THE PASSENGER – A Short Story

THE PASSENGER

At two AM the station was mine.

Once the grills are fastened across the entrance and the breakers are pulled to stop the escalators the London Underground becomes a very different place, all empty spaces and half lit, echoing passageways with sudden, unexplained drafts – unexplained because there are no trains running to create them. The rats, not often seen during the day, come out to forage along the tracks.

It’s said that many plague pits and burial grounds were disturbed during its construction and the whole system has a reputation, not spoken of publicly, for strange happenings and ghostly apparitions. If you patrol one of the larger stations during the night it’s easy to see how these ideas might occur.

When I am on shift as Night Duty Supervisor, once I have done a walk round to confirm that the station is empty of public and staff, I retire to the office in the upstairs Booking Hall and there I stay with Radio Two for company, drinking the occasional coffee and not venturing into the depths – until that night.

I was actually reading when the SELCALL on my Personal Radio beeped, the set “hearing” its call sign and switching itself on automatically. It was Stanislaw, the Line Controller, sitting in his crowded little room in front of his monitors at Kings Cross, several stations away.

“John, you’ve got someone on the Victoria Line North Bound Platform…over.”

“You been at the drinks cabinet, Stan?”

“Negatory, Pig Pen. CCTV is showing him clearly. A gent, wearing a suit and a bowler, carrying an umbrella. He’s just standing there, not doing anything. Looks like he’s waiting for a train…over.”

“He’ll be lucky at two in morning.”

How could I have missed him?

How long had he been there?

“OK Stan, I’ll go take a look.”

Reluctantly, I got to my feet and pulled on the Hi Vis waistcoat with NIGHT SUP written on the back in black marker ink. Clipping on the Personal Radio and pulling a battery hand lamp from its charging bracket I opened the office door.

As I clumped down the stationary escalator I began to be acutely aware that I was completely on my own. The grills to the street were locked. If there was a problem, if he was drunk or aggressive, the only way assistance could get to me was along the tunnel from the next station
and that would be some time in coming. I slowed down.

I reached the upper Transit Hall, where passengers change from one line to another, and paused. I had to descend another escalator to the Victoria Line, deep in the bowels of the station. I couldn’t hear or see anything. There was nothing for it – I had to go down.

The lower Transit Hall had an eerie feel to it and I felt the hair on my head shift slightly. I suppose that I should have called out but, suddenly, I didn’t want to make a noise.

The North Bound was to my right and I emerged close to the platform end, where the red signal light was glaring at me. I looked down the platform.

Nothing.

There was a dogleg that prevented me from seeing the whole length so, slowly, I moved along towards it. On my left was a short passageway leading to the Southbound.

Nothing.

I walked through it, putting off going round the dogleg, onto the Southbound. I could see the whole platform length.

Nothing.

I moved back to the Northbound.

A little williwaw, one those unexplained drafts, swirled down the tunnel, gently rattling an empty drink can on the track.

Slowly, as quietly as possible, I moved round the dogleg.

Nothing.

The platform stretched away in front of me, completely empty. I began to breathe again, smiling gently. Stanislaw knew that I didn’t like to leave the office and he was winding me up. More normally, I strolled to the end and, just to be on the safe side, looked into the dark maw of the tunnel. I half hoped to see the torch light of a Track Walker; one of those lonely souls who patrol the tunnels during the night checking for faults, but there was no one.

I turned and waved to the friendly red light glowing on the CCTV camera mounted high on the wall, thumbing the PUSH TO TALK button on my radio.

“No one here, Stan. You having a laugh?”

The Line Controller’s voice cracked as he said quietly

“John…he’s standing beside you.”

The End

Authors Note:
I cannot claim any credit for this as it is a fictionalised account of an event that (supposedly) actually happened. There have been many reports of ghostly passengers riding the London Underground so, next time you enter a carriage and sit down next to someone…..