A short story by Amy Mastrangelo:
The record spun round and round the turntable, lessening Ruby’s heartbeat. She held the newspaper close to her chest, then unfolded the paper and read the title once more, “Bartlett, 38, dies in tragic railway accident,” before opening her door and stepping out into the solemn sunset.
The tears were building up in Ruby’s eyelids as she entered the dark, dismal train station. Many beggars and homeless lined the walls eyeing up her fur coat and the felt, bell-shaped cloche hat atop her cropped brown curls. Ruby avoided their eyes and continued down the station filled with a new air of economic and emotional depression, which mirrored her own heart. Many travelers passed her, heading home into the twilight, to the little food at their tables.
“One ticket to Brooklyn, please,” Ruby told the overseer at the gate. She could just taste the bitter-tasting alcohol on her lips as she received her ticket.
Her husband’s body had been severely mangled on the train tracks, and his right hand was never found. Instinctively, Ruby’s dark eyes swept the platform in search of the hand. She closed her eyes at the thought that she would never see any part of her husband’s body ever again.
Ruby had time before the train’s scheduled arrival. As she continued down the murky platform, her crimson-embroidered glove reached in her coat pocket and she felt the cold flask. Her heart beat increased and her senses heightened. The lamplights irregularly flickered around her, creating dancing shadows on the decrepit walls and illuminating gossamer spider’s webs. Ruby wondered how many rats scurried under the railroad tracks that may have investigated her beloved before detectives discovered him.
Ruby turned a desolate corner that seemed to be filled with an air of gloom and despondency. Looking over her shoulder to make sure she was completely alone, she drank the remainder of the bitter liquid in the flask. Paranoid, she quickly fled, as penalties of her habit would be severe. She sat on a bench on the platform, as the drink flooded to her brain and exhaustion swept through her body. Her eyes closed . . .
“What the hell is that?” Al whispered to himself in the dimly lit, scarcely populated train platform. Near him, a woman with cranberry-colored lips in a fur coat and a cloche hat was sleeping on a bench. Hands outstretched, intending to steal her wallet and jewelry, his eyes were distracted by a moving lamplight. Even stranger, the sinister lantern seemed to be approaching him. Squinting his eyes, Al nearly screamed when he saw a floating hand was carrying the lamplight, detached from a visible body. Al looked around him, but the platform now appeared empty besides him, the woman, and the specter.
Reaching down to steal the women’s possessions, he was not fast enough, as the hand angled the lantern to strike him on the shoulder. The man dropped to the floor in utmost fear. When he stood up, he saw the lantern on the floor, and the hand had disappeared. But then he felt the strongest force propelling him from the back. He lost consciousness as his body smacked facedown on the tracks.
Waking from her slumber, Ruby’s head spun as she stood up from the bench. She paced up and down a small section of the platform devoid of travelers, and walked to the edge of the platform out of pure curiosity. Ruby screamed, disbelieving her eyes. There was another body on the tracks, unmoving, his head bent, and his appendages at strange angles.
“Bartlett, 38, dies in tragic railway accident,” she thought and broke down in sobs. She didn’t want to catch the train to Brooklyn. She didn’t want to return to her home with only her records to keep her company. Ruby remembered twirling around the house, listening to her favorite songs, holding her husband’s hand while her other hand rested on his shoulder.
“Who will save me from this despair?” Ruby thought to herself.
Blinking the tears from her eyes, Ruby saw a floating lantern approaching her. She started backing away as she saw in horror that a hand detached from a body carried the lantern. Her eyes and mouth opened wide as an inflating balloon, and she stopped in place watching the spectacle, as she now wondered if she was hallucinating. Ruby heard the clamor of train cars on the track and the shrill train whistle approaching the platform, but her eyes were transfixed on the hand as it set down the lantern.
Now was the night late, and now was the platform very dark. The hand reached out to her, and Ruby took it.
To this day, no one knows the fate of Ruby Bartlett. But a warning to all who take the late trains alone—beware being in the path of the lamplight of the wandering hand.
The record spun round and round the turntable, lessening Ruby’s heartbeat. She held the newspaper close to her chest, then unfolded the paper and read the title once more, “Bartlett, 38, dies in tragic railway accident,” before opening her door and stepping out into the solemn sunset.
The tears were building up in Ruby’s eyelids as she entered the dark, dismal train station. Many beggars and homeless lined the walls eyeing up her fur coat and the felt, bell-shaped cloche hat atop her cropped brown curls. Ruby avoided their eyes and continued down the station filled with a new air of economic and emotional depression, which mirrored her own heart. Many travelers passed her, heading home into the twilight, to the little food at their tables.
“One ticket to Brooklyn, please,” Ruby told the overseer at the gate. She could just taste the bitter-tasting alcohol on her lips as she received her ticket.
Her husband’s body had been severely mangled on the train tracks, and his right hand was never found. Instinctively, Ruby’s dark eyes swept the platform in search of the hand. She closed her eyes at the thought that she would never see any part of her husband’s body ever again.
Ruby had time before the train’s scheduled arrival. As she continued down the murky platform, her crimson-embroidered glove reached in her coat pocket and she felt the cold flask. Her heart beat increased and her senses heightened. The lamplights irregularly flickered around her, creating dancing shadows on the decrepit walls and illuminating gossamer spider’s webs. Ruby wondered how many rats scurried under the railroad tracks that may have investigated her beloved before detectives discovered him.
Ruby turned a desolate corner that seemed to be filled with an air of gloom and despondency. Looking over her shoulder to make sure she was completely alone, she drank the remainder of the bitter liquid in the flask. Paranoid, she quickly fled, as penalties of her habit would be severe. She sat on a bench on the platform, as the drink flooded to her brain and exhaustion swept through her body. Her eyes closed . . .
“What the hell is that?” Al whispered to himself in the dimly lit, scarcely populated train platform. Near him, a woman with cranberry-colored lips in a fur coat and a cloche hat was sleeping on a bench. Hands outstretched, intending to steal her wallet and jewelry, his eyes were distracted by a moving lamplight. Even stranger, the sinister lantern seemed to be approaching him. Squinting his eyes, Al nearly screamed when he saw a floating hand was carrying the lamplight, detached from a visible body. Al looked around him, but the platform now appeared empty besides him, the woman, and the specter.
Reaching down to steal the women’s possessions, he was not fast enough, as the hand angled the lantern to strike him on the shoulder. The man dropped to the floor in utmost fear. When he stood up, he saw the lantern on the floor, and the hand had disappeared. But then he felt the strongest force propelling him from the back. He lost consciousness as his body smacked facedown on the tracks.
Waking from her slumber, Ruby’s head spun as she stood up from the bench. She paced up and down a small section of the platform devoid of travelers, and walked to the edge of the platform out of pure curiosity. Ruby screamed, disbelieving her eyes. There was another body on the tracks, unmoving, his head bent, and his appendages at strange angles.
“Bartlett, 38, dies in tragic railway accident,” she thought and broke down in sobs. She didn’t want to catch the train to Brooklyn. She didn’t want to return to her home with only her records to keep her company. Ruby remembered twirling around the house, listening to her favorite songs, holding her husband’s hand while her other hand rested on his shoulder.
“Who will save me from this despair?” Ruby thought to herself.
Blinking the tears from her eyes, Ruby saw a floating lantern approaching her. She started backing away as she saw in horror that a hand detached from a body carried the lantern. Her eyes and mouth opened wide as an inflating balloon, and she stopped in place watching the spectacle, as she now wondered if she was hallucinating. Ruby heard the clamor of train cars on the track and the shrill train whistle approaching the platform, but her eyes were transfixed on the hand as it set down the lantern.
Now was the night late, and now was the platform very dark. The hand reached out to her, and Ruby took it.
To this day, no one knows the fate of Ruby Bartlett. But a warning to all who take the late trains alone—beware being in the path of the lamplight of the wandering hand.
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