 As the title suggests, I clean up subways for a living. It's not a glamorous gig, but it pays the bills, and it's not all bad. You get to see a lot down there that you wouldn't elsewhere. Talented musicians busking for pennies, proposals, and quirky street art. That being said, I've seen a lot of awful stuff as well. Just the other day, I cleaned up some remnants from a suicide that had splattered all over the platform. Then there was this one time where a pair of bums had gotten into a knife fight and spilled most of their insides across the off-white walls. That was pretty bad, to be honest. Yet, everything I've seen paled in comparison to what I encountered during the lockdown. I'm not going to string out a long-winded tall tale of elder things or skinwalkers, nor is this going to be one of the stories my granddad told me when I was a boy after he'd had one too many whiskies. No, I'm just going to tell you all about a particularly miserable, rainy New York night and the strange man I encountered on a deserted subway platform. So here's my story. An awful gloom had set in over the city, enshrouding all its silvery towers and bright vivid lights under a thick black cloud. I was practically drowned by the downpour as I scampered down the slippery subway steps. As you can imagine, I was eager to hang my damp jacket up and slip into my oh-so-glamorous gray janitorial outfit, if only to get out of my sopping wet clothes. Then, after a quick chug of coffee, I unlocked the cleaning cupboard and got to work scrubbing. Nothing was too out of the ordinary to begin with, just your usual mess really. A couple of pieces of litter, a few unsavory fines like a dirty single sock, a used condom and a needle. However, generally it wasn't too bad. Having said that, there was this really odd glop of God knows what that really turned my stomach. It was smeared along one of the platform edges. Now, that thing was gross as hell, I immediately thought so, and that was before the gag inducing smell hit me. A smell I can only describe as a cross between rotten fish and green furry meat. However, as I scrubbed and scrubbed at it with a mop, that's when the most wretched thing came slipping out from the gelatinous slush. Coated in white and black fur, I realized immediately what it was. It was a cat, or what was left of one at least. There wasn't much of the poor fella, mostly just his head and a pile of bones. As awful as it was, I'd seen things similar after rats had chewed through wires. Yet sadly, this was the first animal I'd mopped up after being reduced to a furry soup. Still, there was something about this squishy cat gunge that seemed different. Firstly, cats aren't likely to chew through wires. And secondly, all the times I've found piles of rat soup, they've been further in the tunnels close to wiring around the tracks. Speaking of rats, that was something that was missing. It was only when thinking about those gloopy mounds of rat slime that I realized I'd not seen a rat for weeks. You may be thinking, so what? Well, anyone who works down here, beneath the city, will tell you the place is crawling with rats. Roaches, too. But always rats. Of course, I didn't expect to see a swarming, rodent, tide come washing through the station, but I expected to see your odd rat in the bins. They were always picking out on someone's leftover Big Mac. And yet, there wasn't a solitary specimen at all. Anyway, as unusual as that was, I just chalked it up as odd and got back to work. Time rolled on and as it got darker outside and the cold air was starting to creep its way into the dingy subway, the place was uncharacteristically empty, save for myself and a pair of regular vagrants who would come down to get away from the unforgiven elements above. The pair were like an old married couple inseparable and they had been on the street for as long as I had been scrubbing them. However, the pair didn't keep me company. They abandoned me in favor of the warm subterranean tunnels. I know I should have stopped them, but the subways weren't running as frequent or in some cases at all. So I thought, what harm could it do? Let them have a warm night away from the biting chill of the city. If you hadn't already guessed, the reason for the oddly vacant platform was the recent pandemic. We'd only just gone into lockdown, you see. And for the most part, people did as they were told and stayed home. So it didn't unsettle me that the place was practically empty. Having said that, I'd be lying if I said that the lack of sound wasn't a little eerie. I'd gotten accustomed to the bustling crowds, the amateur musicians and the sound of running subway carts. For a moment, I thought I heard something. A noise coming from one of the tunnels up ahead. It sounded something similar to a rattle or a tapping. It sort of went clickety-clack, but rapidly. A little confused, I called out to see if anyone was there. But no one replied and I didn't hear the noise again. So I just wrote it off as my mind playing tricks on me. Anyway, you remember that homeless couple I mentioned? Well the fella in the relationship had become a bit of a mate of mine. He went by the name of Dirty Harry on account of his birth name and his poor hygiene. Still, the bloke wasn't too bad. Other than mooching a few of your cigarettes and telling you one of his tall tales, he pretty much let people be. Well, I'd just finished emptying one of the bins when I saw him come stumbling out from the tunnel. It had only been 30 minutes or so since I had previously seen him enter with his girlfriend Ellie, or smelly Ellie as the lads call her in the watering hole I frequent. Strangely, she wasn't with him. And I remember thinking how odd it was, because like I said, the two were always side by side. However, I wondered if maybe he was going out to score for them and thought I best mind my business. He didn't rush up the steps and back into the cold for a score as I imagined. No, instead he started approaching me. Closer his dirty wet shoes squelched and I continued to scrub at a very stubborn brownish stain on the floor. Sorry, no sigs today Harry, I told him, without looking up. The wife suddenly decided after 25 years we actually needed our lungs. I laughed. But none of Harry's usual jovial banter came pouring from his mouth. Instead, all I could hear was his panicked, heavy breathing. Looking up, I saw an unfamiliar sight. Harry's bearded face was sheet white and soaked in fear. Harry, are you okay? I asked, I, I, he stammered. With his wide eyes and his spooked demeanor filling me with worry. What is it? You look like you've seen a ghost. I joked, but he didn't laugh. He didn't say anything. He just kept looking around, glancing around the green painted pillars as if he was expecting someone. I've seen him. He blurted out with a cold sweat running down his face. Who? I asked the Grinner. Harry exclaimed, his eyes burning with absolute conviction and certainty. The Grinner, for those of you who don't know, is an urban legend of sorts. Been going around since I was little, up there with mole people and surrogators. Anyway, the story goes, a pair of electricians were working on the lines down in the subway. And they said they saw a man with a ghostly white face peering out from the darkness. The two asked what he wanted, tried to speak to him. But all he did was grin an unsettling smile towards them. Anyway, one of the men got in his face and told him to go. When all of a sudden, he was dragged into the darkness by the Grinner. The other electrician ran for the hills and refused to finish the job. Naturally, this then generated a bunch of other tales. There was one in which a group of teenagers went on some urban exploration of abandoned tunnels, when the Grinner appeared and killed all but one of them. Then there was a tale where a sewer worker was snatched by the Grinner and never seen again. You get the idea. Basically, anytime a druggy or one of the homeless disappeared or went missing down in the tunnels, they blamed it on the Grinner. I never put much stock in the stories to be honest, and I was quick to scoff at Harry's tale. Oh, Harry. Come on. You're as old as I am, man. We've seen enough of this world to know that ghosts and boogie men aren't real. We've got enough real life monsters to deal with. I told him. Ignorant and dismissive to a story, I turned to finish cleaning the gunk on the floor but he grasped hold of my arm and spun me back around to face him. No, listen, please. Harry snapped, squeezing my arm tightly. All right, Harry, calm down. Tell me about it. I said, Harry looked right, then left, and scanned the area for someone or something before leaning in close and telling me he took Ellie. He took her into the dark. Harry whispered in a hushed tone as if worried that the Grinner might hear him. What are you talking about? I asked now genuinely worried for his girlfriend. We came down here, went into the tunnels for warmth and everything was fine. Suddenly there's more of us down there, but tonight we were the only ones. He began recounting anyway. We were cuddled up and just about to shut our eyes. When we heard it, the clicking, the chattering, it's hard to explain. It was a strange clicking sound. That's all I can say. Gradually, the clicking got louder and louder and we could tell it was moving towards us. So we opened our eyes and then out of the dark, it came a pale face grinning at us. Harry said, his voice trembling on every word, Ellie being fearless, stormed up towards him. She told him he should leave if he didn't want her to slap the smile from his head. But before I had time to react, he snatched her up and they both disappeared into the darkness. Jesus, where is she, Harry? Where's Ellie? I urgently questioned. I don't know. I tried to get her back, but I couldn't find them. It was dark and her screams. They were everywhere. I couldn't. Harry whimpered with his panicking words barely leaving his mouth in an orderly fashion. Don't worry. I'm sure the police will be able to get her back. Just stay here. I'll call him. Try not to worry. I said, as I left my mop and bucket and began rushing towards the cleaning closet. For a moment, I thought I heard a clicking sound, but pretty much ruled it out is just my imagination playing tricks after hearing Harry's tale. We should go. Harry mumbled, but I assured him everything was going to be fine. You just wait here. I'll get my phone. I told him. It wasn't far. I had just left it in my jacket, which was hanging in the cleaning cupboard, not more than a few steps away. I thought it would be okay. I thought he would be safe. How was I to know what would happen next? Opening the door, I made sure to leave it a bit ajar so I could keep an eye on Harry. Then I dialed 911. Speaking to the woman on the other end, I recounted Harry's tale about he and his homeless girlfriend were sleeping in the tunnels when a man attacked and abducted her. The dispatcher let out an audible sigh and asked if this was a prank. When I said no, she then asked if Harry was on drugs and was quick to close down our conversation by telling me she'd send someone round in a couple hours. Then the line went dead, but as the tone rang in my ear, I noticed another sound. That strange clicking noise was back, only it was a little clearer than before. While my fingers began dialing 911 again, my eyes wandered across to the crack in the door, though only partially open. I could see Harry, but to my surprise, he wasn't alone. He was stood in front of someone, talking to them. A man, I think. Then Harry's voice became raised and his words became more aggressive. Yet the odd fellow in his dirty brown jacket did nothing but smile. Is this the grinner I thought? No, it couldn't be. That was just a ghost story, I told myself. Oh, Harry shouted and yelled so loudly in fact that I couldn't hear the 911 dispatcher pick up my call. I was fixed on him and the strange man grinning at him. There was something about that smile. It was haunting. His whole pale face was ghostly in fact. The way it never changed its expression as though it was frozen or made of stone. I tried to talk to the dispatcher, but my attention kept drifting back to watching Harry point his finger and spit profanities at the porcelain faced fellow. What did you do to her? Where's my Ellie? Harry screamed, thumping his fist against the unmoving smile. At this point, I half expected Harry's hand to pass straight through the stranger and prove all those spooky stories true, but it didn't. Harry's hand just struck his face and bounced back. Relief washed over me. At least this proved it. The guy was flesh and blood real, not some ghostly boogie man as Harry thought. But then, just as I was about to open the door and tell the strange fellow that I was calling the police, it happened before my eyes. The porcelain skin face of that smiling man split apart like the petals on a flower. The rest of his body did the same in a matter of moments. All his shabby clothing, his pasty ghostly skin had retracted into the crevices and fleshy joints that segmented his chitinous true form. Horror swelled in my stomach and a total bewildering fear washed over me, drowning me in dread. For what lay before my eyes challenged everything I knew to be true about the world. The thing outside, standing before Harry, was not human at all, but a charade. That man, that grinning man and his shabby clothing was some kind of camouflage. It was like a grotesque imitation of an orchid mannus, except instead of imitating the favorite flowers of their prey, this thing could assume the shape of a man. How a thing like this was possible, I do not know, nor do I seek to know why, though I suspect it is to blend in, to get close to its prey, to get close to us. Beneath the flickering halogen lights, it rose up. What was once a man had become a six-limbed, nightmarish, chittering horror and amalgamation of arthropod qualities. The grinner was long-bodied and similar to a roach. Although unlike a roach, it was silvery, like the silver fish that infested my grand's house, and even more strange, was its posture. For its form was separated into an upper body in thorax that vaguely resembled a humanoid shape while its lower body was more akin to a centaur, albeit with scuttling insect legs and a plated abdomen in place of hooves and a horse's body. Standing six feet from the ground upon four spiny haired legs, it loomed over Harry. Gone was its false smile, now in place of that porcelain grin was a mouthful of bladed mandibles. Beneath the fluctuating gloom, I could see its chitinous carapace clearly. It was painted in a strange mottled swath of greys and whites, covered in silvery spines and wispy hairs that jutted out from all angles. The poor vagrant stared on, mouth agape, and legs trembling. I wish I could say I had more bravery than him that I raced out to his protection and fought the beast off, but I didn't. I too shrank at the sight of it and all sense of courage drained out from me as its large oval compound eyes moved down to face Harry. He let out a cry and fell away from the giant bug, but its sickled arms grasped hold of him and pulled him in close to its plated chest. I wanted to help him. I did. But I froze. Even as the dispatcher asked for a response, her voice chirping hellos into my ear, I couldn't muster a word from my lips. I couldn't do a thing. All I could do was look on and watch as that thing opened its mandibles and began dining on Harry. Pieces of him were pulled apart like taffy as it raked and gnawed at his features. Last I'm churned at the sight of its sucking up strings of red ribbons from his gaping face. I covered my mouth, holding in any sound or distress that would pique that thing's curiosity. Still, I couldn't flee. I had to just watch and witness the fate that I knew would befall me should I exit the closet. Gurgling screams and squelching moans cried out as the insects hug tightened. There was a loud crack as its sickled arms sank deep into Harry's back and folded him up like a sheet. In mere moments, Harry's dirty brown beard chipped yellow teeth had been chewed up and blended into a red mush by the curved guillotine mandibles of that ashen beetle. Slowly, I backed away from the door, hoping it wouldn't see me. When by accident, I knocked over a broom. That damn broom almost cost me my life as it struck the floor. Not an audible tap sounded out and like the death bells tolling in a churchyard, that sound surely sang out my swift and immediate end or so I thought. To my relief and surprise, the insect though immediately aware of the noise did not come scuttling over to devour my face. Instead, the creature, whatever it was, chirped out a sound with its flesh draped mandibles clicking away. I obviously gave no reply to its strange language. I couldn't even move let alone speak. All I could do was just about stop my bladder from emptying itself all over the closet. Lucky for me, the sound of the broom must have startled the bug or at least worried it. As I glanced out through the crack in the door, I saw its crawling legs and ashen-plated body scurry off into the darkness, disappearing with Harry's body limply hanging in its clutches. I remained still and motionless, near catatonic with fear for hours and didn't move from the closet until I was certain the creature was gone. So, admittedly, there wasn't a moment where I was 100% certain that it wasn't watching and waiting in the darkness for me. Eventually, though, I managed to convince myself that it was safer to run than to remain in the closet, so I left the safety of the cupboard and sprinted running up the stairs and into the biting cold winds. With a safe distance, I phoned the police again, but by this point they well and truly thought I was just pranking them. Still, I tried to get them to believe me, to do a search for Harry and Ellie, but they already knew their names and had little concern for the vagrants. One officer who did come out, he shined his torch down a tunnel for a few minutes, remarked that those two were always getting into trouble of some kind and told me not to worry. Afterwards, I told my manager what I saw, but he just laughed me out of the room. Like a broken record, I tried and tried again to get people to listen. I called a pest controller and he angrily slammed the phone down after I told him the size of the insect. I wrote to the CDC, the City Hall, the governor. Those that replied told me that I should seek psychological help. Even my wife told me to stop with the story, reminding me that there were real problems in the world. So you see, no one believed me, or perhaps they just didn't care. They all just thought I was some sad old janitor who would huff too many cleaner fumes and hallucinated the whole thing. I wish that was the case. I wish that Harry was still alive, and that thing was but a figment brought to life by ammonia vapors. But most of all, I wish that I didn't still hear that clicking echo out from those dark, dank tunnels late at night.