to imagine what it would be like to live down here in the darkness day in and day out, with only the rats to keep me company. The thought makes me sad, as does the diary entry I randomly flip to.
“I sink beneath the skin of the street with each step, walking closer and closer to my final death…”
“Put it down,” Jareth instructs, popping his head into the room. “We need to keep moving.”
Reluctantly, I set down the diary and follow Jareth farther down the subway tunnel, trying to imagine the person who would write such lyrical lines while trying to survive underneath the “skin” of the world. How did they get here? Why did they stay? Are they still living down here, somewhere? Are they happy or scared or a combination of both? I get so caught up in this fanciful idea of my homeless poet, I scarcely notice at first when we emerge from the dark tunnel into a large, arched underground subway station, the end of the line.
Like the rest of this secret world below, it’s crumbling and abandoned, but at the same time, it’s gorgeous beyond belief. A work of art, painted with colorful tiles, delicate stonework, and breathtaking sloping arches. Of course now the tiles are spray-painted with graffiti and dirty needles lie scattered by the stone benches on the platform. But I try my best to block out the modern ugliness and imagine the station as it once was—bustling with busy New York businessmen and fine ladies in fur coats and smart hats.
Jareth hops up onto the platform, then leans back down, hand outstretched, in order to give me a boost. I take his handand scramble up, rubbing my aching thighs. We’ve been walking half the morning and after that bad night’s sleep and lack of blood, I’m worn out. Collapsing onto a nearby bench, I let out a contended sigh. Across the platform, my eyes catch sight of a large graffiti sign.
In December 1995, the forgotten men of the tunnel
received city housing. They’ve just begun to move.
“There used to be whole communities of people who lived down here in these abandoned tunnels,” Jareth explains. “But with new construction in the last twenty years, most of them were kicked out and their little makeshift shacks were destroyed.”
So my poet is probably gone for good. Leaving his or her journal behind. The thought makes me oddly sad.
“But not the vampires?” I query, remembering our mission.
“They’re a little harder to exterminate,” Jareth says with a wry grin, sitting down beside me. He consults his map for a moment, then nods. “I think our entry point may be up ahead,” he says. “Stay here and rest a moment. I’ll go check it out.”
“Um, you sure you don’t want company?” I ask, torn over the proposition. I mean, I’m thrilled to be able to rest for a minute or two, but I don’t relish the idea of hanging out with the squeaky creatures that live down here and might be thinking of vampire for lunch.
“Rayne, are you still seriously scared over a few little rats?” Jareth clucks. “What kind of vampire slayer are you anyway?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, rolling my eyes, realizing I do soundlike kind of a wimp. After all, technically
I’m
the monster down in the sewer. They should be more scared of me than I am of them.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it. Rest for a moment. You deserve it.” He leans over and kisses the top of my head.
“Okay,” I agree, rubbing my sore legs. I have to admit, it does feel nice to sit down. As he heads toward the edge of the platform, I pull out my phone. A quick game of the mobile version of Vampires vs. Zombies should cure any residual rat phobia. As I load up the game, I watch Jareth hop down onto the tracks and continue his journey, disappearing into the darkness, his heavy footsteps quickly fading into the distance.
I turn back to my game, trying not to think about where I am and what we’re doing. But the creepy noises seem to rise in volume, echoing through the
“I sink beneath the skin of the street with each step, walking closer and closer to my final death…”
“Put it down,” Jareth instructs, popping his head into the room. “We need to keep moving.”
Reluctantly, I set down the diary and follow Jareth farther down the subway tunnel, trying to imagine the person who would write such lyrical lines while trying to survive underneath the “skin” of the world. How did they get here? Why did they stay? Are they still living down here, somewhere? Are they happy or scared or a combination of both? I get so caught up in this fanciful idea of my homeless poet, I scarcely notice at first when we emerge from the dark tunnel into a large, arched underground subway station, the end of the line.
Like the rest of this secret world below, it’s crumbling and abandoned, but at the same time, it’s gorgeous beyond belief. A work of art, painted with colorful tiles, delicate stonework, and breathtaking sloping arches. Of course now the tiles are spray-painted with graffiti and dirty needles lie scattered by the stone benches on the platform. But I try my best to block out the modern ugliness and imagine the station as it once was—bustling with busy New York businessmen and fine ladies in fur coats and smart hats.
Jareth hops up onto the platform, then leans back down, hand outstretched, in order to give me a boost. I take his handand scramble up, rubbing my aching thighs. We’ve been walking half the morning and after that bad night’s sleep and lack of blood, I’m worn out. Collapsing onto a nearby bench, I let out a contended sigh. Across the platform, my eyes catch sight of a large graffiti sign.
In December 1995, the forgotten men of the tunnel
received city housing. They’ve just begun to move.
“There used to be whole communities of people who lived down here in these abandoned tunnels,” Jareth explains. “But with new construction in the last twenty years, most of them were kicked out and their little makeshift shacks were destroyed.”
So my poet is probably gone for good. Leaving his or her journal behind. The thought makes me oddly sad.
“But not the vampires?” I query, remembering our mission.
“They’re a little harder to exterminate,” Jareth says with a wry grin, sitting down beside me. He consults his map for a moment, then nods. “I think our entry point may be up ahead,” he says. “Stay here and rest a moment. I’ll go check it out.”
“Um, you sure you don’t want company?” I ask, torn over the proposition. I mean, I’m thrilled to be able to rest for a minute or two, but I don’t relish the idea of hanging out with the squeaky creatures that live down here and might be thinking of vampire for lunch.
“Rayne, are you still seriously scared over a few little rats?” Jareth clucks. “What kind of vampire slayer are you anyway?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, rolling my eyes, realizing I do soundlike kind of a wimp. After all, technically
I’m
the monster down in the sewer. They should be more scared of me than I am of them.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it. Rest for a moment. You deserve it.” He leans over and kisses the top of my head.
“Okay,” I agree, rubbing my sore legs. I have to admit, it does feel nice to sit down. As he heads toward the edge of the platform, I pull out my phone. A quick game of the mobile version of Vampires vs. Zombies should cure any residual rat phobia. As I load up the game, I watch Jareth hop down onto the tracks and continue his journey, disappearing into the darkness, his heavy footsteps quickly fading into the distance.
I turn back to my game, trying not to think about where I am and what we’re doing. But the creepy noises seem to rise in volume, echoing through the
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