Rapt

You sit on your uncomfortable seat as the metro car scrapes and rattles its way through the old subway tunnel. The car bumps and jolts, jerking you around with it. The fluorescent lights cut out and flicker periodically. You keep your eyes locked on the seat in front of you, looking at the various scratches and pen marks left in the decades since that seat was made. You just wish that you hadn't left your headphones behind.

The rest of the car is quiet, even for this late in the evening, but not empty by any means. You can hear loud giggling and phone music from a group of teenage girls on your left, then there's you, and, at least when you got on, in your vicinity there was also an old man with a newspaper, a young, professional looking woman with her eyes closed, two young men who had to be bankers of some kind, and an assortment of other unthreatening seeming commuters. Nothing of note.

You check your phone, looking for something to occupy yourself with. It's been a long time since your last stop. It doesn't surprise you that there's no signal. You swipe back and forth through your apps a few times, looking for a game or something to do, but before you find anything, something unusual in your periphery catches your eye.

Still nervous of making unsolicited eye contact, you face down at your phone, but you look in that direction out of the corner of your eye. Sure enough, as far as you can tell without turning your head far enough to look directly, a woman across and far down the car from you is sitting between two men, leaning back against the window with her eyes closed. The two men didn't seem to know each other but they had one thing in common: they each had one of her hands massaging their crotch. They were sitting awkwardly, as if they didn't know how to respond to it, but to your confusion, they didn't seem to be acknowledging what she was doing.

Your eyes widen in judgement, and you bring them quickly back to your phone. "What the fuck?" you ask yourself in whisper. It's not the weirdest thing you've seen on the subway, but it's certainly high on the list. As you swipe back and forth in your phone, your doubt builds -- surely it was a trick of the eyes. It didn't actually happen. Doubt becomes curiosity, and you can't help yourself but look again.

Sitting forwards, still facing down at your phone, you slowly turn your eyes back in their direction. The light flickers out again, and when it returns, you jump.

Her eyes are looking directly back at you. Her intense eyes feel like they're cutting into your soul.

The fluorescent lights flicker again, yet in the darkness you can still see her irises just like you can see streaks in your vision after looking at a bright light.

The car's lighting returns. She's gone. The seat is empty.

Still feeling the searing of her eyes as if they were still on you, you feel like you need to explain this to yourself for your sanity. You lean forward in your seat and look around the train car, and you don't see her. Heart racing, you stand up and examine the whole car. She is nowhere to be found.

Were you mad? Did you see a ghost? Are you not meant to look at ghosts?

Goosebumps cover your arms as you start to entertain absurd ideas in panic. You breathe slowly, trying to calm yourself. It's been a long day, you remind yourself, your brain just needs a rest.