The Morose Man

A scary story by Dominic Eagle from Gather Round: Volume 1

He had a sullen disposition, so I thought I could brighten his day with a smile.

That was a terrible idea.

He certainly wasn’t the only gloomy character I’d ever spotted on the early-evening train. For many of us, it’s a very long journey home from the city. We wear crestfallen expressions, decompressing after another soul-crushing day at work.

Nevertheless, this particular man caught my attention. He was standing on the opposite side of the carriage, firmly fixated on the doors behind me. His vacant, brown eyes hardly seemed to register what they were seeing. The landscape of his brow was a mountain ridge, and his skin sagged as if it were too loose for the bald head on which it hung. Most importantly, he was sulking.

I like to believe that I’m a kind girl, so I smiled. If only I could retract that smile. It took a long time for the sour-faced gentleman to notice the beaming teenage girl who was facing towards him. It probably only took a couple of seconds, but that certainly feels like a long time to maintain an unreciprocated smile.

Eventually, thankfully, the man began to turn. His expression did not change. His body did not move. His head simply rotated enough to ensure that his eyes were firmly locked onto mine. I waited for his frown to turn “upside down”.

It didn’t.

Slowly, sinisterly, the man shook his head. It was only a slight movement, but that made it all-the-more intimidating. He shook his head as if to say, “You shouldn’t be doing that.”

My glowing grin immediately dissipated. I cast my eyes to the ground, feeling humiliated. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, ignoring the burning sensation that scorched my cheeks. How many more stops are there? I wondered.

The most perturbing thing about the entire situation was that the man refused to look away from me. Despite my averted gaze, I could still feel those beady little eyes boring into my skull. I could see him in my peripheral vision. He did not move. He just stared sullenly.

I did what I always do in uncomfortable situations. I went on Reddit. I switched to my throwaway account and asked for advice on dealing with intimidating characters. I fully explained my predicament. Most commenters just called the man a pervert, a freak, a creep, etc. They said to move down the carriage to avoid his gaze.

One user popped up on my private chat. I won’t include his username, but he had something unsettling to ask.

Why would you smile at the Morose Man?

I thought he was screwing with me. I asked why he was calling the stranger the ‘Morose Man’.

From your description, I realised who you’d seen. He isn’t human.

I played along with the prankster, asking about the Morose Man, who I assumed to be some sort of urban legend.

“He minds his own business unless somebody disturbs his peace,” the person wrote. “You disturbed him, so you need to get off that train and run. His wrath eventually subsides and he goes on his way, but he will pursue you until midnight.”

My chest started to tighten. I was no believer in ghost stories, but I felt something that I still can’t explain. I knew the Reddit user was telling the truth. I felt it. I could feel it in the man’s awful eyes, which were still watching me. I asked the mystery messenger what the man was going to do. He wasn’t doing anything particularly threatening. He was standing still.

“Why does that matter? Just stay away from him. What time is it in your part of the world?”

“6:59pm,” I wrote.

“Okay, so five hours. Just keep moving and stay away from him. And make sure that you avoid doorways.”

I thought that final sentence was a little peculiar, but it was definitely no more peculiar than the user’s claim that this dismal gentleman was some sort of unearthly being. Regardless, I couldn’t ignore the feeling in my gut. I don’t scare easily. This stranger, however, terrified me.

We were frozen in that state for another twenty minutes or so. When the train eventually reached the next station, I slinked out of the open doors, too afraid to turn my back on the Morose Man. I still hadn’t looked up from my phone. I didn’t want to see his ghoulish face. I just wanted to go home.

Once I was on the platform, I stopped walking backwards. I stood and waited, trying my best to watch the man out of the corner of my vision. He didn’t move. He stayed on the train.

The doors closed.

I exhaled as the train pulled away. Then, reality hit me. What a fool you’ve made of yourself, Paige, I thought. You let anxiety get the better of you, and now you’re at the wrong station. Fantastic.

Perhaps the foreboding feeling in my body had simply passed because I was no longer in the vicinity of that haunting man. With his gaze was no longer upon me, I felt human again—that could have been it. Whatever the case, I felt normal again. Well, I felt stupid, actually. I shook my head as I strolled toward the station’s bathroom. I hate public restrooms, but I knew I still had a long journey ahead of me, so I decided to face my phobia.

I walked into the train station’s empty bathroom, which was illuminated by a cold, fluorescent light. Choosing the first stall, I entered, sat down, and opened the Uber app. I was still about forty minutes from home if I were to travel by car, and most of the nearby Ubers were not really “nearby” at all. After ten minutes of searching, I booked one and groaned at the text box. It explained there would be a thirty-minute wait time. I figured out the journey in my head. 8pm… Home by 8:40pm… Great. Dinner, then bed.

The door to the main bathroom area suddenly opened. I ignored it, continuing to scroll through my phone. Shoes clomped across the tiled floor. They sounded heavy. Slow. Intentional.

The footsteps stopped outside my stall. I looked down and saw two smart, black shoes poking beneath the bottom of my door.

“There are two other stalls,” I pointed out.

There was a knock. Just one knock. That was all. I looked a little more closely at the black footwear and realised, much to my terror, that I was staring at men’s shoes.

“Excuse me,” I shyly whispered. “Are you… Are you in the right bathroom?”

Knock.

“Just fuck off!” I screamed.

I hoped somebody would come. Somebody had to come. An awful fear overcame me—it wasn’t an earthly fear. Without fully accepting why I was doing it, I frantically opened my phone and messaged the Reddit user.

I asked my anonymous saviour what I should do.

“Don’t leave the stall,” they said. “I told you to stay away from doorways. Just wait for somebody else to come into the bathroom. Remember, the Morose Man doesn’t like to be disturbed. If somebody enters, he should leave.”

So, I waited. And waited. I waited until the Uber came and left. Then, something dawned on me. I could wait in the cubicle until morning, surely? No such luck, according to my online guru.

“Closer to midnight, his patience wears thin,” they wrote. “For now, he’s polite. Soon, he won’t be polite. You should pray that somebody enters and interrupts him.”

I looked at the time on my phone. 8:37pm. Then, I looked at the bottom of the cubicle door. The knocking had subsided, but the shoes remained. I leaned to one side on the toilet seat, peering through the crack between the door and the cubicle wall, hoping to catch a glimpse of the figure on the other side. Perhaps I wanted to prove to myself that it wasn’t, in fact, the Morose Man. It was just a man. Terrifying, but not unexplainable.

I couldn’t see him. He was standing too far to the side.

And then a face slid into view, peeking through the gap between the cubicle door and wall, revealing the insidious thing on the other side. Its brown eye was now black. I screamed in panic, instantly jerking myself back to the centre of the toilet seat, not daring to move.

I wanted to keep messaging my mystery Reddit friend, but he also gave me the creeps. Why did he know so much about the Morose Man, anyway? I searched for information about the malicious entity on the internet. Nothing. To calm myself, I decided to accept my position of powerlessness and simply scroll through social media. I wanted to distract myself with something grounded, something based in reality. 

Wait, the police! I thought. I dialled 999. It rang. I was asked which emergency service I wanted to reach. I opened my mouth to answer, but then-

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

A series of frantic, enraged thuds rattled the cubicle door back and forth. My mouth was open, but no sound escaped my lips. I was petrified. A shushing sound quietly hissed from the other side of the door.

I hung up the phone. I suppose it was not a good idea to disturb the Morose Man. I paused. What other options did I have? I had the idea to ask the Reddit messenger to call the police on my behalf, but the Morose Man shushed me more aggressively, as if he were reading my thoughts. I thought of screaming for help, and he unleashed a croaking wail that sounded like a feral beast caught in a bear trap. I stopped trying to think of solutions. Don’t disturb him.

I waited.

9:27pm.

Two hours of frozen terror in a train station bathroom. I was running out of time. Trains kept arriving, but nobody was coming into the bathroom, and there wouldn’t be many more trains before midnight. That meant there wouldn’t be many more potential bathroom-goers. With every passing moment, I replayed the Reddit user’s message in my head.

Soon, he won’t be polite.

10:31pm.

The knocking resumed. The overhead light started to dim, as if the Morose Man were gradually extinguishing it. I shuddered, lifting my knees up to my chin and wrapping my arms around them.

11:41pm.

After four hours in the bathroom, I heard a train—possibly the last train of the evening—pull into the station. The bathroom door finally opened. Two chattering, inebriated women entered. I saw the black shoes of the Morose Man speedily scuttle to the cubicle beside me, and he quickly closed the door behind him.

“I hate having to touch gross toilet door handles after washing my hands,” One of the girls said. “I’m gonna wedge this door open with my shoe.”

“Chantelle, I don’t want to talk about bathroom doors. You’re such a bitch,” One of the girls said.

“Did you just see that man, Tara?” Chantelle asked.

“Don’t change the subject,” Tara spat. “You know that guy in the club saw me first, and—“

Tara stopped mid-sentence, watching me hurtle from my cubicle like a deranged animal and slip on the tiled floor. I sprinted for the exit.

“You a’ight, love?” Tara drunkenly slurred.

“Please,” I begged. “Move out of the way. I need to get out of here.”

“Yeah, I told you there was a creepy man in here,” Chantelle said, marching past me. “He’s been harassing this poor girl, I bet. Hey, mate!”

My heart sank as I turned to see Chantelle strutting towards the cubicle door I’d seen the Morose Man enter. She pounded furiously on the middle cubicle door.

“Don’t do that,” I pleaded.

“We’ve got you, babe,” Tara promised, patting my back.

Chantelle roared like a lioness and booted the cubicle door inwards with the one high-heeled shoe that she was still wearing. The door practically detached from its hinges, ricocheting off the cubicle wall. I held my breath, waiting for the man to charge at her.

“What the fuck?” Chantelle gasped. “He’s not in here…”

Tara snorted with laughter. “You dumb bitch! You probably imagined him.”

Sweat oozed from my goosebump-riddled flesh. The man had strolled into the cubicle beside me. I heard him. Where did he go? Everything about the situation was horribly wrong. I started to back towards the bathroom exit, bumping into Tara, who was still blocking the doorway.

Chantelle frowned. “No, I’m telling you, Tara…”

The girl trailed off, looking in my direction. Her complexion turned paler than that of the Morose Man. Her eyes widened, her jaw slacked, and her arms fell stiffly to her sides. She unleashed a primal scream of horror.

Consumed by unimaginable fear, I realised that I hadn’t bumped into Tara. I took a few tentative steps forwards before spinning on my heel. The bathroom exit led onto a pitch-black train station. The lights were gone. The people were gone. All I could see was the Morose Man and the unholy act that he was committing.

Tara’s body was slowly being ingested into the gaping mouth of the black-eyed man. He had grown a foot taller, and his looming figure filled most of the doorway. His morose mouth had widened to squeeze Tara’s still-wriggling body inside. He used the now-abnormally-long fingers on his gnarled, ghoulish hands to hold the girl’s ankles. He was forcing her, headfirst, into his nightmarish gullet.

I chose ‘flight’. Chantelle chose ‘fight’.

I started to back towards the stalls, but the devastated girl beside me ran towards the exit, screeching at the entity and begging it to release her friend. The man was still greedily swallowing Tara’s spasming, half-alive body, but he unwrapped the fingers he was using to clutch her ankle and seized Chantelle by the neck.

As I continued to back towards the farthest stall, I watched the Morose Man complete one course and prepare for the next. Chantelle was certainly much louder than Tara. She unleashed a series of short, muffled whimpers from the creature’s body as he slid her down his throat.

I threw open the stall door, locked it behind me, and immediately looked at my phone.

11:43pm.

That traumatising scene of unfathomable gore took place in the space of two fucking minutes.

Shoes boomed against the tiles.

I found myself where I’d started. I was trapped in the bathroom stall, staring at the shoes which slid through the bottom of the door. The Morose Man had grown so large that he could poke his head over the top of it. The atrocious apparition, which still wore that dejected expression, shook its head at me. His morbid frown lifted into a sickening smile for a split second, then it quickly returned to a state of moroseness. He was reminding me of what I’d done wrong.

I flipped the toilet lid down, scrambled onto it, and squished my body against the back wall, trying to escape the wretched thing before me. The Morose Man was not finished. Midnight was fast approaching, and his patience was wearing out.

The elongated fingers on his two hands suddenly appeared, grasping the top of the door. He violently wobbled it in its hinges. I started to blubber, looking down at the phone in my hand. 11:45pm. Every minute felt like an eternity. I wouldn’t make it to midnight. I was sure of that.

The man reached an arm over the top of the stall, stretching his hellish fingers towards the lock. It patted clumsily, trying to find a way to slide the door open.

I turned to my right and started to pull myself over the wall of the stall beside me. At the very moment I landed on the other side, I heard the lock slide across. The monster barrelled into where I’d just exited. I knew I only had moments to spare, so I fled the middle stall and ran towards the bathroom exit.

Welcoming the dark embrace of the train station, I didn’t pause to look over my shoulder. I already knew that the Morose Man would be pursuing me. He could find me anywhere. That was when I remembered what the Reddit user had repeatedly said.

Stay away from doorways.

I know. I was an idiot. I hadn’t believed in the Morose Man. Not really. You can’t blame me for going into the bathroom. I’d already put the fright on the train out of my head—I didn’t believe in superstitious horrors until I saw them with my own eyes.

As I ran across the train platform, I looked over my shoulder. The man was striding forwards with petrifying pace. Slowly and surely, he was striding towards me. But he was still slower than me. I just had to stay away from doorways.

I kept running. I ran until I reached the end of the platform. I realised I’d foolishly forgotten how to exit the train station. But, I also didn’t want to risk the doorway. Throwing caution to the wind, with my life hanging in the balance, I took the only other exit available—I jumped down from the platform onto the railway line.

I followed the tree-lined train tracks, stealing a glance at my phone. 11:51pm. When I looked behind, I screamed—The Morose Man was even taller now. Taller than any human. And he seemed faster. Much faster. I had to get out of the open. I was too exposed.

I hauled to my right, entering the forest, and I lit the way with my phone. No doors in the forest. And the trees were tightly grouped together, so the gargantuan man would have to shrink back to human size if he were to follow. It seemed like my best option.

I weaved between trees, casting my torch light before me, so as not to bump into anything. I didn’t want to end up flat on my face. I didn’t want to be the Morose Man’s dessert.

I heard that unearthly wail once more. It was terrifying enough to startle all of the earthly creatures in the forest. Birds flew from trees, and grounded animals rustled in bushes, fleeing the scene. I switched my phone off. I had a feeling the man could still find me, even without a light. Even without a doorway.

Just a few minutes, Paige. You just need to last a few minutes, I convinced myself.

Other than the sound of my shoes crunching against leaves, the forest was completely silent. I could scarcely see the outlines of trees in the darkness. The canopy of leaves above me blocked the moonlight.

I heard the reverberating snap of what sounded like a thick tree branch. The man was close. I wanted so desperately to check the time on my phone, but I tried to rely on my body clock. Every second felt like an hour, but I tried to focus. It must be at least 11:55pm, I thought.

I lunged forwards, failing at stealthily traversing the forest. Every step seemed to make noisy contact with leaves and twigs. I tried to quicken the pace. There was no use in concealing my location. He knew where to find me.

I suddenly heard low breathing—it tickled my right ear. Not daring to turn around, I screamed at the top of my lungs and sprinted ahead, roughly scraping my shoulder against the jagged bark of a tree. I grimaced, but adrenaline pushed me onwards. I reached for the phone in my pocket and used it as my flashlight once more. I also needed to know the time. I couldn’t resist any longer.

11:59pm.

Of course.

I continued to manoeuvre through the forest, praying that I wouldn’t trip. Praying that I wouldn’t bump into another tree. One more obstacle could be the death of me. Then, a miracle happened.

00:00.

I yelled triumphantly, twisting around.

My flashlight made contact with the horrifying spectre before me. The Morose Man was far thinner, but he was also the height of the trees around him, slinking his skeletal body between them. My heart thumped. Maybe the Reddit user lied. Maybe the Morose Man never stops, I thought.

I closed my eyes and braced myself for death. Succumbing to a horror no human should endure, I felt a brittle limb brush against my clothes.

I opened my eyes to the man walking past me, brushing one of his spindly legs against my coat. I turned around, casting my light onto him, and I watched as the spider-like, ten-foot-tall man vanished into the depths of the forest.

If you ever see a morose gentleman, do not disturb him. 

And, most importantly, do not smile at him.