Black Eyed Kid (A terrifying encounter)

Disembarking off the midnight train at the Forest Hills terminal, I scanned the information screen for the public bus departure estimations. Nothing seemed to conform to my taste. The short escalator ride explained the delays: a slight snow storm that was working its way into heaviness with each minute that would pass. “To hell with it,” muttered to myself. “Seven minutes will not kill me.” Thus I rounded the corner to the end of the upper busway, released my precious companion of a Nicaraguan maduro cigar out of the cellophane wrapper and off I went into the dark, being enveloped by a white blanket of fresh snow. As annoying as the wet snow is when it hit your face, it becomes beautiful once you start to power walk and the snowflakes with the help of wind seem to pass you by like stars at warp speed. But the fun was just about to get started. Crossing Washington st at the light would happen to throw my entire journey home around one hundred and eighty degrees. A dozen steps after I passed by the door of the ex Harvest Co-op building, my ears tuned to the weirdest frequency. A voice stranger than the night. Almost mechanical…
“Sir, I need some assistance. My car is parked over there.”
Half startled, half attentive with my hand on my right hand pocket where my tactical pen rests peacefully to never be deployed, I turned about one hundred degrees. I was greeted to the image of a young man, ten years younger than me. Long emo rock hair and thin lips. Facial hair seemed non existent. Strange outfit as well… bomber jacket and tight skinny jeans. He tended to stare at the floor. Judging by the location, he seemed to have been hiding in his stakeout behind the bike park of the Harvest building.
“Kinda late for a young fellow to be out at this hour with no purpose. Don’t you think?”
“Sir I need your assistance. My car is parked over there.” Same mechanical voice; same spiel. He now was pointing in the back of the lot.
“Ok.. I am not a car mechanic. All I can do is make a call to the police or emergency personnel.”
By the time I finished the sentence, the young man seemed to lift his head. Everything seemed different. An aura of uneasiness was steaming out of his entire being.
“Sir, I am here to collect you!”
They say the eyes are the window to a man’s soul and his eyes were the most abundant source of evil that I’ve ever seen. As a matter of fact i don’t recall seeing any eyes at all. Because the sockets were two pitch black caverns. The young man commenced to take several steps towards me. The instinct of fight or flight was surrounding me. I began to back off while looking at him. Just me and snow as my witness against this force of evil. Three more steps, then I was right by the first few headstones that make up the small fake cemetery advertisement of Davis Monuments.
“We make a deal,” I said as new ideas popped up on my head. “You have a chance to collect only if you lead the way to your car.”
The young fellow seemed to agree with me. He pointed on the back lot one more time and set ahead.
During the entire interaction, it came to my attention that there were no cars (neither civilian nor police) driving around. “Smart kid,” I muttered as I put my hands on his shoulders and used my entire being’s will to bash his head on the nearest granite head stone.

To be continued….

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