The Suitcase - a horror story
As I’d predicted, the office party was rubbish. I had caught the last tube home, wishing I was already in bed. My carriage was packed with late-night revellers, but I manage to nab one of the last few seats. My eyes were closing in blissful anticipation of a quick doze when a man in his early sixties sat down next to me. Apart from his lumpy physique, no doubt the result of a dubious lifestyle, the only thing of note was his oversized suitcase.
The
black canvas cover was fraying at the sides and covered in unpleasant-looking
stains. I didn’t want it near me, but he attempted to park in front of him,
spreading his legs on either side to accommodate it. There was little room for
anyone to get past and he seemed oblivious of how annoying he
was. Worst of all, he wanted to chat.. There was little room for anyone to get past and he seemed
oblivious of how annoying he was. Worst of all, he wanted to chat.
‘A good
evening, was it?’ he leered.
Don’t
make eye contact, keep it brief. ‘Yes, thank you?’
‘You
look like you’ve been to a party, very glam.’
‘Yes,
it was a work’s do.’ I removed the feathery hairclip that had betrayed me,
snagging it in my blond curls as I did so - bloody man.
‘I don’t
go to parties much these days,’ he said. ‘Always busy with something. Are you
travelling far?’
There
was an expectant look in his eyes that made me feel uncomfortable. ‘Far enough.’
I
closed my eyes, hoping he’d take the hint. Apart from my work colleagues, I
hadn’t really spoken to a man since Sean died, and I didn’t intend to start
now. With every jolt of the carriage, the man’s knees banged into mine. His
pores leaked alcohol and I felt sick from the smell. Revolting.
I
opened my eyes as the train pulled into Embankment. My stop. I inwardly groaned
as my unwanted companion rose from his seat. Huffing and grunting, he dragged
the suitcase off the train and stopped abruptly, rubbing the small of his back.
I pretended to fiddle with my bag, and when he was moving again, I let him pass
down the platform in front of me. I prayed he wouldn’t turn around. I was
unlucky.
‘Would
you mind giving me a hand up the stairs with my suitcase please?’ he asked. ‘Only
I’ve hurt my back. There are escalators after that.’
‘Ok, I
suppose so.’
I got
hold of the battered old handle and hauled it up to the first step. Christ,
what on earth had he got in here? A body?
By the
time I had reached the top, I was gasping for breath, and a stream of sweat
trickled down my cheek.
The man
bounded up alongside me. ‘Thank you so much. You’ve saved me a terrible
struggle.’
‘Don’t
mention it,’ I said, panting. ‘Good night.’
And to
my relief, he didn’t stop to talk further and headed for the escalators.
The icy
night air hit me like a freight train, so I stopped off at a late-night kiosk
for a drink. As I sipped a creamy hot chocolate, I lent on the wall by the side
of the river and looked down into the Thames. The moon cast a melancholy light,
illuminating the rippling water and a narrow stretch of muddy beach beloved by
mudlarks. A black rectangular object lay next to the water, and I
leaned over the wall, trying to see what it was. I gasped, my hand flying up to
my mouth as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. It appeared to be an
oversized suitcase. The same suitcase that the man had asked me to drag up the
stairs. The top had burst open to reveal a head, part-covered in blond curly
hair. The mouth was gaping open, and two dead eyes stared up at me.
‘Is
this your purse dear? I think it fell out of your bag.’
‘What?’
I opened my eyes with a jolt. Oh, thank God. I was still sat on the tube train,
crushed up next to that annoying man. I must have been dreaming. The carriage
had emptied out now, but it was definitely real.
The man
handed me my purse and I stuffed it back in my bag.
‘You
can’t be too careful these days,’ he said. ‘You don’t know who’s about. I think
you must have dropped off for a moment. Embankment is your stop, isn’t it?’
‘What?
Oh yes, good night.’
I
jumped off the tube and walked quickly towards the stairs. I expected to hear
the man ask me for help but instead, he pushed past me. He picked the suitcase
up by the handle and bounding up the stairs two at a time, he disappeared
around the corner.
Leaving
the station, I decided to forgo a hot chocolate, but couldn’t resist peeking
over the side of the wall and looking down at the water’s edge. I held my
breath as I scanned along the length of the beach. It was empty.
I
stepped back and nearly stumbled as a sudden panic rose from the pit of my
stomach. My purse. What if the man had stolen from me while I slept? I fumbled
in my bag, spilling out keys and makeup as I did so. What a relief. My cards
and driving licence were still where they should be.
Twenty
minutes later I was back home, basking in the warmth of my duvet. Always a
heavy sleeper, I didn’t hear the door creak open as the man with the suitcase
broke in at the back. Or his tread on the stairs, as he crept into my room.
Terror only came when his short stubby fingers dug into my throat, his eyes
bulging with excitement and ecstasy.
I’m
looking up at Embankment.
Waiting
for someone to find me.
* * *
Read next: The strange case of Mad Annie
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