#I wrote this for a school assignment and gbr i'm so proud of it

[ineffable-vendetta]

A click, the subtle whirring of a tape recorder.

THE ARCHIVIST: [A heavy sigh, a shuffling of papers] Right. Statement of  Loretta Winters, regarding an encounter with the entity known as “The Distortion” on a tube platform. Original statement given January 9th, 2010. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of The Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

THE ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT): I tried to ignore him. Really, I did. But something about him was… off. He was too tall. I think. His eyes were… blue? Or maybe they were green. I can’t quite recall. I knew something was wrong. Like he didn’t seem to be all there. And I don’t mean like he was touched in the head or dazed. I mean he literally wasn’t all there. Like every time I looked back at him some part of him had shifted or changed, almost like a mirage? Sorry. I’m a bit out of sorts. Let me start at the beginning. 

I live in London, just around Notting Hill. My mother had a stroke two weeks ago, so I’ve been rushing back and forth between work and the hospital. Usually, I just drive, but that day my sister needed my car for… a reason I can’t remember. So I took the tube. I’ve always kind of liked taking the tube. Something about the rushing around, always rubbing elbows or bumping into people who have somewhere to be. Watching people go about their lives. It’s all very human.

The platform was busy when I got there. Not packed, the morning rush had just ended; but it definitely wasn’t empty. There was a woman with a pram, a group of teenagers shouting and laughing, an elderly man leaning against a wall, and a tall, skinny blond man standing as close to the tracks as he could get without falling off the platform. I wasn’t alone. I need you to understand that I wasn’t the only person on that platform. 

Anyway, I sat down on a bench and pulled out my phone. The train wouldn’t be there for another 10 minutes, so I tried to relax a bit. I couldn’t relax. I kept fidgeting, something was bothering me. And it took me a moment to realize what it was, but when I did, I had to look up from my phone. The platform was dead silent. They had all disappeared. No fussing baby, no rambunctious teens. The blond man was the only one left, and he wasn’t making any noise either. I tried to rationalize it in my head but I would have heard them leave. I would have noticed if the train had arrived. I ignored the sick feeling of my skin crawling, ignored that every instinct was screaming at me to run, to get out. I thought I was just being paranoid. Stupid of me, really. But as soon as I looked down at my phone again, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. He was watching me. I could feel him staring. So I looked back. God, I wish I hadn’t looked back. The man wasn’t standing by the tracks anymore, at a safe distance. He was standing right in front of me and how did I not hear him walk over here? His eyes, boring into my soul, were mismatched, I think. One brown and one blue. His blonde hair hung in ringlets but I can’t remember if it went to just above his shoulders or well past his elbows. It’s like… it’s like the harder I try to remember what he looks like the fuzzier the image gets. But his smile… I’ll never forget his smile. It was too big for his face. Like it didn’t belong there. Like it wasn’t his smile. His teeth were in perfect white rows but he had too many of them, and I had to make a concentrated effort not to physically recoil when he opened his mouth to speak. His voice was like nails on a chalkboard or a record scratch. Like someone put a pair of scissors in a blender. 

He said, “All those people disappeared quite suddenly, didn’t they? I wonder where they’ve gone.” with the casual air of someone asking for the time. 

My breathing became quick and shallow, my leg started jumping with anxiety. I flinched when he laid his hand on my head, petting my hair and shushing me like I was a scared child. His hand was heavier than it should’ve been, and I tensed when I felt his nails graze my scalp. They were sharp, the way a razor blade is sharp, but not nearly as flimsy. I was struck with a sudden terror that he was going to kill me with those hands. 

Instead, he backed away. “What’s all this then?” He jerked his head towards a yellow door.

The door… didn’t make any sense. It shouldn’t have been there. It couldn’t have been there. But there it was. It was wooden, and it almost looked like a panel door you’d find in most houses. The wood was a little warped and the panels were a bit mismatched, but otherwise, it looked perfectly normal. It set me on edge. 

I don’t remember standing up. I don’t remember walking towards the door, I don’t remember deciding to open it. But before I knew it my hand was on the doorknob, and I had just begun to twist it when- my phone rang. I pulled my hand away from the door like I’d been burned. I felt dizzy, and prying my eyes off of the warped yellow wood to look down at my phone gave me a headache. My hands shook as I answered my sister’s call. She wanted me to stop at the store. When I looked up again, the man and the door were gone. I got a taxi.

THE ARCHIVIST: Statement ends. Well. There’s not much investigation we can really do here, but I don’t think it’s necessary. Ms. Winters is currently living in Brighton and was unwilling to comment any further, and besides, (Sardonically) The Distortion and I are old friends by now. 

End recording.