 You've probably never heard of the MBTA tunnel incident of 1997. Few people have. The sparse news coverage that it received meant that it never made its way into mainstream consciousness and eventually was largely dismissed as a local legend, a hoax or a case of mass hysteria. I can attest to the validity of the story though as I was on the train that stalled in the Harvard tunnel that September afternoon. Affectionately known as the T, the MBTA is a public transit system of Boston and the surrounding metro area. Five of the subway stations are located in Cambridge. The busiest Harvard station opened in 1912 and was rebuilt in 1985. A segment of the original 1912 platform remains sitting in shadows visible to passengers in the event of a stall or a slowdown between the current Harvard and Central stations. I was on my way home from school on September 22, 1997. Although I lived in Cambridge, I attended a private school in Boston and as I did every day, had boarded the outbound Red Line train at downtown Crossing. It began as one of those nice smooth rides with few to no slowdowns, so the train was able to gain some incredible speed between stations. I would be home in time for dinner, no doubt about it. The more speed we gained, the more the train rocked from side to side and the louder it became as though 10,000 metal cookie sheets were being buffeted in the wind. This cacophony is a testament to the MBTA's old tunnels and trains that were built before streamlining became a thing. As we near the infamously squealy curve in the tunnel that heralds the entry to Harvard, the train made a loud hiss and I sighed. That sound meant the emergency brake had been pulled, so much for making great time. The train slowed rapidly and my fellow passengers and I were jerked rudely to the side as it came to a complete stop within about eight seconds. Please don't let it be a disabled train or a signal problem, I thought to myself. I was already annoyed and those problems almost certainly meant a wait of no less than 10 minutes. I glanced around, most people had their noses buried in books or crossword puzzles. Either way, I was the only one pissed by our current situation or I was the only one who showed it. After about a minute, the intercom crackled to life and a very board sounding conductor provided us with an update. Attention all passengers, sorry for the delay, there is a disabled train ahead of us but maintenance crews are on route. Once again, there is a disabled train in the tunnel ahead of us. We hope to be moving shortly. I resigned myself to my fate and figured that since there was nothing I could do about it, I may as well make the best of it. I turned around in my seat to gaze out the window into the darkened tunnel and was pleasantly surprised to see that we were stopped right next to the original Harvard platform. It wasn't often that I got a chance to see it and there was no telling how long we were going to be stuck here. So I cupped my hands against the window to try to get a better look. It's a spooky old station, very small. When I was little, my sister loved telling me that all the tunnels and especially the abandoned Harvard tunnel were haunted by the ghosts of workers who had died during construction. I had believed it at the time as I was very young and quite impressionable and had refused to peek out of the train windows as we traveled through the darkness. At 15, though, I knew better and was able to differentiate between facts and lies told by an older sibling. The station could be nightmare fodder, sure, especially with its old black door leading to who knows where, but there was no sign of ghost. In the position I was in was starting to strain my back and hurt my knees. I sighed and turned back around plopping my butt back down onto the black leather seat. Leaning forward, I unzipped my backpack and pulled out a beat up green folder, fully intending to get a start on my math homework so I'd have less to do later during prime TV hours. The train car was about one third full as I'd left school late that day and my usual loud and obnoxious teenage companions had thankfully been replaced by sleepy men and women in business suits. I was about halfway done with my algebra when the engine cut out and the lights went along with it. I let my head flop back against the hard plastic wall of the car. Great, now I couldn't even get my homework out of the way. With the train completely silent, I could hear annoyed whispers from my fellow passengers. It was good to know that I was no longer alone in my sour mood. The engine started back up again a minute later and the lights flickered on so I resumed sloppily penciling in answers on the worksheet that lay in front of me. The intercom crackled to life. Again, sorry for the delay folks, maintenance crews are working on a disabled train ahead of us. Hopefully we'll be underway shortly. Despite his assurances, I had a gut feeling that we were in this for the long haul. I have a sort of sick sense about these things. I was from having been stuck in too many train tunnels. Too annoyed to focus on my homework any longer, I crammed it back in my bag and then slouched down as far as I could in my seat, knees spread wide. I'm sure I looked like an absolute prick but I didn't care. I had just about drifted off to sleep when I heard a woman's concerned voice. What's that? Following my eyes, I met the gaze of a tidy businesswoman seated across from me. I'll refer to her as pencil skirt from here on out. Huh? I asked, dumbly, glancing from side to side, not entirely sure it was even me she was addressing. That? What's that? She repeated, pointing to the window behind me. I twisted my neck to look around. There was a tiny glowing orb floating outside the car about a foot away from the window. It reminded me of a very large firefly, maybe about a centimeter in diameter. I had no idea what it was, though it didn't concern me. I figured it was probably some sort of laser pointer maybe aimed down from the tunnel at us by one of the maintenance guys working on the disabled train. Yeah, that made sense, I guess. The way it moved was strange though, the way it would sort of hover and then flit away quickly like a hummingbird. A feeling of mild unease overcame me and I straightened in my seat determined to put the weird little ball of light out of my mind. Probably just some sort of beacon or maintenance equipment. I told pencil skirt, hoping that if I put her mind at ease, she'd settle down and stop spreading her anxiety. Another 10 minutes passed. Another announcement from the conductor, another collective group of sighs and irritated mutters from passengers. I picked noisily at my fingernails, looking down intently at them so I wouldn't have to keep looking at pencil skirt. The glowing orb was out of sight and therefore out of mind as far as I was concerned, and I knew that a look into the woman's eyes would tell me exactly what I didn't want to know, that the little light was still bobbing outside the window behind me. I contemplated pulling out my Walkman and getting lost in the music zone, but I was too on edge to even consider the infuriating task of digging my headphones out from the very bottom of my backpack. I would surely lose at least one of the soft foam ear pads in the process and I'd likely have a tightly knotted cord to contend with as well. I really wanted my music though. What the hell? My head snapped up as I heard the voice of a man at the other end of the car. You guys see this? He stood up and approached the doors, peering through the windows. I twisted in my seat again, hesitantly, not wanting to look out the window but feeling as though I had no other choice. There were four orbs this time. One was pink, another a light green, the other two were white, and just like the first one, they floated over to the car and hovered directly outside. I felt nauseous. I just wanted to go home. A crowd slowly gathered on my side of the train as 30 or so curious people pressed their faces to the glass and enamored by the glowing balls of light. The door, they're coming through the door. A large man suddenly exclaimed jabbing his finger hard against the glass. I trained my eyes on the creepy black painted door as about a dozen more orbs emerged from it as though they just popped through the metal like bubbles. They hovered and bobbed and flitted and everyone on the train was transfixed by their dance. More orbs in purples and blues and yellows and oranges floated upward from the concrete platform of the station. The intercom crackled to life. Attention passengers, please step away from the windows and return to your seats. We should be moving shortly. The other passengers reluctantly returned to their seats and I heaved a nervous sigh as I reclaimed my personal space. Just then, a droplet of warm blood fell from my nose and landed on my white shirt collar staining it, a dark crimson. Startled, I held a hand to my face as I struggled to open my backpack single-handedly. I had some tissues in there somewhere. With my luck, the little plastic package on them was at the very bottom of the bag keeping my Walkman company so it took quite a bit of rummaging before I located it. The blood was leaking down my chin by that point so I hastily ripped one of the tissues free and shoved it up my left nostril. Then my right nostril began to bleed. Shit, a double nostril bleed. That was unusual. I yanked another tissue free of the package and performed the same ritual for the right side. There was a tap on my shoulder. I looked up. It was pencil skirt. Her white blouse was stained with blood and for the briefest of moments, I wondered how I could possibly have gotten my blood all over her before I realized that the red stuff was coming from her own nose. I handed her several tissues. What's happening? A shrill woman yelled from the opposite end of the car as she simultaneously staunched the blood flow from her own nose intended to her boyfriend who seemed to have vomited on the floor and then fainted. Several minutes of utter panic ensued with roughly half the passengers bleeding profusely. Several passed out and more than a handful in absolute hysterics. Then the train finally lurched forward, catching several people off guard and sending them to the floor and I watched as the little glowing orbs faded into the distance. We crawled into Harvard Station and were greeted by a plethora of cops, EMTs and firefighters who boarded the train immediately and began assisting people off. I stepped onto the platform and immediately spun myself around so I could view the train as I back stepped away from it. The car I had been in and that car only was covered from top to bottom, side to side in graffiti. No, not graffiti. Their words had been burned into the metal. I don't know what language they were, but they weren't English. An EMT approached me and sat me down on one of the benches. I was in a daze. I felt foggy and the woman's gentle words sounded like they were coming out of a tin can. I insisted I didn't want to go to the hospital and she asked me for my home phone number so that the police officer standing nearby could get in touch with my parents. I don't remember much more from that evening. In total, nine people were transported to the hospital, including the vomit and faint guy and two who exhibited the most severe neurological symptoms received CT scans which came back negative for any abnormalities. The transport station was shut down for two days while an investigation was launched. But no more orbs materialized and ultimately our ordeal was deemed a case of mass hysteria. The train car in question was disconnected at the depot, inspected and photographed by the police and various agencies. It lived in storage for several years before being auctioned for scrap metal. In 2005, as years went by, more and more people began to cast doubt on the story and it was eventually dismissed as nothing more than a prank. I stayed in touch with several of the other passengers including pencil skirt and we will never ever accept that what we witnessed was anything less than real. So if you're ever riding the T and you stall in the tunnel, you better pray to whatever God you believe in that you don't get stuck right before the squealy curve next to the old Harvard platform.