About two hours outside what is considered the New York City metro area, in a place just large enough to qualify as a town, is a train station. I’ve occasionally used it, taking the train into the city with friends for something like a concert or a fun weekend out when I was older. Now, at the age of eighteen and needing a job, I found myself submitting an application to work there. To my delight, the interview was straightforward and my work as a waitress seemed sufficient background in the customer service industry because I got the job without needing to jump through any hoops.
Jobs are always in short supply living in a small town, especially the variety of your options. In a big city, there are tons of businesses to choose from, but here the vast majority weren’t great. Many were labor intensive, and while I can lift fifty pounds, I’m not large by any stretch of the word and my arms wouldn’t be happy about it.
What I liked about the night shift at a train station was that I wouldn’t have to deal with too many people, but I’d have enough to keep myself occupied. Also, if any of the customers had an issue, I was the only one on staff and therefore the highest authority there. I could politely but firmly ask someone to leave if they became a problem.
The only concern I had was the list of rules that I was given when I started working there. There were rumors about working at the station at night, but I had ascribed them to the boredom of living in a small town. You make your own entertainment, lacking in things to do, and often that involves gossip and tall tales.
Nevertheless, I came in for a few hours during a day shift for training, and after my work ethic and such was met with his approval and I was officially hired, I was given a laminated sheet of paper by my boss listing what he referred to as, ‘important, special rules’.
An old woman will arrive at the station at 2:47 AM, she will not have enough money to pay the fare, let her in anyway. She will then board an unscheduled train at 3:00 AM. Do not attempt to turn her away under any circumstances.
A man in a trench coat will occasionally come to the booth to ask about trains that go to Los Angeles. Be respectful and polite to him when you explain our trains don’t go that far.
If a customer pays with anything other than money, no matter what it is, accept it and write down the details in the ledger.
A short woman with long hair will often appear at 4:30 a.m. and stand waiting for a train before leaving. Never disturb her or attempt to speak to her.
If the lights go out, turn on the lantern and proceed with business as normal. Do not go into the lobby for any reason.
It is rare, but a man dressed professionally with a suitcase sometimes comes into the station lobby and attempts to get something from one of the vending machines without paying. Allow him to get angry with the machine and don’t bother him. He will leave after a few minutes.
If a large group of teenagers that look dressed for a funeral enter the station, go through the motions to sell them tickets as usual even though they won’t pay. Ring up the transactions as $0.00.
If you start to hear the noise of a crowded station but no one is there, turn off the lights in your booth and sit on the floor. Don’t look out at the lobby. If someone attempts to get your attention, ignore them.
I’ll admit, reading over them prompted me to joke, “I like a good prank as much as the next person, but this feels like hazing.”
His facial expression didn’t change, though. My boss, the manager of the station, was a portly man with thick salt and pepper hair who always had a five o’clock shadow when I saw him late at night. His wrinkly face looked deadly serious. “This isn’t hazing. I know you’ve heard the odd anecdote here or there, and I’m here to tell you that many of the things you’ve heard are true. Okay? It’s extremely important that you follow every one of these rules. I don’t care if you think they’re total bunk; act as if…as if I’m watching over your shoulder, all right?”
Considering my paycheck was riding on it, I assured him that I would do just that. For all I knew, these rules were the equivalent of musicians putting riders into their contracts to make sure the person reading it was attentive to details. If they missed something small and seemingly trivial, it was possible or even likely that they would miss something big and important. The only thing that was strange was that from midnight to 5:00 a.m., no trains ran at the station, so there shouldn’t have been any customers during that span of time.
Then, during my second shift, the woman arrived.
I’d been reading a worn paperback I’d gotten at the secondhand store, a fun sci-fi story that kept my attention and made the long hours pass more quickly. Then I was startled when she tapped on the glass, having not heard the sound of the heavy lobby door opening and shutting. “Oh, I’m sorry, can I help-”
The small digital clock on my desk read 2:47.
The woman was small and slim, her hair thin and curly with that odd purplish tint some older people go for at the salon. She was smiling, revealing a set of uncomfortable-looking dentures, and wore a summer dress with green and yellow flowers even though it was probably in the forties outside.
“Hello, dear,” she said. “I need a ticket to Albany, please.”
“Sure thing.” I glanced around the lobby, but there was no one else there. With a mental shrug, I went into the system on my computer and brought up the destination, selecting a ticket and adjusting it so the price was free. “Here you go. Have a good night,” I said with my customer-service smile.
“Thank you, dear,” she replied. She picked up a cane that I hadn’t seen, resting against the booth, and slowly made her way to the door. With surprising ease considering her slight figure, she pushed it open and went outside.
The door shut behind her, the sound of the latch echoing in the empty room, and I blew a raspberry at the unclimactic event. Then at 2:57, I made what was probably an unwise decision: I decided to go watch the woman to see if she’d left.
Coming out through the door that let me into the lobby, I then ently pressed the bar to unlatch the door that led to the platform and pushed it open. Then I slowly and quietly shut it behind me. Looking down the platform, I saw her waiting patiently for a train that would never arrive.
I made a small, contemplative sound before leaning against the wall, staring at her. I wondered if it was some sort of tradition for her, off-schedule so she wouldn’t run into anyone else. Or possibly she was senile, and some part of her brain made her come to the station for a train that had never run and never would. That was unlikely, I figured, since a senile old woman wouldn’t, or at least shouldn’t, be allowed to go to a train station on her own.
Then came the moment I was waiting for: 3:00 a.m. The large analog clock on the platform showed the time and as soon as the minute hand reached the twelve, the woman moved. Walking steadily forward, she got closer and closer to the edge of the platform, and I became more and more concerned. When she was two feet from the edge, I worriedly called out, “Ma’am!” but she didn’t falter her pace. Immediately, my pace grew faster, and when her right foot lifted and made to set down on empty air, my voice was panicked as I repeated, “Ma’am! Stop!”
She did, slowly turning to look at me. To my utter shock, it appeared that she was standing on nothing, putting half her body weight and her cane on a floor that wasn’t there. But that didn’t keep my attention for long. I’d stumbled to a stop when she had come to a halt, and I was a good twenty feet away from her, but from that distance it looked like there was something wrong with her eyes. There was no color to the iris and no white around them. They were completely black.
“Excuse me?” she rumbled.
Something in her tone sent a shiver down my spine and made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle as if an icy wind had struck me. I found myself instinctively stammering, “Sorry,” and staring at her in shock. Frozen in place, the seconds ticked by, and then she finally turned her gaze forward and away from me, and I felt like a physical weight had been lifted. Then she took two more steps into empty air and disappeared.
I stood there staring at the spot where she’d vanished for a good minute, going over everything that had happened, and feeling like I’d dodged a bullet. That’s when I realized I’d technically broken the rule. Do not attempt to turn her away under any circumstances. Telling her to stop walking was a violation. Perhaps it was my reflexive apology that saved me from her wrath, if there were indeed repercussions to breaking the rule.
Finally, I slowly turned and walked back inside, unlocking the door to the booth with the key on my belt and returning to my seat. Sitting in the silence that now felt eerie, I went over what had happened in my head several times. Was she a ghost? A demon? Something else? I had no idea. But I found myself questioning if the job was worth the risk if these sorts of things happened often.
Then again, I had the list of rules. All I needed to do was follow them, right? It was possible that I’d almost made an extreme mistake that night, but everything had worked out in the end. Now I knew that the rules I’d been given were entirely serious. So, I took in and let out a long breath, picked up my book, and started reading where I’d left off.
