carriage and the comfort of her bed. But as twelve minutes turned to fifteen and fifteen became twenty, it never arrived. That's when she saw the case at the other end of the platform. She looked around to see if she had missed anyone, thinking that they might have been in the station toilet, but it was locked. It left her with an uneasy feeling, though there was no reason for such anxiety. She passed things in the road on the way to work every morning, so what made this any different? Thinking about it, she realised that most people would probably leave it alone, wait for the train to arrive and lock it away in the back of their mind. Perhaps she'd revisit it when she got home or perhaps she'd tell someone about it the next day at work, only for them to fain some kind of interest, in much the same way that she'd pretended to care about her managers divorce or her work colleagues second anniversary. Ella could wake up in her own bed tomorrow morning, enjoy her day off and finish her book. The voice in her head told her to stay away but she knew that she couldn't. She had become a person of caution and she didn't want to be that person anymore. It was the trees and the mud that she cared for as a girl, but that impulsiveness had vanished in her formative years and she longed for it to return to her. The brooks and meadows from her family holidays felt like someone else's memories now.

What was it about this case that intrigued her so much and what was she hoping to find inside? The wait was getting longer, as was the hesitation. But as her curiosity grew, so did the growing urge inside. She got down on one knee and placed her fingers on the locks, with the remnants of rust breaking away and resting between her fingers.

Not wanting to be accused of meddling with someone else's things, she took one last look for the owner. Maybe she'd missed them? Maybe she'd even missed some hidden room on the platform; a warm chamber that served hot chocolate and cream? A place with the finest leather upholstery and a golden fire gifted with flames from the sun.

She held her fingers against the locks with a great caution and readied herself for what she might find. Then something stirred inside, pushing itself against the interior casing. She moved back, her body now shaking with the kind of dread she had never felt before. Placing her ear against the front of the case, she waited anxiously for some kind of sound or movement. Then came a whispering from the inside, different voices all calling out with words to quiet to properly understand. Ella placed the locks between her fingers and thumbs as she had done before and the whispering stopped. In the distance, Ella could hear her train. It was tantalisingly close now. This thing that she'd found, she could leave alone, turn away and leave for somebody else to place their curiosity.

She pulled the case open, finding that there was nothing but a foul stench inside. The night had played a cruel trick on her. Then a pair of hands reached out from inside. The flesh was scorched and rotten; as cracked as the walls of the station platform. One of them attached itself to the left sided temple of Ella's head, while the other latched onto her right wrist, drawing blood as the fingers penetrated her skin. It tightened its grip on the side of her head as she struggled to break free and a beast like sound came from inside, releasing its hot breath to the outside world for the first time. The noise of the beast was overshadowed by the sound of the oncoming train as it hurtled towards the station platform and from the corner of Ella's eye, she could see different groups of people on the carriage. Everything went quiet. They were sleeping, they were kissing, they were drinking. They were going home.

If Ella could get to the train, she might end the struggle, place her key in the lock of her front door and feel the warmth of her bed again. The hand on her temple moved to grab the other wrist, forcing its victim down onto the front of her body, her knees scraping across the ground as this thing began to pull her towards the cases dark opening. A worry took over her body; a panic she had never felt before. She screamed for help and one of the hands covered her mouth, until she was able to take a bite of her own from the flesh. A thick green substance shot out onto the platform and a loud shriek pierced the air, freeing Ella from its grip. She did her best to catch her breath as the creatures hands retreated. The remnants of the beast's finger marks would be visible for all to see in the morning, but for now she was free to make her way towards the seat where she'd left her bag. But as she lay there on platform, she knew that she couldn't tell the police or her parents what had happened. When the next morning came, noone would believe a tale as bloody this one. Most stories come from somewhere, although people usually put it down to alcohol or drugs or one of the usual things that you associate with these kind of stories.

Short of breath and struggling to make it to her feet, she began to crawl away from the case. Then the hands took hold of her legs, holding on tighter than they had done previously, the fingers reacquainting themselves with her skin, penetrating her flesh to draw blood once again. Only this time there was more and on this occasion she would not find it so easy to escape. This thing would make a meal of her yet and even better than this, was that the experience of the struggle had wet its appetite. The taste of blood had served as a starter, but the wait meant that the meat would be warm and tender in the mouth. Its patience was beginning to wear thin and it quickly moved one hand towards the back of Ella's head, this time leaving her unable to react, as it smashed her face down into the cold, wet platform floor. All that she could do now was close her eyes, accept her incarceration and face her impending doom. Would she feel its teeth tear the flesh from her bones? Would she ever look upon its face? Or would she have already drawn her final breath? She looked upon the world's light for the last time before the lid slammed shut and the locks clamped down into position. She was gone now, never to attend those boring work meetings or stand in the local chip shop again.

The night caught its breath. In a matter of hours the town businesses would reopen and the market sellers would call out to passers by. Their continuing trade would keep their families warm through the winter months and the town's children would all whisper terrible things about monsters and local urban myths.

What happened to Ella is still all speculation. People at work said that she'd gotten a new job and some believed that she went off to see the world on some foolish impulsive adventure. Others have their own story. "There's this case..."