CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "Down beneath the sewers of the city I found a rollercoaster" Creepypasta

Episode Date: June 16, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Darkly_Gathers: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comm...Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

I clamber down the rusted metal ladder, my shoes echoing around the cavern walls, and with a grunt, I jumped down from the lowermost rung to the part of trash and scrap beneath, my flashlight passing over the steaming, humid heaps in the darkness. Yes, I'm a madman. I get my kicks exploring my city's sewer networks. It's gotten to the point now that I know the waterway system like the back of my hand. I'm not in any danger. and I'm not going to get suddenly flooded out and washed away like in the cartoons.

That being said, however, I've gone a little deeper than normal this time. I just couldn't help myself. I mean, come on, a secret door tucked away in the shadows of an underground alcove, way out by the far edge of the city's sewers. I just had to go down. The first time I tried, I opened the door and saw the ladder and chickened out. the same story with attempt number two. But here I am, third attempt and a week later down at the bottom of the ladder in question.

Lower than I thought it was possible to go in this secretive underground cavern. Batman, you're down here? I called out into the gloom, and my voice warbles and echoes through the darkness, bouncing off the rock walls and the cracked remains of the concrete beams. A poor attempt at a joke. I swallow, listening, as my echo reverberates further and further away. Water leaks and drips from little rivulets in the ceiling, which is to say the rocky roof of this enormous cabin. I think I can hear it streaming somewhere nearby as well.

I can't see it though. I see nothing but ruin. Mountains and valleys of floodstreet scrap metal, of a black, tarry, sludge-like substance. I see broken segments of pipes, old tires, all torn up and damaged. And I see other stuff too. Splashes of colour here and there. Smash up segments of old carnival rides.

A piece of a carousel. A section of what might once have been a roller coaster track. Hell, there's all kinds of mad junk down here. I snap a few pictures. Oh, this place, I murmur to know. one casting the light of my beam through the darkness. Far away through the cavern is a heap of junk adorned with little lights, flashing, blinking reds and blues.

In the shadows, it looks like some kind of massive, shadowy skeleton, and my curiosity bids me head on over. I climb across the piles of junk, careful to take the surest and flattest paths possible to minimize risk, crossing over girders and bridges of rusted metal panels. I passed by a series of tanks, all faded and old, and burned by the looks of them. Not sure how a fire could break out in a place as dang as this, but they're burned all right, charred and blackened by smoke and flames. I scanned the flashlight beam across the ground and half submerged in gunk.

A pale, faceless corpse stares back up at me. I shout out in alarm and fright, but I shout out in alarm and fright, but I laugh it off as best I can when I realise that the corpse is nothing more than a dummy, a mannequin or whatever they're called. Jeez, I mutter into the gloom, raising the flashlight a little. The dummy is one of many, several lie sinking in the gloop at the base of the mountain of debris. Others are buried within it. I take a few pictures, do my best to calm the beating of my heart,

and I continue on along my way through the dark towards the subtly glittering mountain. Step by cautious step, over and between the desolation, I clamber up a little hill of scrap metal, coming to a sudden rapid stop as I realise that the floor doesn't go any further, instead giving way to a steep drop and a black silent lake below.

This lake acts as a kind of moat, preventing me from getting any closer to the mountain, with the surviving LEDs. I clenched my jaw and raised the beam of my flashlight across the mountain. The LEDs glow from within a series of dark, interlocked gears and wires, monstrous metal panels, jumbled cogs and pistons, scattered broken pipes arranged almost in the shape of a massive ribcage, given a section of the mountain that skeleton-like appearance I noticed earlier, and in amongst it all, I squint.

In the centre of the mountain is a massive rectangle of metal in faded blue, rusted and scratched and scarred and burnt. The hell is that, I mutter, stepping right up to the edge of the hill of scrap. There's a word emblazing across the side of this metal blue box. The letters are scoffed, but I can still just about read them. I think they say, Tommy, I whisper. Then louder, Tommy, what you got for me, Tommy? I don't know what I was expecting with this question to tell the truth, but what I was not expecting was an answer.

A deep, low-grown rises up from the mountain of metal before me. Cogs and gears begin to whir and the LEDs flash from red and blue to yellow, one by one, like little fireflies in the darkness. Madison Rumbles a voice from the mountain Cold fear Stabs into me like a blade Slicing its way up my spine

And I stagger backwards in abject horror Unable to speak or scream As I crash down onto my elbows My phone lost from my hand to the darkness Something begins to emerge from the mountain At first I see only its silhouette rising up, pushing aside the scrap and the wreckage with grinding and clattering shards and pistons. The massive metal blue box, it groans and it twists around.

Tommy? I whisper. My throat dry and cracked. Madison, says the voice. Madison, is that you? The massive blue box is the machine's body. It cracks and spreads out. It raises itself unsteadly up onto enormous, clanking, metal legs. Eight spindly iron legs, like a spider. It sends out a rumble through the shadows, blinking yellow LEDs, shivering into life across its monstrous form.

I may have lost my phone for now, but I still have my flashlight. I stumble for it in the dark, grab a hold, and flick it back on in a shaking hand. The beam lens on the monster's face. A protruding circle of grey juts out from the front of the machine. A grin has been carved and painted into what looks like hard, chipped plastic, a nose too carved into this material. But the eyes... The eyes are gone.

There are only two hollow tunnels of darkness stuffed with wires and blinking LEDs. Madison. Listen, where are you? Murmurs the machine, its grin unmoving. It rocks from side to side, adjusting the position of one of its many legs as the last shards and clumps of ruin and wreck tumble from its side and down the mountain. Some of the pieces clatter all the way to the base and splash in the water below us. It looks like a train, this monster.

Perhaps it was once designed with an appeal to kids. in mind. Now it's nothing more than a nightmare come to life. What the hell are you? I croak out, frozen to the spot. The face of the great train wheels round to stare at me with his empty eyes. Are you, Madison? The train asks. His voice is high-pitched and feminine, like a child's with a deep, rumbling metallic undertone. It reverberates through. the gloom of the cavern, echoing away down the darkness in all directions. No, I stutter in reply.

My name is Peter. Peter, wobbles the voice of the great train, both high and low in its tones. Do you want to play in the train, Peter? Madison loves to play in the train. A chill shivers across my skin. I find the nerve to rise unsteadily to my feet. "'Play?' I repeat. "'The train?

"'What happened to you? "'Tommy is it? What are you?' "'Tommy,' the train creaks, "'lifting its face, up towards the ceiling. "'Yes, that sounds right, I think. "'I am Tommy. "'Tommy will save. Tommy will save. "'Tommy, it's okay.

"'I'm just a visitor. "'I'd like to explore.' I shake violently, but hold my ground, trying now to avoid any sudden movements. What happened to you? I... It's hard to remember, Peter, sighs Tommy the train. I remember being sad. I remember wanting to play.

I was supposed to drive children around the tracks. It's fun. It would be fun, they said. Tommy was going to say. them. I don't remember. The memories are all mixed. There is a deep, resonant misery in the creature's voice. It tugs at my heart and simultaneously turns my stomach. There was a fire. There were flames, darkness, and then I was down here. I've been down here for a long time, Peter, a long, long, long time. I made the tracks for you, for the children, for Madison. I'm not a kid anymore, Tommy,

I say gently. I don't think I'd get the same fun out of the train ride that the kids would do. I cast my eyes over the train's terrible legs. One of them twitches. Three of them move, the train inches a little higher up in the mountain, clambering just a little closer. Its body grinds and creaks some wurs. Maybe I could go and get some kids for you. I'll go find them. I'll leave, but I'll be right back. I inch backwards, taking a retreating step. My foot knocks into an old spring and it tumbles down the hill behind me, landing in a pool of gunk with a sickly splash. The train twitches and judders forwards, and I sogg some damp, stale air in through my teeth. teeth. No, he says simply, then louder. No, that's what he said, what the man said. He left and never

came back. Who, Tommy, I whisper. Who said that to you? You can't leave me, ride the tracks. You have to play, Peter, you have to play. Yellow light flashes in the ruins of the train's eye sockets and it holds itself up to full height, in a motion of surprising and sicker. speed, it leans far forwards, way out towards me, using six of its legs to anchor itself on the mountainside. There isn't even time for me to scream. Tommy reaches out one of its legs and roughly shoves the metal panels upon which I stand. They ascend tumbling out before me and down into the water, and I'm knocked violently backwards,

falling, crashing down with a thud and a sharp jab of pain into some kind of rudimentary cart. Like a mine cart. I clamber up to the side and peer over the edge. There's barely even enough space for one person inside. The cart is on some kind of track. The wheels attached are all of different makes. I watch, confounded, as Tommy uses his leg to clear away the debris on the tracks.

Tommy? I shout out. Wait, please. But the train does not. A circle of lights flash in the mechanisms. of his cracked and broken body, and the same circle of lights appear from the mechanisms of the cart. What?

No, wait! I tried to clamber out, but I'm too late. Tommy pulls back, retreating to the top of his mountain of junk, a black silhouette in the darkness as the cart is lurched into life, lurched forwards,

down the side of the hill towards the water below. Ah! I scream out, one hand on my flag, The other gripped with white knuckles to the rim of the cart. The air rushes past my face, and I shield my eyes with the flashlight as the cart hits the water, and it splashes up and out in all directions. The cart does not sink, however.

It is carried hastily and chaotically along the river on submerged tracks, heading to a dark, grim tunnel through the wreckage. No! I shout out, Tommy, wait! But the cart is going too fast. I spin around to look behind me, and I catch a final glimpse of a silhouette, a broken, twisted train on eight spindly metal legs, a dark shadow glowing yellow from the eyes, before I am hurled around the corner, and Tommy is lost from sight. I swear and curse an alarm as the cart is violently carried around on those chaotic rails, up and out of the water with a splash of dark spray, through the rock and the concrete,

creep to caverns unknown, whistling and whirring to the darkness, my hair blown back from my forehead. Jesus, Jesus, I mutter again and again, casting the beam of the flashlight this way and that, getting only the briefers of glances at my surroundings as we tear through them, the cart and eye. There is nothing I can do now, but hold on tight and hope for the best. We passed through a room stacked high with speakers, all kinds from the 90s and 2000s. Massive great things with wires spilled from the sides, all horns and megaphones.

I duck as a leaning pole swings by overhead. I cry out loud and alarm. The speakers and wires in here, they've been twisted and reshaped, twisted into the shapes of of bushes, of trees, flowers, different colored wires for different colored petals. A voice carried out through the darkness. A man's voice. A voice I do not recognize. The children love the train, he says, his words like the wind. Madison loves the train.

Allow me to help her. Madison, something ethereal echoes and rumbles through the darkness, and I feel the hairs in my arms all rise in unison. The cart takes us through an arch in the rock to a room much wider and larger than the previous. The voice cries out behind me. I can save her, Tommy can save her, Tommy! But the words are lost as the rails carry us upwards, upwards through the dark, and leaving the ruin and wreckage on the ground far below.

I reel in fright as colourful lights dance and drift across my field of vision. The beam of the flashlight reveals they are connected to various intricate mobiles, spinning and whirring and shulting with grinding gears and sparking cogs near the ceiling and in great shambolic towers striking upwards from below what the hell is this place i cry out screaming and gripping tight to the rim of the cart for all i'm worth as it tips over an edge and speeds down down like a roller coaster before being carried way back up my stomach lurches in dismay The children love the train, Peter,

whispers a voice from the shadows. Tommy, I shout out. Is that you? Please, please let me off. No, roars the voice. It's mechanical edge grinding with sudden fury. You have to play. And so the cart is carried onwards through the dark.

Over to my left, a sudden flash of light catches my eye. I look over, squinting through the blast. of the stale putrid air, and a massive torn projector screen flashes into life. It depicts upon it some security footage. Seems like it comes from a camera in the corner of a room. A lab, I think. There's equipment, strange machines. There's a man in there too, talking to a couple who both seem distressed.

The picture quality glitches little, then refocuses. There's a little girl in the room too, though she isn't with the others. She's looking out the window. She's watching the train chunter by outside, filled with kids her age, all laughing. What can we do? the woman asks, bearing her face in her hands, sobbing. Her partner reaches around her shoulder. She doesn't have much time. Is there anything we can do?

Anything at all? The man across from them scratches his chin He has white hair and he stands tall There might be something he says Something temporary He is interrupted by the woman Suddenly shouting out at a daughter As the girl is clambering up onto the window sill

For a better view outside Madison she shouts Get down from there Madison I shout out Tommy are you seeing this, it's her, it's her, but Tommy does not reply. I don't know if you can see or even hear me now. The cart is hauled around a steep corner and my view of the projector screen is lost. We pass low between hills of scrap and my eyes widen in horror at what I see. Disturbing, half-formed,

broken children, or at least models of children. life size, prepared with intricate precision. And yet, it's like the creator couldn't quite remember what a child actually looks like. Comprised of scrap, gears and little lights, pieces of metal, shards of plastic, a sickly, semi-translucent wax-like substance for the skin. They stand still and silent all around. I watched them pass as the cart whizzes between them. They've all been arranged into careful positions to make it look like they're playing presumably,

but many of them don't look like they're playing anymore. I pass by a pair of distorted children, where I imagine they were once both stood side by side. One of them has fallen down into the wet gunk below. The expression on the child still standing is, is not an emotion I can understand. It's difficult. I suppose to convey expression and emotion with faces of metal and wax. You build these, Tommy, I murmur as the cart speeds along through the darkness.

I swear I catch a glimpse of one of these accursed children turning to look at me, twitching its head ever so slightly as we go by. I flinch and fumble with the flashlight, but by the time the beam is ready, we've rounded a corner and the child has vanished. The children love the train, whispers the voice of Tommy through the shadows. Madison loved the train. She wanted to ride. She wanted to play with the others.

A shadow creaks and scuttles through the gloom overhead. I cast the beam up into the vast darkness of the cavern, but it lands on nothing but rail and ruin. The cart passes through a tunnel in the side of the mountain of rubble. The air is thicker in here. the little lights flash and flicker in blue. I cannot save a certain if anything is likely to hit my head, but I dock all the same. The visibility, as it is everywhere, is dangerously low.

Greater lights flash and flicker into life over to my right. I turn to them, and far away appears another projector screen, a massive one. Occasionally, my view of the screen is blocked by a speeding column of rubble or a pile of debris. but I can, for the most part, see what it depicts. Another scene from that same lab. Wait, no, this one is different. This one is larger. There are beds, tables, cables and wires.

I see the same four people as last time, though. The man with a white hair, the couple, and the girl, Madison. Are you doing this, Tommy? I murmur, into the speeding shadows. Did you prepare these or not? Am I the first person to ever ride this rail? The rush of the wind blows through my hair, but there is otherwise no reply.

On screen, Madison looks unwell. Really, really unwell. The picture quality is poor, but her face appears sunken. Her movements are sluggish and slow. She just wants to play, the mother subs. That's all she wants. once? Please, why can't you make a better?

One day, the white-haired man frets, pacing up and down. One day, I will, I will. That's what you said before, and the time before that, the father shouts. She doesn't have long left. It's really a case of now or never. So, what are you going to do? She's your goddaughter, for Christ's sake. Enough!

The white head man cuts through with an outstretched palm. Leave her with me. I'll be here all night. I'll think of something. I promise. Both the father and mother tried to protest, but the white-haired man shouts them down. Go, he snaps.

I need peace. I need to think. And so, reluctantly, they go, with a promise to return even before sunrise on the next morning. The projector falters. For a second, the image is displayed upside down, and then it vanishes.

The screen disappears into darkness. The cart is rocketed from the end of the tunnel and across a rickety bridge comprise primarily of the rail itself. I make the mistake of peering over the edge. Beneath is a drop unlike anything I've seen so far. It goes far deeper down than I even thought possible. I see black water, I think, behind layers of mist and fumes. My heart leaps quickly up to my mouth and back as the cart goes over a bump. A violent judder passing through me.

I read up on my grip on the flashlight and crouch a little lower, bringing down the center of weight. Something massive creeps through the shadows directly above me. I shot a look upwards and see the silhouette of Tommy vanish behind an outcrop of stone. I raise the flashlight but catch only a flicker of faded blue before he is lost to the darkness. locking ahead reveals that the rail is about to drop right down, a sudden slope imminent. The anticipation is almost worse than the drop itself. Almost. The voice of the white-ed man plays violently through a hidden speaker.

Madison! He screams in desperation. Madison! And I grip my teeth as the vehicle tips forward, shooting downwards through the dark. The shouts are lost and we are hauled round a steep, tight corner. Then another and another. We pass close to the water. I can feel its heat.

The steam distorts my vision. I swear I catch sight of something, something massive disturbing the surface, slithering through the gloom beneath. But before I can turn my head or angle the flashlight, I am sent blasting through a tunnel and into another. Another new room, a room piled high, with the corpses are children. Not real corpses, I quickly realize. They are more of those models, the fakes.

These are the rejects, presumably, the ones not even good enough by the creator's standards. They are worse than the ones I saw positioned earlier, even less accurate. Mishaping faces, hollow eyes, jaws that don't connect, limbs with incorrect bends unnatural proportions. And these corpses, they number in the hundreds, all piled high, rotting away. One of them sparks, and little light flashes behind its eyes, and then it just goes dark like all the rest. The cart is carried upwards, in shaking clumsy jumps at first, but then we are caught onto

a chain of some kind, and at a dangerous angle the cart is gradually carried upwards. Slow and steady, up past the piles of broken children. It's slow enough now that I could jump out, if I wanted, I could jump out and land on the remains of these failed models. But what good would that do to me? I'd never be able to follow the rail back. It would be impossible. I have no idea where I am.

My best bet now is the hope that the rail is looted and that it will take me back to the beginning. I deliberate mentally if this is definitely the correct course of action. But to tell the truth, I feel safer in this ridiculous cart than I'd feel down there, amongst the bodies. Even if they're not real bodies as such,

just lumps of wax and metal. It would be all too easy to get lost amongst them, to become just another misshapen wreck. So I stay where I am as the cart travels up and up. I look a corpse in the face as we steadily pass by it, as it sinks down below us. It looks back at me with a single painted glass eye. The other socket is empty, waxy, with shadow gears visibly behind. I turn away. The cart is carried higher and higher through the cavern,

until once again we are off from the watery ground below. It picks up speed, shooting through gap after gap in the rock. We pass through stone, through concrete, through a room stuffed with metal and wires, through a room hooked up with unfamiliar equipment, blackened and burned. It's all a blur, really. one thing after the next. And, when once again the cart finally slows, I am greeted by the sight of nothing.

There's nothing to see now. Even with the flashlight, I cannot see a single thing above me, below me or around me, just the rail, the cart and myself, adrift in the void. We chunter quietly along the tracks. The mismatch wheels rumble and creak, and a flash of activity up ahead draws my gaze. Way off in the distance are two pale circles of yellow, sparking and flickering in the darkness.

Small for now, but growing steadily larger as we approach. Before long, however, they are lost to sight, as the enormous screen of a projector appears before them, blocking them from my view. I hear the voice of the white-head man before the picture appears on the screen. Gravely. It glitches out from the speakers unseen in the dark. Do you like it, Madison? The voice asks a dry whisper. It's a train.

Images appear on the projector screen as the car quietly rumbles. It shows Tommy, back as he was before, I suppose. No terrible spindly legs, just wheels. The blue of his paint is shiny and proud. His grin is friendly, not demented, and he has his eyes. They are smiling. He sits on a section of track. Flood lights clank into life on screen and more of the track, and of Tommy surroundings are revealed.

There are no windows. Tommy is connected to a series of machines. with wires. He is still, motionless, not alive, just a train, a train waiting dutifully on the tracks. Do you like it, Madison? The whited man asks to the girl he holds against his shoulder. It's a train. I built him myself. I call him Tommy. Madison murmurs weakly, and I am unable to make out what she says. You like the train, Maddo you, like the train, Madison, he says, Remember, Madison loves the train,

and this one is just like the one outside. He carefully places a down on a table, and he heads to the side of the room, washing his hands. The man is shaking. His face keeps twitching into grins that do not hold. Erratic, manic almost. Well, he continues,

not exactly like the one outside. Not quite, but close, close enough. I haven't finished the track yet, but I will. We'll have plenty of time. He dries himself, and I watch, squinting, as he takes hold of a surgical knife in one hand and a batch of curious wires in the other. He positions himself over Madison,

blocking her from the camera's line of sight, and he sets to work. I grimace in horror. I designed him to be smart, the man mumbles. Mostly to himself, I should think, as he begins connecting Madison to all manner of monstrous looking machines. He isn't finished. No, none of it's finished. But he can look after you.

He can look after you until I'm ready to save you. He'll keep you safe. He'll take care of you while I fix your body. You could ride the rails while you wait. you've always loved the train The cart hits a bump But I scarcely notice My attention is held with full force

By the images flashing And playing on the projector screen Madison barely moves She twitches but says nothing The white-head man Wipes a sheen of sweat from his forehead He flips some switches And sits down at a desk

typing some unseen instructions into an ancient, blocky-looking computer. He'll keep you safe, and one day I'll be able to bring you back. I promise. He mutters over and over. I promise. He looks at the girl. My knuckles whiten on the rim of the cart. He looks to the camera, directly at me, the viewer.

I need to disconnect your nervous system now, Madison, he whispers. No, I shout, for reasons not quite known to me. Pure instinct, I suppose. And of course, he cannot hear me. The man presses a button and the lights dim. Something flashes off screen and the lights cut out entirely. The picture is plunged in the darkness. And when it returns, there is smoke and flithing.

A siren sounds. At first it plays only on the screen, but it becomes quickly apparent that it plays from everywhere now. I can hear it below me, behind me, blaring, loud, angry. Fire licks at the edges of Tommy's body, at the machinery. It spreads quicker and quicker. The man tries and fails to put it out. Panels fall from the ceiling. He starts to panic and his hand is wiped through something wet and flammable. He screams and tries to put out the flames

that leap from his fingers. The man whimpers and turns to Madison. He tries to unhook her from the machines, tearing the wires out of her with reckless abandon. He tries to drag her away. But she's still connected. And the smoke fills the screen.

It burns and ripples with shades of orange. of yellow and of black. All vision is, essentially, lost. The man cries out in anguish. I cannot see him, but I can hear him. And urgently, he says, I'm going to leave now, his voice wavers.

I'll leave, but I'll be right back. I'll be right back, I promise. The flames and the fire grow larger and larger, and the picture cuts out. The projector screen fades the black and becomes as it was before translucent Directly behind it

I can see the silhouette of Tommy the train Waiting Yellow eye sockets gleaming down at me He lied Tommy whispers his voice as it was always been High-pitched feminine He did not come back Tommy, I begin sweat pouring down my back.

Peter, the train replies, cocking its head. I cannot see. Where is Madison? We regard each other in cold silence. And after a long, terrible beat, the cart drops. The rail takes a sharp, sudden downward spike, and away through the darkness I go. screaming as I'm hauled from side to side through sudden, jumping, roaring flames all around.

I feel their heat against my skin as I plummet down the rail, as I'm carried through gap after gap in the stone, as the forces build against my being. I can hear cries and shouts and further screams, playing to me through speakers, but I could not say to whom they belong. The heat intensifies. I scrunched my eyes tight closed and huddled up in the cart, waiting, praying, until at last when I feel I can bear no more,

the flames all vanish as quickly as they appeared. We lead them far behind, the intensity of the flames replaced by the bitter mercy of the stale, but cold cavern air, flowing like a healing water across my skin. The cart slows, and this is the final time that it does so. This deceleration will not be reversed.

It trundles around corner after corner through an arch in the cavern until I recognised the place where it began, from a different angle of course, but it's the same cavern as the one we started in, the one I wandered into after descending the ladder. We pass by the glittering mountain of wreckage, sparkling with LEDs of blue and of red. We pass over the dark moat that borders it

And a return to the central Landmass, if you will The great island of rubble and trash And charred slabs of machinery Upon which I first spoke to Tommy The cart is slow now And since I know where I am I haul myself over the edge

Stumbling and crashing to my knees in the trash As the cart continues on along its way I follow it with my eyes It looks like it's going to do a wide loop, possibly passing beneath a further arch, before returning to the exact place in which I fell in. I take a second to catch my breath, slow, deep inhales and exhales of air. I turned to look behind me, back at the mountain of wreckage. And right there, directly behind me and towering above, is Tommy, distorted and humanly

a grin locked in place. The air catches in my throat as Tommy steadily clambers right over the top of me, silently, almost scuttling along after the cart, following the sound of its trundling on the rails. I watch him go,

frozen in place, watching the blue abomination beneath the ground. Tommy, or... Madison, I whisper, barely audible. The train does not hear It simply follows the cart

At a reasonable distance I watch as it scuttles up the side of the cavern wall And round a corner out of sight And I take this chance I don't mess around And I try to look for my phone I just go As quickly but as quietly as possible I go

One foot in front of the other Retracing my steps Back through the jungle of debris and away from the lights. Step, step, step. A warbled, furious cry of anguish sounds out from somewhere in the darkness. Peter?

Roars the train. Where did you go? You were supposed to ride the train, Peter. Come back, come back! I break into a run, the flashlight beam reflecting chaotically off all manner of junk as I sprint to the shadows

and back towards a sight of that rusted old ladder. I'm sorry. Sorry, I mutter, but there is nothing I can do for you now. The light catches on the ladder, way off in the distance, and I redouble my speed as I hear the train scuttle madly through the desolation somewhere off behind me. Peter, it screams. Please don't leave me down here in the dark. Tears streamed down my face as I reached the ladder, throwing myself up towards it.

The muscles in my arms aching as I pull myself up, wrong by wrong, until I can use my legs. I hear an expulsion of steam somewhere nearby. I hear that mechanical frenzied whirring, sobbing almost. I hear rage in those gears. And I leave the hell of the cavern below me, scrambling up the ladder wrung by rung until I return to that door in the side of the sewers. I haul it open and run the entire way back, legs burning.

I don't stop running until I've left that twisted world far, far behind. But all I can see as I run, even once I return to the neon and rain of the city above, are the faces that were shown to me down there in the dark. I see the face of Madison, the girl who just wanted to ride the train. I see the face of the white-ed man, panicked and mad. I see the face of Tommy, smiling and hopeful, as he was. was when he was created. And I see what became of that face, broken and hollow.

My feet splash in the light-soaked puddles, and I hear the voice in my head, playing over and over, like a chung-ring on the rails. Do you want to play in the train, Peter? Madison loves to play in the train.