I Took the Train Home… But the Furies Were Waiting

Photo by BrillianceEye on Deposit Photos

Today’s Creative Spark (#2) — Inspired by Greek Mythology

The subway lights flicker, sputtering between dull yellow and sudden blackness as the train winds deeper into the tunnels. It's been a while. Too long. I shift in my seat, staring at my reflection in the dark, glass - warped, ghosted by motion. I should have arrived by now.

I tap my watch. The hands twitch, freeze, then spin wildly before stopping again. Broken. Or maybe not. I glance around the car - empty, except for two others. A man in a wrinkled suit slumps forward, eyes vacant. A woman clutches a duffel bag, her knuckles pale and tight around the strap. Neither of them looks at me. Neither of them looks at anything. Yet somehow, I feel their attention. Not through their eyes - but something deeper. A presence, a pressure, like invisible hands resting on my shoulders. Watching. Waiting. But why?

The train's hum deepens, vibrating through the floor like a low, steady groan. The lights dim again. Shadows stretch across the car, and for a moment, I can't tell if the movement outside the window is the tunnel - or something else. Then I hear it. A faint sound - distant, but sharp. Something that doesn't belong.

I lean toward the glass, peering into the blur beyond. My breath catches. A man is in the tunnel, muscles straining as he pushes a massive boulder uphill. He slips. The rock crashes down. He starts again - relentless, hopeless. The image flickers and vanishes. Then another scene. Vultures tear into a bloodied man lying motionless on the ground. I look away - until his eyes open. He sees me. He isn't dead.

Air snags in my lungs as I clutch my bag, panic rising fast and sharp. What is going on? I glance around again - but the tunnel walls are gone. So are the station signs. The windows now reveal something else entirely - red, pulsing, organic. Walls of flesh, contracting like a heartbeat. Where the hell am I? I spin around - and the two passengers are closer now. Much closer. When did they move?

I shake my head and try to breathe. Think. Think. I walk through my memory: I left work, went to the bar, boarded the train home - and now I'm here. That's when I hear it - a voice, soft and cold, just over my shoulder.

"Do you remember?"

I gasp and spin around, locking eyes with something no longer human. Their eyes burn with hatred, their forms twisted and unnatural - faces stretched into something wrong. Something ancient. I stagger back and throw my bag at the nearest one, then bolt toward the front of the train. But by the time I glance behind me - they're already there.

"Do you remember?" they ask in unison, voices echoing, vibrating in my skull.

"Remember what?" I shout, heart pounding, spine pressed hard against the wall of the train car. I can't go any further. I'm trapped. "Who… what are you?"

They chuckle, low and guttural, as they move closer. Their presence is suffocating - thick, heavy, overwhelming. I've felt nothing so vile in my life. Then, without warning, one of them presses their lips to mine. A wave of nausea surges through me, not from the contact, but from the sudden flood of images searing into my mind. I remember. God, I remember what I did to her.

I was drunk - but that doesn't make it right. It never did. The memory coils through me like poison, shame gripping tighter than fear. I see his face too - the one who caught me in the act. A boyfriend? A friend? I don't know. I only remember the rage in his eyes… and the sound that followed. A single, sharp bang. Then nothing. Just silence. And after that… the train.

"Good," one of them hissed, fingers reaching for my collar. "Now, you'll know the same suffering." They pulled my shirt open, buttons popping loose under their grip. I tried to fight back, but they were too strong - inhumanly strong. Panic clawed at my throat. What was happening? Their touch was icy, unnatural, crawling over my skin like a sickness I couldn't shake.

Outside, the train barrels deeper into the tunnels, its lights flickering against the pulsing, fleshy walls that surround the track. From within, distant sounds bleed through the steel - muffled screams, sharp gasps, and something else… softer, more haunting. Moans. Not of pleasure, but of pain, of despair, of something unraveling.

The echo carries down the tunnel like a hymn of torment, swallowed and repeated by the walls themselves. The train groans along its path, the sound of metal grinding against metal drowned beneath the chorus of voices inside - pleading, weeping, breaking.

And still, it goes deeper.

This is part of my ongoing series, Today’s Creative Spark — myth-inspired fiction written from daily inspiration. Browse the full series here.

Should this story be expanded into a full version? Would you want to see more from this world? Let me know in the comments — I’d love to hear your thoughts.