Creepiest Day Ever

Just when I though I had run out of stories to tell, the LA Metro rumbled to my rescue.

I descended to the platform of the subway last night at my usual time. The sparse grouping of people represented the normal mix. A group of African American teenagers hassled each other under the stairs. A latino woman hushed her baby on a bench as a Chinese couple whispered behind her. I strode in as the well-dressed middle class person.

From my far left, I heard the melody to In the Hall of The Mountain King by Edvard Grieg. (You can hear a version of it here in a must-have classical music collection for any small child in your life.) As the canon continued in perfect pitch, a very nonthreatening older man emerged from the subway tunnel at the far end of the platform.

His walk was distinct, not rushed and very deliberate. He lifted each leg thoughtfully and in perfect rhythm to the song. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his beige corduroys. His eyes fixed on the ground just ahead of his toes as he whistled Grieg in perfect pitch.

I was standing next to a white pillar watching his approach and remembering all the movies or TV shows that had used this particular piece - generally just before a bloody monster attack. Thinking such pleasant thoughts, the subway had grown just a bit darker and definitely more threatening.

As the now strange man stepped in front of me, his walk, but not melody, broke rhythm. He paused to crook a smile at me before continuing his careful walk across the platform.

I shrunk against the pillar, hoping that when the monster emerged, I would be the trendy female sidekick left alive as opposed to the fat victim eaten while the monster says something semi-witty like, "I love American fast food" or "Damn my cholesterol."

I had almost decided that the first intelligible words that I would speak to the hero after the monster's attack would be "Oh, the carnage!" when I realized that the song had reached its finale. I looked to see what the man would do. He continued to whistle the less melodic finale as he stepped into the train tunnel on the far end. The finale faded away as he rounded the corner.

No monster attacked. The train came without the odd man plastered to the windshield and the train ride was mostly uneventful beyond the usual gang member scuffles. I relaxed into my novel, barely noticing my fellow passengers.

A few stops before Union Station, a plump little girl came to stand next to me. With a smile, she looked at me and started to whistle.

I jumped back, never so surprised in my life NOT to see a little girl turn into a 40-foot bloodsucking sewer leech. The small child moved on to stand next to her mother, probably scarred for life by the horrified look on my face.

When we roared into Union Station, I felt a little relief. The remainder of my trek home was peaceful, but, as I entered my apartment, the radio I had left on for the cats was playing that same eerie melody.

Freaky, huh?! I wonder what I ever did for amusement before the LA Metro entered my life.