r/shortscarystories
1 yr. ago
Original-Loquat3788
Stone
‘Thankyou for meeting today, gentlemen.’ The Chief Neurologist said.
The Director of the London Underground sighed, tipping a fifth sugar into his hospital canteen coffee.
The Scotland Yard Detective could not help thinking he looked like the Fat Controller from Thomas the Tank Engine.
‘Six men have recently taken ill on various London Underground lines. All have presented with Locked-In Syndrome.’
‘I know what you’re suggesting,’ The Controller replied. ‘There is some sort of infectious or chemical agent present in our carriages.’
‘It can’t be ruled out.’
‘Do you know what would happen if the public got wind of this. The Tokyo subway system barely recovered from the sarin attack in 1995.’
‘We shouldn’t mention terror,’ the Detective agreed.
He also recalled with fear the 7/7 bombings that plunged the city into chaos.
The Neurologist bit his tongue. They both apparently had short memories. He still had patients with Long Covid.
‘Anyway, I have consulted another doctor, and he informs me the most likely cause of Locked-In Syndrome is a stroke in the Ventral Pons.’
‘True. But six people in one month, all on the Tube. A pattern.’
The Controller took out a coin.
‘I bet it is not long until I can flip heads six times. It is just random chance.’
‘I see we are not getting anywhere.’
‘And I have places to be,’ the Controller said, shaking hands.
‘Do you mind if I take a look at the patients?’ The Detective continued.
The Neurologist led him to Intensive Care.
‘God,’ the Detective said, ‘he looks like he’s made of stone.’
‘Not entirely. We suspect he still retains some degree of cognition.’
‘The prognosis?’
The Neurologist shook his head, leaving the Detective to study the man.
He was young, seemingly healthy, although not of English descent.
That word stuck in his head: terror.
The man’s phone was on the nightstand.
The Detective glanced over his shoulder, picked it up, and brought it to the patient’s immobile face.
The screen unlocked, opening on the last image.
And the Detective became the seventh victim.
…
On the packed 17.23 Underground service on the Elizabeth Line, commuters cram the tube car.
The Businessman glances at her. She’s young, his daughter’s age, but he still has it, doesn’t he?
No.
He threads his way through the crowd until he is standing beside her.
The girl has dyed blue hair, nose piercings and sleeve tattoos.
A bit classless, he thinks, even if they do depict Greek Goddesses.
She is wearing a skirt to her knees, and he bends down as if to tie the laces of his brown Brooks’ Brothers brogues.
Discretely, he snaps an upskirt.
He disappears back into the crowd and looks at his photo .
Instantly, he shuts down. Freezes. Collapses. Victim number eight.
The girl with the blue hair departs the train as screams go up.
She readjusts her skirt.
She would not like an innocent person to accidentally see the tattoo of Medusa on her inner thigh.