Last night a passenger exploded.

"Elle, is it?"

"That's what my name badge says," I responded flatly to the man in the red bowler hat on the other side of my plexiglass ticket booth.

He'd been complaining about a cancellation for at least twenty minutes.

"Well, Elle, I'd like to speak with your supervisor."

Great. My favorite line. I prepared my scripted response.

"I'm the only staff member on duty at this time. If you have an issue you can log it with the phone number on the poster."

I tapped the glass next to the poster detailing how to contact Connected Railways' head office. It was one I'd had to demand after one too many incidents with disgruntled passengers angry at delays, cancellations, and prices.

I didn't control that shit, and I was sick of being abused for it.

Red bowler hat inhaled sharply for a prolonged period. His face turned so red it reminded me I had some strawberries in my fridge at home that needed using before they went bad.

As he took in more air, buttons on his shirt began to detach and ping in all different directions. I was suddenly more grateful than usual for the plexiglass as the little plastic pucks bounced off it. I sighed deeply and hit the red security button underneath my desk as I braced myself for whatever onslaught was to come next.

Then he blew up.

Not blew up as in he ranted and screamed at me like a normal asshole customer in a service-based industry. No. Red bowler hat man inhaled so much air he quite literally blew up, spattering blood across the floor of the station entrance, my ticket booth, and any other passenger in a ten-foot radius. Luckily there was only one, who hastily made their way to the platform.

I looked on in despair as his hat rocked a little upon impact with the floor.

I know I should sound more shocked, frightened even, when I talk about a man exploding before my very eyes. That would be a normal reaction; but incidents like that one were ten a penny at the station and had become more of an annoyance than a source of terror. In my line of work, a man exploding was relatively normal. Not terribly extraordinary, at least.

"What a mess. Is everyone okay?" Atlas arrived, befuddled as he looked at the pile of scattered organs on the floor.

Atlas was the night security guard, one of only two other members of staff in the entire station, and my savior, from both boredom and the unusual passengers. He had long, dark hair that he pulled into a messy bun on top of his head that always made his hat sit strangely.

"I think so. Just need to call Nicky and get things cleaned up. Sorry for summoning you, I thought it was going to be much worse than that, the guy looked angry."

"Never a bother, Elle. You know that. Nicky's going to love-"

Atlas was cut off by a loud and nauseating slurping noise as the organs and bits of person started to move together across the concrete floor as if they were suddenly magnetized.

The blood on my booth congealed into droplets that danced down the screen and towards the collecting mass. The explosion hadn't been entirely out of the ordinary, but this was beginning to pique my interest.

"Good job you called," Atlas continued, a curious expression on his face as the mass built to a height that towered above us both.

Screaming, naked, and covered in a transparent goo, red bowler hat man was reborn and much bigger and angrier than he had been before. He bent over, picked up the bloodied hat, and placed it on his head before approaching the booth.

I wasn't sure on the purpose of the hat. After all, the rest of his clothes remained shredded on the floor. Regardless I found him quite intimidating and almost wavered through my next scripted response.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave Connected Railways' property."

Red bowler foamed at the mouth, revealing a set of yellowed teeth, and continued squealing into the open air. I cringed a little and tried to look away, watching the unsuspecting, oblivious people in the street behind him and envying their ignorance.

They were only a few feet away and yet to them, the incident wasn't happening at all. Oh, how sweet it must have been to not see the booth, the blood, or the naked man screaming in the night. That would've been a real treat.

The station I work at is only visible to those who are already aware of its existence, or it would've been quite the scene, even at 2 am. That's what I've deducted in my time here anyway. I'd walked this street a thousand times before my interview and never once seen a station entrance.

There was no other explanation. My employment, as a normal human that stumbled across the advert by pure dumb luck, was more unusual than anything I'd witnessed from red bowler hat man.

I stayed firm, maintaining eye contact as I watched Atlas creep up behind the creature and hold up a pistol. A security guard with a gun wasn't a typical sight in England, even in the city, but then nothing about my workplace was typical.

He pulled the trigger releasing a sharp point and injecting a yellow liquid into the man's neck. I watched as he dropped to the floor, shrinking into the disgruntled passenger he had been prior to the explosion, albeit stark naked.

"Where was he headed, Elle?" Atlas asked, grabbing hold of the now comatose creature and struggling with the dead weight as he tossed him over his shoulder, careful to avoid certain regions.

"He was moaning about the cancellation on the village line. Cordyline Hill via Monsoon Valley. I tried explaining that there was one thirty minutes after but he didn't let me..."

"I'll take him down to the platform now and page the guys at Monsoon Valley. Village line comes in at 2.22 and reaches MV by 2.46. He should stay like this until then. He's their problem now."

"Finish," I added just as he walked away.

I sighed. I was grateful for Atlas but he could be tone-deaf at times and was blind to the irony of cutting me off just like Karen in the red bowler hat had. I leaned back in my chair, kept one eye on the large antique clock on the wall to the left, and prepared for the rest of the night to go by uneventfully.

I know it seems strange, to be so positively apathetic. You have to understand how real desensitization is, the more we consume the easier it gets and bowler hat wasn't the first and definitely wouldn't be the last monstrous transformation I'd see.

I can't explain the things that go on at the station entirely. I have my theories, but I have no way of confirming or denying them.

The only hard facts I have are these; I have never heard of a single station we service. I'm absolutely certain that at least ninety percent of our passengers aren't of the human variety. Regardless of the risk I run of being eaten I'm still paid a pittance like every other booth worker in the country and on any given day I might have to drive home soaked in blood.

So why do I stay? I stay for passengers like the one that followed red bowler hat.

I'm not immune to curiosity. I recognize that I'm shafted by Connected Railways on a regular basis with only a poster and a charming but undeniably human security guard for protection. But that doesn't change the fact that when you work with things that are out of this world every now and again you come across one that makes it somehow worth it.

The woman in the floor-length tweed coat was not your run-of-the-mill, angry, potentially explosive customer. She was much more.

She approached with a small dog in her arms, her coat sweeping across the hard ground where bits of organ had previously been strewn, walking with such dainty steps it was almost as if she were floating.

She wore a scarf that matched the coat and had a face with more wrinkles than necessary to tell a story. I would've put her in her nineties at best, although she was perfectly mobile.

"How can I help?" I asked, attempting to put on my best customer service face.

"A single to Meander Place please, no return."

Meander place wasn't a destination I was often asked for tickets to, it sat on the barely used Epstar line, which was mostly used by the more intimidating of passengers.

I'd never taken any of the trains myself, despite my curiosity, but I tried to take note of the people I saw and where they were going. There was no other viable way to pass the time.

"That'll be £29.50 please"

"I'm afraid I don't have that, I spent the last of my money in that delightful pub across the street, we're going to have to come up with another method of payment."

I held in a sigh. The station sat opposite an unusual, traditional-looking old pub called the Pickled Gnome, which seemed to be a popular stop for my passengers before their journeys. I often questioned the type of patrons that it served, although I suppose I was in no real position to.

"I'm sorry, we don't offer payment plans or alternative methods here."

"You don't understand, do you?"

The woman made eye contact with me and I felt my head freeze into position, staring back at her. Her eyes were an incredible marbled yellow with flecks of green. Her next words make my skin crawl.

"This is a transaction between you and me, not a faceless company you represent, Elfida."

My blood ran cold. No one, not my employer nor even the few people I considered friends, knew my full name. I managed to break my trance-like fixation on the woman to check my badge and just as suspected, it said Elle.

"Who are you?"

"Interesting. You don't want to know how I know your name, you want to know who I am. You have a habit of asking all the wrong questions, don't you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Hah! See, again. Another useless question. I suppose as I know your name it's only fair you know mine... Agnes Copper. Haven't you ever wondered why you're here?"

She placed the small, scruffy-looking dog on the floor and extended a frail, skeletal hand out toward the booth. Hand shaking I pressed the security button hard, eliciting a wry smile from Agnes.

"That's not going to work, Elfida. I'm glad I have your attention though, if that weren't the case you'd have noticed the clock you've been watching for the past few hours stopped."

She was right, the clock had stopped. And I hadn't noticed. I gulped. I'd dealt with some incredibly unusual passengers, but none of them had ever rendered my security button useless. Or known my full name.

"What do you want?"

The dog barked, making me jump. Agnes shushed him before continuing.

"That's a better question, dear! Although you already know the answer. I want a ticket to Meander Place. The question is... what do you want?"

I took a moment to try and comprehend her question. She spoke with a glee that made me deeply uncomfortable. In the short term, I wanted Agnes Copper gone and to forget about her yellow eyes.

I had a feeling that wasn't what she was referring to, however.

"Come on, Elfida, there must be something."

"Please stop calling me that. My name is Elle," I spoke with a quiet defiance. She smiled, enjoying my agitation.

"Oh. Am I getting somewhere? Now, why would a pretty girl like you hate a pretty name like that so much?"

I felt a pang in my stomach. I hadn't thought about my life with that name for a long time. Life before Irene disappeared.

"It's personal."

"I know, dear. I think you're aware I already know the answer." Her eyes lit up and she licked her puckered, wrinkled lips as I shuddered at her words. "You're wondering now if I know where she is, aren't you?"

I was. She was right. Who wouldn't wonder? When my little sister went missing there wasn't a trace of her left in my parents' home... my old home. She was only eight years old and one morning she just wasn't in the house, they never found a stitch of evidence. That was enough to drive my parents to alcoholism, abuse, and eventually divorce.

I got it. They lost a kid but it sure did suck to be the sister left behind in the shit storm. Ten years old and I had to roll my mother over to stop her from choking on her own vomit. I put up with eight years of that before I fled, came to university in the city, shortened my name, and never went back home.

Of course, I wondered where she was.

"Do you... know where she is?"

Agnes laughed an evil cackle, sinister enough to make every bone in my body vibrate. I felt weak, like all the wind had been knocked straight out of me. I tried to control it, but tears fell against my will. I hadn't thought about Irene in so long.

"Are you a gambler, Elfida?" Agnes asked, ignoring my question entirely.

"I've never considered myself to be a betting woman," I answered, voice shaking audibly.

"Well, I think it's time you start. If you print me a single ticket to Meander Place I will give you a clue. What a wonderful thing? A little piece of hope. The clue could lead to that little girl you seek... or it might not. After years of no answers, isn't it worth the risk? For the minimal cost of a £29.50 ticket."

"If the clue is useless, what are the consequences?"

"A better question. Finally, you've got it! Shame we're almost out of time, my train leaves in a few minutes and I'm not too quick on my feet. Make a decision, Elfida, I think you know I'm getting on that train either way."

I hated arrogant customers. I made a point of ensuring I did my job properly, no matter what crazy things were going down in the station, but Agnes made a compelling case. She may have looked old and frail but she froze the air in the space around her. I wasn't confident I'd even get close to stopping her from boarding that train.

How could I let the opportunity to find Irene slip away?

I printed the ticket. Of course, I did. One way to Meander Place, the Epstar line. Agnes continued to frantically lick her lips as the machine made the printing noise. Her mouth moved like a snake, it terrified me.

As I handed it to her through the slot she reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny red box, only large enough for small pieces of jewelry, replacing the paper slip with it.

"Thank you, Elfida. I hope you find what you're looking for." She winked a reptilian yellow eye and shuffled away from the booth toward the platform entrance.

I sat there for a few minutes. Staring at the box, then back at the clock that continued ticking the moment Agnes was out of sight. I searched for her on the platform security cam that faced me inside the booth but she'd vanished. No trace.

Just like Irene.

I stroked the box, unsure I even wanted to know what was inside, while simultaneously desperate to see the contents.

"Elle! Monsoon Valley just called, the guy had the same argument with them. Popped all over again, the guard there is having a total crisis. Thank fuck we're rid of that shit, right?" Atlas interrupted my deep and brooding thought.

I shoved the box into my pocket as quickly as I could and looked up, blinking away any residual tears from my interaction with Agnes.

"Ha, sounds like a blast," I joked, managing a chuckle from Atlas, "We'll have to tell Nicky about it when she's done with platform nine."

"Yeah, I'm gonna go ahead and check on her anyway, the Epstar line just blasted through there, never know what unsavory characters might be about."

Atlas spoke seriously but I struggled to take him so. He always seemed impervious to the strangeness that surrounded us and my recent meeting had cut through my apathetic disposition. I was relieved when he wandered off, giving me a chance to breathe.

After a few moments collecting myself, I finally gathered the strength to reach into my pocket and open the red box. When I saw the contents I almost flung them and the box at the floor and ran.

Inside was a finger, a small severed finger. The nail was painted pink, splotches on the skin around it, like it had been painted by a child.

It had. I'd painted Irene's nails that exact shade the night she went missing. But it didn't make any sense, it had been years... and the finger was so fresh... Even if she was alive, how could she still be so small?

Fighting the bile in my throat I noticed a pattern... words, intricately carved and so minuscule they were a struggle to read.

Find me in Thistle Park.