"In
the hot summer of 1972, several newspapers and local TV stations carried the
strange story about the old, disused 153 North Street Subway station in New
York City. It appears that several workman and city officials had all - it was
claimed - seen various apparitions and ghostly sights on the platforms and
offices of the derelict station; which was undergoing emergency repair work.
But when two vagrants are found dead on its South platform and no souls were
recovered; Jericho and Team 74 are dispatched to investigate the strange
phenomena."
Episode may contain the following warnings:
Alcohol - smoking - strong foul language [including historical language and opinions that are certainly not woke!] - sexual references [including sexual violence and BDSM] - Violence [including torture, combat, domestic and sexual] - references to prostitution, human trafficking, classic slavery and treating women as chattels - Supernatural & paranormal experiences - Horror - Terror induced fear and threats of violence. Reading about historical and past events which have NOT BEEN SANITISED in any way! Oh, and some episodes contain Nazi's; new and old.
IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER:
“All incidents and dialogue, and all characters with the exception of some well-known historical figures, are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Where real-life historical figures appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues concerning those persons are entirely fictional and are not intended to depict actual events or to change the entirely fictional nature of the work. In all other respects, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
SOME OF THESE EPISODES CONTAIN VERY STRONG LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE, HORROR AND SEXUAL REFERENCES. They are AGE RECOMMENDED suitable for persons aged 12+ years only. Some episodes are rated HIGHER at 15+ and ALL the 'ALEXANDRA' Series versions are AGE RATED at 18+”
Stephen Williams
THE AUTHOR.
Author’s notes about this episode:
[1] ***Plot spoilers!***
This episode is contains strong language, human sacrifice and witchcraft: you have been warned!
[2]
The original Title for this episode was: ‘THE SUBWAY STATION SPIRITS.’
[3]
A ‘Temporal Detectives’ original story.
[4]
This episode is one of the author’s personal favourites!
[5] "THE TROUBLED SPIRITS OF 153rD NORTH STREET SUBWAY STATION.” The original illustration for this episode was created by the author, as was this episode, which was also conceived and written by him. Copyright © 2011-2025 Stephen Williams. No reproduction of any part without permission.
[6] There is an 'ALEXANDRA' adult extended version currently available entitled:
"ALEXANDRA'S DIRTY WEEKEND IN 1970'S BROOKLYN."
Episode details:
Concept
date: 13th August 2020
First
published: 11th February 2021
Status: COMPLETED & PUBLISHED.
Location: BOOK SERIES 4 – EPISODE 9.
Revisions: 3 [last revised
January 2021]
Version:
Final.
Published
Episode No. 44
Previous
episode: "The Oxford Ouija Board sessions."
Next
episode: "The mysterious paintings of Cranfield Sommers."
Age recommendation: 15+
Average reading time: Approximately 75 Minutes.
Angel-in-charge:
Margret
Team
Assigned: Team 74
Mission: 2 - 809141 - 8 - 1972
Human time:
Gregorian Calendar: MCMLXXII
Muslim Calendar: 1391 - 1392 [AH]
Hebrew calendar: 5732-5733
Christian Calendar: 1972AD
Episode preview:
"THE TROUBLED SPIRITS OF 153rd NORTH STREET SUBWAY STATION."
1. "I DON'T BELIEVE IN NO GHOSTS....."
Maurice
‘Mo’ Breckenridge pushed his hard hat back and took a long
draw on his cigarette and waved his hand down the steps of the South Entrance
of 153rd North Street Subway station; “Get those silly buggers back down there!
How the hell can I call the Office and tell bloody Mister Taylor that the
bloody crew has walked
off site because they saw a bloody ghost! I’m not making that call, we’re
already five days behind schedule, now get the lazy buggers out the vans and
back down there!” The small man gripped his hard hat with both hands and tried
to smile; “I’ve told them that Mo and they just told me to fuck off…. I think you
should speak to them on this one. Sorry.”
Mo
grunted and threw his cigarette down and patted little Derek on the shoulder;
“Ok my old friend. I will, now get that cement lorry backed up to the Shute; if
we don’t pour this afternoon, we will be in the shit good and proper.” Little
Derek smiled and was gone. Mo straightened his jacket and lit another
cigarette, then headed for the two vans parked outside the Italian café. He
wasn’t happy to find the vans empty and his crew sitting in the coffee shop.
“Fuck it.” Was all he said and strode into the café causing all conversation to
stop.
The
café owner had to ask him to moderate his language because there were ladies
present, but Mo’s men got the message alright. Back to work or their wages
docked. Slowly and very reluctantly they left the café and walked back to the
derelict subway station entrance. Little Derek shepherded them back down the
stairs and they gathered on the old South platform. Mo walked back to his
Plymouth and eased in, leaving the door open. He removed his hat and jacket,
cursing this wonderfully clear but hot day. He lit another cigarette and
watched the traffic passing slowly.
He
pulled the blueprints from his battered old briefcase and stared at them. 153rd
North Street Subway station had closed in 1929 after the new 14th West Avenue
Subway Station opened and lay closed and unvisited since. Well; except for the
odd inspection Team from City Hall. It had been one of those teams that found
the damage to the South platform and the disused offices.
Serious damage warranting immediate action and thus the Cities Emergency
Building Team was on scene. The Engineer in charge was Frank Taylor and he was
a hard task master. Well, he was an utter bastard actually, but Mo seemed to
get on with him.
“Fucking
ghosts, I don’t believe in bloody ghosts.” He muttered to
himself and leaned back in his seat and then noticed the old patrolman Sean
Finlay walking towards him. He had known the cop for at least fifteen years. He
held up a hand and shouted.
“Sean! What’s up man?” Sean had his hat off,
wiping his brow and neck. He sauntered over and smiled. “How are your ghosts
getting on Mo my friend?” and chuckled shoving his hat back on and leaned against
the car door. Mo just sighed and then smiled; “You know what those fuckers are
like, they would down tools if a mouse ran up their trouser leg.” Sean chuckled
again; “So you haven’t heard the news about the experts coming from Boston
University. Real experts my friend and they will tackle your ghost problem for you!”
Mo
groaned and didn’t smile; that’s all he needed now; bloody ghost hunters from a
bloody university! He nodded; “Finding them two dead vagrants down there has
fucked up all my schedules. Now my moronic workmen are seeing fucking ghosts.
That’s all I bloody need. Do we know what killed the mangy old bastards?” Sean
shrugged his shoulders; “I knew both of them; they had been together for years
around here. Both liked paint stripper and Budweiser cocktails, so I dare say
that didn’t help. But I do feel kind of sorry for them; one was an ex-Ranger
who landed at Normandy and that fucked his head up apparently and the other was
some kind of disgraced bank clerk who did time up In Rochester, back in the
fifties, lost all his family and friends and couldn’t get any kind of work.
They would beg around here to do odd jobs to pay for cigarettes and booze.
There was no real harm in either of them. Still can’t fathom why anyone would
want to murder the poor pair of old bastards!”
He
stood back from the door and tipped his hat back, adding; “Apparently they will
be here tomorrow and here’s the worse bit; three of them are limey’s including
the professor in charge and one’s a bloody woman.” He smiled broadly at his
friends face; Mo didn’t like anyone who wasn’t American and he certainly didn’t
like women in positions of authority. “How the fuck can you be a professor of
something that don’t exist? That doesn’t make any fucking
sense. Shit, what a pile of crap.” Mo said and threw his cigarette butt down.
Sean just smiled and walked off towards the Italian café; it was time for a
coffee and a doughnut: he would have disagreed with Mo over the existence of
ghosts but kept that experience to himself. He had tried to tell people about
it but soon
got fed up with the laughter and piss taking; so now he said little about the
incident which happened just days after he left the Police Academy and was
posted to his first patrol which was usually on foot in those days. Part of his
foot patrol covered the derelict streets of ‘Little Italy’ now empty and closed
down awaiting further redevelopment. He passed a dark and gloomy alley when a figure
caught his eye outside a boarded up Italian ice cream parlour. Young Sean stood
in shock and awe as he watched the figure fall to the floor, as if fighting
some invisible foe. Sean was already running to help when he realized what or
rather who the figure appeared to be: the helmet and stick rolling on the floor
and the smart uniform told Sean this was a New York patrolman from years ago.
In fact, he had seen such figures in photographs at his precinct and knew that
uniform was worm by New York’s finest before the sodding First World War!
Suddenly
Sean found himself in an empty deserted alley outside a derelict shop named
‘Galina’s Ice Cream Parlour’. Still in a state of shock Sean continued on his
patrol believing he had some kind of dream while a wake! It wasn’t until a few
days later, when helping out around the station he garnered enough courage to
ask ‘old Crabby’ the twenty-three year veteran about the alley and the ice
cream parlour. Patrolman Crabby sat sipping his sugar filled black coffee in
the Precinct canteen and nodded to himself a few times at the mention of the
street and shop.
“Christ!
That would be where a young patrolman, some kid called Gaffers or Rafferty was
killed by a couple of boys robbing the damn ice-cream parlour for dimes and
nickels! He disturbed them and the younger boy panicked; sticking a bloody big
fucking knife he took from his mum’s kitchen, into the young cop, causing a
fatal wound and the young cop died there and then. If I do remember the story
right it was just before the First World War and all the lefties and do-gooders
petitioned the State Governor to stop their execution by hanging because of
their age. I think they were released in the early fifties, or rather one was:
the other had died whilst in prison.” He finished his coffee and jerked a thumb
at the canteen door; “I think there’s a photograph of him somewhere on the main
staircase, along with quite a few others
who have died on duty in this Precinct area since the station opened back in
1890. Too fucking many if you ask me.”
The
pair rose and left the canteen heading back to Records where Crabby now spent
his time. The young new copper walked behind his colleague with a new and
profound view of life and death. He soon stopped telling his tale because of
the reactions he received and now as he sat in the Italian café sipping coffee
and enjoying his doughnut, a little wry smile appeared on his face.
Mo
made his way back to the subway station and descended into the cool dim
station. He grunted with satisfaction as the cement pour was under way and
stared up at the fantastic roof murals; now they did impress him. They showed
famous monuments of New York City; well famous before 1929. He really admired
the craftsmanship in them. “Fucking real builders back in the day; not like the
fucking cowboys and so-called architects of today who are mostly fucking
faggots anyway.” He muttered to himself and lit yet another cigarette. That’s
when he saw the two men standing on the tracks by the tunnel entrance to the
platform. He watched as they threw down their shovels and turned, running like
hell towards the platform. They scrambled up the platform edge screaming;
“There’s a fucking train coming!” Mo watched in utter disbelieve and horror as
the carriages flashed past him and the two men grovelling on the platform floor.
There was no sound whatsoever and the ‘train’ passed down the tracks and quickly
disappeared south in an instance.
There
was absolute silence for a second or two and then a dozen men ran up the
station stairs; some screaming and shouting, tools clattering down the steps
followed by hard hats.
Unsurprisingly,
Mo was one of them. He had changed his mind about ghosts.
"THE TROUBLED SPIRITS OF 153rd NORTH STREET SUBWAY STATION" CONTINUES IN 'TEMPORAL DETECTIVES' BOOK SERIES 4 [EPISODE 9.]
End of preview.
Copyright © 2011-2025 Stephen Williams. No reproduction of any part without permission.
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