Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Markings

Every day for the last six months, she’s been there—well, okay, not every day. I’ve already messed this up, and it’s ruining the awesome introduction I had planned out in my head. Let me start again; it needs the flow of a great start, trust me.
Every day for the last six months, whenever I’ve been on the U-Twenty-Six from Geelong to Melbourne—which, by the way, is almost every day—she’s been there, in the same seat, not really doing anything special, just staring off into space, looking sad most of the time, frightened at other times, but regardless of how she looks, she’s always there. I wouldn’t say she’s not pretty, but she’s not ugly. I mean, if she smiled at me, I’d smile back for sure, so I guess she’s pretty enough. Anyway, I’m getting off track, and that’s something none of us will benefit from.
Two days ago, when I got off the train in Melbourne, I saw her as usual. She was dressed in the same business suit she always wore, regardless of the day or time, but unlike every other time I’d seen her, this time, something happened. For the first real time, EVER, I think, I looked back directly at her, and she looked up and saw me looking at her. As soon as that spark passed between us, she did the craziest thing—she leapt up and banged against the door like a woman possessed, while everyone around her acted as though she wasn’t there. But I saw her, and she saw me.
It was weird, totally, absolutely, insanely weird, but it didn’t end there. It was going to get even weirder as the day progressed. As I walked to the office, I stopped to get some breakfast, as I always do. I’m a man who runs on routine, but today was a slow one for the small takeaway store. I could tell as soon as the girl smiled weakly as she handed me my bacon and egg muffin, which felt like it was at least two hours old, and a large cup of coffee that tasted like it was not just burnt but cremated. It was when I was trying not to choke on the stale muffin that I noticed a flyer on the pole outside the shop. It was a picture of this woman, and it had big letters above it that said ‘MISSING.’
If you’re not getting that feeling right now, then I haven’t done what was going on in my head justice, so I’ll fill in the blanks for you. I immediately recognised the woman from the flyer. I dropped my coffee on the floor, which was no great loss, really, and then panicked. I ran out of the shop to the pole and ripped the flyer down, clutching it as if it were a cheque for a million dollars made out to me.
From what I could gather from the flyer, eight months ago Melissa Wong, the woman I’d been seeing on the train for the last six months, left for work as she always did, catching the morning train from Geelong to Southern Cross station in Melbourne, and just disappeared. She never showed up for work, never used her pass card to leave the station—she just vanished into thin air. There was a number on the bottom of the flyer, and against my better judgement, I called and spoke to her sister, Anne-May. I explained what I knew; she grew quiet the more I told her about how I’d seen her sister every time I was on the train. After I finished, she reluctantly agreed to meet me at the station that night, and then I went off to work. It was an uneasy day; all I could think about was Melissa Wong and what she was doing on the train.
When I first saw Anne-May, I was gobsmacked. It turned out Melissa and Anne-May were identical twins, which made it very bizarre, as I’d spent most of the day thinking about Melissa. We chatted while we waited for the train, mostly small talk, nothing of any importance. But throughout the course of the idle chit-chat, we found out we had a lot of things in common. Hell, we even laughed together at one stage. Then, right on time, the train arrived. Half-empty as normal and a shitload of people wanting to get on.
We stepped—sorry, let me try that again.
We were rushed through the doors, and there she sat, sad and looking at the ground, as always. Then, for the second time since I’d started seeing her, she looked up, and I saw a tear run down her face. She smiled, and so did her sister. Finally, she had been found. A beautiful white light engulfed the whole train, and I was left with a feeling of total happiness, as were the other passengers. For the remainder of the ride home, Anne-May and I talked about everything and anything. We even made plans to see each other again.
It seemed, somehow, the unfortunate fate of her sister had brought us together, and for reasons we both knew, somehow, it was meant to be.
The hunt still continues for Melissa’s body and whoever committed the crime, but at least I know—and at least Anne-May knows—her soul is at rest.