User:Black-Fumes

Station 13

LOG ENTRY ONE: I always took the bus home at night, especially on my way home from work. Not a night have I missed that bus. “One ticket to Crestwood.” I asked the old man working at the ticket booth. He nodded and grunted, pulling from a large stack, one yellow ticket with captions of bold font writing on it. “Three bucks.” He said, sliding the ticket under the large glass wall between the two of us. I nodded and fished out my wallet from my pocket, pulling out a five and sliding it to him under the glass as he took it and released the ticket. I turned and looked at the line behind me and sighed, walking to the large bus waiting on the tracks. I stood at the entrance of the bus, examining the plaza for some time and noticing the small carvings in the cement walls. Slowly, I skidded towards the writing to get a closer look and realized it was all Aramaic, since I worked at the local church, I luckily knew this. I took it upon myself to ask someone who seemed to know about the station more about what this plaza once was before it became a public bus station. “Excuse me, sir.” I spoke with a hoarse tone. A tall man dressed in a black office suit turned, walking in my direction as he hung up his cell phone and placed it away into his coat pocket. “May I help you?” He mustered a smile on his pale lips. “Would you happen to know anything about these… Printings, on the wall?” I asked and slowly took my eyes from the man to the wall. Narrowing his eyes, I could tell the man was thinking ways of trying to slide away from starting up a conversation with me. “I’m sure it’s just some old writing, nothing to concern about.” He nodded and pulled out his phone, dialing up a number and bringing the electronic to his ear. I felt something different about the walls though… Something about them just sent chills down my spine.

LOG ENTRY TWO: I was on my way home again from work, at the same old station 13. My eyes had faint lines of black under them, indicating I didn’t get my best slumber. Which wasn’t wrong in anyway, I couldn’t sleep. Those writings, on the wall… They were like insomnia to my mind. “Ticket to Crestwood, please.” I asked as usual and paid up the fee, taking my ticket and waiting but this time, I observed the walls. As I got closer to the writing, I noticed there were more words written than last time… “How peculiar…” I whispered to myself, looking around to see the busy station.

LOG ENTRY THREE: I ordered my tickets, this time the man behind the booth had seen my eyes dragged down even more that he had to ask if I was okay at home. Of course I wasn’t! It was as if my brain was racing around a pool of thoughts and agony, trying to make out whatever it was those walls read. When I paid, got my ticket, I made my way to the wall to see if there were anymore writings than last time. And sure enough, there were. More words scribbled down in the pavement. That’s when I got a idea. Tomorrow night, I will stay at station 13 all night to see if the carvings got longer on their own, or if they were just some little punks prank. Good thing this station was a 24 hour open!

LOG ENTRY FOUR: Tired. Dread. Everything but okay. I didn’t sleep at all last night, I was too busy thinking about the words scribbled down. I stared at the clock in the plaza, listening to it tick and tick by the second as the station grew emptier and emptier by later hour. Then, at midnight precisely, that’s when it happened… That’s when it all came crashing down… The walls’ deep carvings of Aramaic shifted around until in all different orders and began turning until they transformed into English letters. Approaching very cautiously, I squinted my eyes and read from the distance I stood at; “THE DEVIL MADE ME DO IT” And as I finished reading, the words disappeared, as I began to understand what this meant… It was the Devil, who made me read this…