Gangster Vs. Train - A Bloody Death


I didn't think I would ever tell anyone this story, but I can't just keep it in any longer. I suppose the Internet is as anonymous as it is going to get, and the chances of anyone who knew me then seeing this now would be next to nothing. You see, this isn't your typical ghost or goblin story. This is a story of fear, shock, and death.

When I was 12 years old, I hung out with some really bad people. I lived just outside of a neighborhood where the low riders and the black gangsters ruled. We lived right around the corner from a convenience store where my friend and I would hang out until late hours of the night, but usually we went home before all of the really bad people started trolling. Then one night stupidity struck and we decided to play a trick on our mothers. I told my mom that I was going to stay the night at my friend's house and she told her mom that she was going to stay at my house. What we did instead was just hang out behind the convenience store while smoking cigarettes. We didn't even drink that night because we had no money and no one to buy for us. We were just laughing and having fun.

Then the bad guys came. It was a group of about 7 or 8 low riders--all in their Khakis and wool Pendleton shirts. Everyone dressed the same then. Even the black kids dressed like low rider gangsters. We all looked incredibly stupid, but usually in that neighborhood if you didn't fit in then you had best stay away. We should have simply stayed away.

When we noticed them starting to circle we took a few steps toward home. Unfortunately, they created a circle around us. Then two of them took my friend aside. The biggest one, who was the fattest and ugliest of them all, started trying to flirt with me. I tried to back away, but he came in closer and the circle got tighter. My heart was racing and I was feeling faint. I had no clue what was about to happen, but the feeling wasn't good. The fat illegal Mexican thug put a sliding switchblade under my rib cage and started telling me about how beautiful I was.

Now, I was a tough girl. I didn't cry. I didn't want them to see my fear, but it was there. Even though no tears stung my eyes, I'm sure that he could see the fear in them and he liked it. He smiled and pushed the handle of the blade in deeper. I knew at any moment he could release the switch and stab me. "You're going to let me taste those." he touched my breast.

I shook my head no. I didn't want this ugly, fat, disgusting creep anywhere near me.

"Yes, you are. I will not let you leave unless I get what I want." His repulsive, greasy face was as disgusting as his manner.

What was I to do? Humiliated yet so pissed off and terrified, I let him. I've seen what they do to people in their circles. They knock you down and kick you until you bleed out then leave you for dead. I still didn't cry. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to shove that blade right into this throat and watch him bleed. I didn't want him to try more, yet I was more afraid of disappearing and becoming just another story about a teen death or runaway than anything else. What would I tell my mother? I was ashamed. Embarrassed.

As he lowered his head, I felt the rumble of the train coming. He obviously didn't feel it or he would have moved. His friends backed away, but I think they were too scared to interrupt him or he might kill them. With full force I slammed hands against his chest until I fell backward onto the road. He lost his balance and fell on the tracks. As the train came closer he screamed for someone to help him. The shoelace of his winos got caught on one of the large splinters in the track. As he tried to move, his foot twisted into the track's rail and wedged between the metal and the wood. I crawled away as the train started to pass then shielded my face as the rocks spewed against my skin. I could barely hear his scream over the train's brakes screeching as it slowly stopped. When the rocks stopped flying, I pushed myself up and took one last look at the tracks. My stomach churned as one of his bloody legs, torn off at the thigh, rolled out from under the train toward me. Next came his severed hand, still clutching on to the knife and then finally, a part of  what looked like a scalp with blood matted hair, landed a few feet away from my foot.

I ran as fast as I could home. It was around 5 am when I stumbled through the door shaking and crying. My mother was sitting in the living room sound asleep. She must have been waiting for me to come home. I never told her what happened, nor did my friend and I ever talk about it again.

I hear stories about that area sometimes--stories of a man screaming when the train goes by. Sometimes I wonder if that area has a ghost.

*Based on a true story.

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