Abandoned, deserted, haunted, forsaken; All words most people used to describe the no longer in use and nearly forgotten train station. That's to assume people still talk about the hollow, rotting tunnels on the south-east side of town - Which, they don't. The tornado that shut it down occurred over thirty years ago. Older generations would prefer to forget that awful day and the town's youth doesn't know about it mostly.

Only those obsessed with the macabre and paranormal have shown interest in the forbidden debris. Of course, despite how scared even the occult were of the train station, the ghost stories didn't faze Ricky. He was a lot more interested in the beauty of abandoned places and the way his love interested looked against faded graffiti or sprawled out on a broken staircase. And that is how, on a Saturday evening, the two ended up in a place they legally shouldn't have been in. 

Ghost folded his arms over his chest as he watched Ricky throw branches out of the way of what they thought was an entrance. He stood there decorated like night's mistress. Fishnets ran up under a tight sweater dress with purposeful holes and runs in the fabric. His beautiful face of makeup was accented by a velvet choker and an additional string bow wrapped around his neck. 

Ricky glanced back at him briefly, noticing his stance. "Are you cold?" He asked. 

"No," Ghost replied with a slight hint of a whine, "Just a little creeped out." 

He laughed as he stood up straight. "You? Creeped out? I never thought I'd see the day." Ricky placed his hand along his hip. "Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you."

Ghost raised his eyebrow and paused briefly. He was hoping the look was enough to make Ricky correct himself, but it obviously wasn't. "What're you doing?" 

"Uh," He quickly pulled back his hand, "Sorry." 

He rolled his eyes playfully and began to walk in front. Ghost pulled a flashlight out of his jacket's pocket and flipped it on. The second the light lit the cracked and busted stairs in front of them, an intrusion of cockroaches scattered. A look of disgust curled along his face. If that's what's at the entrance, who the fuck knows what's further in. Ghost shined the light further in but it couldn't reach the bottom of the staircase for him to see what's at the end.

"You're going to get me killed one of these days." He said.

Ricky shrugged, "We're all dying anyways."

"...True." 

The two cautiously began to descend the staircase with only flashlights to guide them. This area had be taped off by police a long time ago. If something where to happen to them down here, no one would know. Most urban explorers and ghost hunters even avoid this place. No one comes here, except a few brave souls over the years. The legitimacy of their stories has always been questioned, considering their tales have been spread around like urban legends.

As they reached the bottom of the staircase, they were met with two directions. Ghost was pretty lost on where to go, but as always when Ricky drags him along on his little photography adventures, he was well prepared. He stuck the end of the flashlight between his teeth briefly to free up his hands. Ricky dug through his bag briefly before finding a folded piece of paper. 

He slung his backpack back over his shoulder. Exploring the walls with his light briefly, he spotted a sign that was barely readable. Somehow, he could manage to make out the number on it. He unfolded the map in his hand and located tunnel three. "We're here. From what I've heard, the fifth and sixth tunnels are the ones that are flooded. Those are the ones I want to find."

"How do you know they're not dried out by now? These place has been condemned for decades." Ghost responded. 

He shrugged, "Only one way to find out." 

These tunnels weren't like most places they explored, and maybe that's why Ghost felt a certain hesitance that was foreign to his personality. Of all the old factories, closed theme parks, and abandoned houses they'd found themselves in, they all had one thing in common. The sky was somehow always visible, whether it be right about them or through a window. They never lost sight of the outside world or the exit. 

Far below where the worms sleep, any escape was distant. Now filled with rubble and decay, these once easy to maneuver tunnels have become a maze. If something were to go wrong, there was no way out. As they came to discover the deeper they explored, the map wasn't of much use. Either it was incorrect, or time's unforgiving hands have transformed the train station into something unrecognizable. 

After some time spent walking and climbing through the dirt and stone, all while Ricky had passive suggestive comments and distracted himself with Ghost's sharp allure, they reached another platform. This one was a little more recognizable, being that it hadn't decayed as much. Ricky pulled himself up from the tracks they'd walked along to the platform. He reached his hand out and helped Ghost up. 

Ghost dusted himself off briefly. He shined his light across the cracked tiles until he located a terminal sigh. Confusion immediately consumed both of them when they set eyes on the number. 

"Tunnel seven?" Ricky spoke, "There's no way we walked that far."

"And we didn't see another tunnel in between. Someone's switched the signs down here." Ghost said.

"But why? And who? What'd be the point of trying to confuse the maybe ten people that have been down here in the last thirty years?" He wondered aloud.

Some of the worst possibilities began to rush through Ghost's head. The only reason someone would do that is if they didn't want people to find their way out. And someone would only want that if they wanted people to die down here, or worse... He wrapped his arms around himself uncomfortably, the feeling of doom washing over him in a chilling breeze.

"Ricky, I don't want to be here anymore. Can we please leave?"

His face went white to hear how in distress his partner was. Ricky might be one to crave the adventure, but his affection for Ghost always came first. He'd jump off a bridge if Ghost told him to. "Yeah, of course. We'll go back the way we came." Ricky slipped his hand into Ghost's and began to guide him towards the edge of the platform.

They jumped down, being careful not to trip on the way down. Another light breeze twirled through the tunnel, creeping over their skin. Ghost glanced in the direction it blew in from, his eyes falling down the end of the tunnel they hadn't traversed. It was pitch black, like looking into a bottomless well. In the darkness, a small light glimmered across his grey eyes. 

Ricky felt the beauty's hand fall from his own, his head whipping in his direction to find the cause. A feeling of dread sunk into his stomach when he saw Ghost walking away from him. "I thought you wanted to leave?!" He frantically questioned.

"I know," He half-sighed, "But there's a light down there."

He watched the distance for a moment and soon saw the small glimmer his companion had. Ricky felt almost drawn to it, hypnotized by it's glow. They were both strangely captivated. It drew them in just like a siren calling to a ship. Their natural, morbid curiosity overtook them, dragging their feet in it's direction. 

As they grew closer, their flashlights were able to make out the rusted front of a train. For being nearly thirty years old, you'd think it'd have more decay than a little rust. More than one light came into view, and they were no longer twinkling fairies in the distance. Now, they could see the warm, fireplace-like glow pouring out the train's windows. It was lit the same as a house. 

"What the Hell?" was all Ricky could manage to say.

Ghost shined his light down on a small pair of steps extending out from the conductor's door. "Do you wanna go in?" 

He swallowed hard, "We shouldn't... But, yes." 

His manicured hands grasped the door's handle and pulled it open, producing a loud screech. The night wasn't particularly cold on the surface, but in the cold underground, the heat that poured out was noticeable. Shaken and fearful of what was ahead, they entered. The train's warmth wrapped them like a blanket. It was no different than walking into your grandmother's house on Thanksgiving. 

All the decor was about as dated and tasteless, as well. Old Victorian wallpaper was peeling from the walls, and bronze outlined windows and doorways. The place was covered in trinkets. From cracked Hallmark figurines to defaced angel ornaments, torn stuffed animals to vintage music and jewelry boxes, retro pins to decorative plates, and that was only scratching the surface. It was all strewn about the moth-eaten fabric of the seats, cluttering the tables of the dining cart, even hung from the walls and ceiling. 

"Where the fuck are we?" Ricky muttered.

"We didn't even see this much shit at that freak show." He replied.

"Yeah, but that place had been looted. This is probably what it'd look like if it hadn't been." He drawled on, his eyes trying to take in everything, "The real question is, what's kept this place from being looted?"

"That's the only question that's on your mind?" Ghost patronized him, "How about, who the Hell put this shit down here? And how are these lights on? And who turned them on, anyways? We really probably shouldn't be down here."

"Yet you keep walking forward." Ricky responded, turning smug when Ghost shot him a dirty look. He laughed under his breath and continued to follow him through the train cars. 

Each cart was filled with disturbing collectibles, seemingly having no rhyme or reason. They reached the door of the final train car, thankful so far they had yet to find anyone, or anything, with a pulse. When Ghost opened the door, he stumbled back into Ricky, almost causing him to fall off the train. He caught himself with one hand on the rail beside him, the other grasping Ghost's shoulder.

Ghost looked back at him with eyes as wide as saucers. He quietly prayed that Ricky's recovery hadn't woken what they'd stumbled upon...

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a/n: i was going to put more into this chapter, but it got too long... 

so, how do you guys like this story so far?? also, predictions?