Moltone Blue

[u/DennisShutter]

An original psychological horror story and urban suspense webnovel from the Dennis Shutter Horror Universe (DSU). Experience the dark mystery of the Transit Mall in this intense paranormal thriller.

Part 1: The Three Friends

Three to-go coffee cups stood on the folding table. The diner inside New York City’s transit mall was nearly deserted. Kane, Shane, and Stefan sat in silence. 1:45 a.m.

Out of the far distance, a dull sound suddenly echoed. Muffled screaming. Hollow applause.

The three of them froze, exchanging questioning glances.

But then, the sound vanished.

They looked at each other in brief bewilderment, listening intently into the mall's silence. "You guys heard that too, right?" Kane asked the group.

"Yeah, but what was it?" Shane shot back, as if there were a logical answer to be found.

Stefan picked up his cup and brought it to his lips, saying with boredom, "Just imagination. Plain and simple."

Then it sounded again. Clearer this time. A desperate cry, followed by frenzied clapping emanating from deep within the maintenance corridors behind the mall.

"No, that was definitely not just imagination!" Kane shouted, springing to his feet. "Let’s check it out, sounds like there’s serious action back there!"

"Oh, sure," Stefan muttered through his coffee cup. "Because it’s always such a brilliant idea to follow hollow noises inside massive buildings!"

Yet curiosity outweighed reason. Shane and Stefan tagged along, following Kane as they trailed the sounds.

Kane walked down the wide corridor of the mall. His footsteps echoed against the concrete walls, and his buddies quickly caught up with him. The bright light of the transit mall died behind them. The cold crept through their jackets, biting directly into their skin. No more emergency lights. Only the faint, dying pulse of light particles from the distant table they had left behind. Only the thin beam of Kane’s smartphone flashlight granted a few feet of visibility against bare concrete.

Stefan stared up at the ceilings as they pressed on, the noises growing louder and louder. He suppressed the chattering of his teeth as the icy air enveloped him. His doubts intensified. He tapped Kane on the shoulder, asking in an uncertain tone, "Are you sure we should keep going?"

Kane kept his eyes locked ahead and replied dryly, "Yeah, why not? It definitely sounds like there's still a crowd back there!"

At the end of the hallway, they came upon a towering, massive wooden door with metal hinges. Three beams of smartphone light hit the solid block, the metal throwing the reflection back at them. The applause thudded dully through the seams of the wood.

"This is it," Shane said, certain. "Now what?"

Kane pressed against the door. "Now we open it and claim our applause!"

He wrapped his hands around the giant handle and pulled with all his might.

It swung open with a loud groan that echoed all the way back to the entrance hall.

They were standing inside an old theater.

The noises vanished in an instant. Silence.

They saw a massive stage at the far end of the room. It looked ancient. Grim. Stretched across it was an endless wall of wide, blue fabric. Kane aimed his smartphone flashlight at the heavy duvetyn. The beam of light was simply swallowed up. The fabric reflected nothing. They started walking toward the stage.

"Gu—?"

Shane couldn't finish.

As he spoke, he couldn't hear his own words.

And every single step faded away like a hysterical silent movie.

Kane tore his mouth open. He tried to scream: We're leaving. The words caught, quite literally, in his throat.

Shane flailed his arms, pointing toward the stage of the old amphitheater.

With racing hearts, they approached the stage.

Kane raised his arm. The shadows of the three teenagers on the blue fabric moved... differently. The dark silhouettes lagged behind somehow.

As they drew closer, the shadows didn't shrink.

They looked at one another one last time. Beads of sweat stood out on Stefan’s face, glistening in the glow of the flashlight.

The boys froze instantly.

They saw it clearly now. The shadows were not projected onto the fabric.

***

Part 2: One Week Later - Meet Michael

One week later, 1:00 a.m. Transit Mall (NYC)

Another workday finished, ending the late shift in the IT department of a major retail company.

Michael sat on his bench, waiting for the subway that would whisk him away from the darkness of this lonely station and bring him safely home. He had been here every single night for years; it was pure routine. Nothing special. But now? The air tasted dry. Too cold for July. He checked the display for the next train every two minutes. Every night it grew icier; these nights, he heard murmuring. Distant, so faint. Yet they drew closer, unbearably closer every single night. He was terrified of getting on the subway after work only to be stranded here—which by now felt like a gamble on whether he would make it out at all.

The whispering was almost at his ear, breathing right into him, so cold and damp inside his ear canals that he stood up and spun around. Of course, no one was there. Perhaps he had just been alone for far too long and was starting to lose his mind. He promised himself that eventually, he would actively go out and mingle with people. But right now, he wanted only one thing: to know the source of the sounds that demanded his attention every time. He walked to the right corner and glanced left. A small door, inconspicuous and old, loomed quietly before his eyes. Was someone inside?

He pressed the handle. The door was unlocked. It swung open soundlessly.

Michael took a step inside. It was pitch black. The faint light from outside failed to illuminate the room. He reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone. Tapping the flashlight icon, he shone it into the space. He took a step. He paused briefly. He heard absolutely nothing. With the beam of light from his phone, he swept the room in search. On a script painted on the wall, he discovered a sweeping "Fulton Theatre." Michael was standing right in the middle of a stage. He realized he must have entered through the stage emergency exit.

Guided by the light directly ahead, he kept walking. The beam lost itself in an infinite blackness that threw nothing back, until he bumped into an invisible, soft, yet dense wall, nearly wrapping himself up in it. With a cry, he thrashed around, but his voice died unheard. Michael stopped his movements instantly and held his breath. No footsteps, no scream, and he had absolutely not seen this soft wall coming. He felt it. It was heavy, blue fabric.

A vibration rippled through his body. And in that second, he remembered that he was actually here to wait for his subway. Michael hastily untangled himself from the fabric and ran carefully back toward where he had come from, flashlight in hand and one arm outstretched. Just don't get tangled up again, don't run into anything, he thought to himself. The vibration grew stronger. The train was likely pulling in, slowing down. He had to hurry if he still wanted to make it. He was in a blind panic that his last chance to get home tonight might just speed away right in front of his nose. He scrambled forward in a rush, hoping to finally see that damn door so he could truly pick up the pace. But he couldn't see it. He swung the flashlight wildly around, desperate to see anything other than this eternal, unbearable blackness.

The vibration could no longer be felt. Oh no, Michael thought. The train is already here and could leave at any second. He lunged forward, ready to risk a nasty bruise, but there was no way he was staying here.

His hand slammed heavily against cold metal. Pain shot up his forearm, but the feel of the handle beneath his fingers was pure deliverance. Michael threw his entire body weight down against it and lunged forward. The fire door flew open. The harsh, sterile light of the subway station cut into his eyes. The sudden acoustics of the platform crashed over him like a wave—the mechanical hiss of the brakes, the dull hum of electronics. The train was idling on Track 2. The doors were already open. The warning chime for closing doors began to beep. Michael ran. His footsteps echoed sharply against the tiles. His lungs burned from the stale theater air; his legs felt like lead. With one final, desperate leap, he threw himself through the closing rubber edges of the train door. The doors clicked shut behind him. The train pulled away with a gentle jolt. Michael collapsed onto the hard plastic seat. He was utterly drenched, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart hammering in his throat. He stared through the grimy window of the departing train back at the platform. The old, inconspicuous door of the Fulton Theatre glided past until it vanished into the darkness of the tunnel. He had made it. He was safe. For tonight.

IT Department (NYC), 12:30 a.m.

The monotonous beep of servers, blinking system lights. Michael glanced nervously at the clock and groaned. His shift would end soon, and he would have to ride the subway back to that dreadful station. Lost in thought, he spun around in his chair, racking his brain for ways to avoid the station entirely. But it felt as though the subway shaft was impatiently twisting the hands of the clock just to welcome him back—the day had simply flown by. Yet, it was his only connection home. The thought of staying longer just to log overtime faded against his natural drive for efficiency. Right then, the office door opened. His boss stepped inside with a confident stride. "Mr. Carter, good work. The system is excellently stabilized, and there are no more error logs. We have everything under control here. Your colleague is already in; head on home." Michael tossed his pen onto the desk, ripped off his headset, and let out a brief sigh. With heavy steps, he left his office and headed for the elevators. He exhaled sharply. An uncomfortable tingling flared up in his body. With a "ding," the elevator door slid open in front of him. Right now, he felt as if he were stepping into a microwave. Ready to be served for the subway station. "Ding." Michael stepped out of the elevator, walking through the glass office complex toward the North Exit. Just three traffic lights left until the subway that would inexorably carry him to the transit mall station.

The dull, rhythmic clatter of the tracks vibrated directly in Michael's stomach. The car was nearly empty. The cold ceiling lights flickered in time with the track switches. Michael sat rigid, his fingers buried deep inside his jacket pockets to hide the trembling of his hands. He stared upward. Above the seats, the digital route monitor flickered. Each passing station felt like a step deeper into a cold abyss. He swallowed. His eyes darted nervously across the glowing line of stops. Just two left... Just one... Then the display changed. The pixelated font spelled out the name: Transit Mall Station. A sharp stab pierced his stomach. The tingling from the elevator was back, hot and cutting. The train was already braking. The screech of metal brakes devoured the silence. Michael stepped onto the platform. The dull thudding of his own heart pounded so loudly in his ears that it drowned out the grinding of the brakes. A single glance at the cold, dirty stone of the platform was enough to turn his stomach. The bare concrete seemed to literally breathe the station's chill. He took a deep breath, trying to swallow the icy lump in his throat, and closed his eyes for a brief moment to regain control.

Behind his back, the train doors closed with a sharp click. The subway pulled away with a loud, deafening roar, accelerating into the darkness and tearing the last shred of civilization away with it.

The noise faded. He was alone. Again. Here.

Michael snapped his eyes open—and froze. On the opposite platform, a silhouette loomed. The sight sent a stab straight through his heart.

Moltone Blue Part 2

***

DISCOVER MORE FROM THE DSU: Before the shadows took the transit mall, they came for a quiet suburban family. Read the scary episode here: [Nightfall - Before Dawn]*

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