The Chanting Man, II

Several weeks after I encountered the chanting man, I was headed home on the last train with a friend of mine who shall be known as Polly. Polly and I rarely see each other, even though at the time we lived barely a block apart, so we were fairly engrossed in talking to one another. Most of the way home, I notice a faint chanting sound. I look around, and there behind me is the chanting man himself! I didn't mention him to Polly at the time, but I really wanted to see where he went.

He got off the train first, and we followed him up the stairs. He walked out of the station in the same direction we were going. By the time we got to the doors, however, he was gone. And there aren't any places on that street he could have gotten inside before we got there.

So I turned to Polly and said, That man, the dark skinned, black haired guy who was singing, did you see him?

And she said, I did! Where'd he go?

So I told her the story of the chanting man, part I. I have never seen him since.

The Chanting Man

One day, back when I had regular work hours and commuted back and forth just slightly off of rush hour, I found myself on a crowded train. Shocking, I'm sure.

As I stood there, facing out into the blackness of the subway tunnel over the heads of some anonymous ants, I heard a chanting voice, dark and deep, coming from behind me. I turned to look. A very out-of-place looking man, red skinned and black haired, was sitting on the other side of the car, eyes closed, singing in no language I recognized (and I recognize a good few). I smiled and went back to my book.

After a few stations, I realized that the chanting hadn't ceased, even when the doors opened, and I hadn't heard the chanting when I got onto the train. I turned again to look, and this time his eyes were open- and he was staring straight at me. His eyes were the same black as his hair. The chant changed slightly as I looked at him, then returned as I managed to look away.

Normally when something odd happens on a train, people will look, acknowledge, and then NOT-look, which isn't the same as ignoring. But no one else seemed to notice the man, no matter how loud he chanted. Even the people sitting right next to him didn't seem to notice. But I noticed, and he was looking at me.

This could have been creepy... maybe it should have been. But all I felt the entire time was a sense of content and purposefulness. As if this were something beneficial and directed at me.

Eventually, we got to my stop, and I exited the train. I noticed that the chanting stopped, turned slightly, and saw that the man had come off the train here, as well. Aha, I thought, maybe if I slow down, he will pass me and I can see where he goes.

But when I turned again a few steps later, he had vanished. There was no one remotely like him on the entire platform.

Haunted

At certain times in my life, I have found myself facing things that I could not rationally explain under the current understanding of scientific law. Most of them have been pleasant, or at least interesting; a few of them have been frightening.

At one time, I was dating a young man who shall be known as Benedick. Benedick lived in a neighborhood not far from the one I grew up in, but in some ways it was as different as if it were in another town entirely. It was slightly lower income, so the houses were all a little smaller and in a little poorer repair... and it was haunted.

That's the only way I have of explaining it. Sometimes it was just a feeling of something creepy behind you. Sometimes it was shadows where no shadow should be. Benedick not only agreed with me about the feel of the neighborhood, he told me a story about it.

Many years ago, he was alone in his family's house, and he heard a voice, a child's voice, screaming repeatedly "Let me out! Let me out!" coming from the direction of his garage. He went into the garage, looking about, but he didn't see anything or anyone. He went outside to see if there were someone outside, but again he heard the noise from his garage, "Let me out!" He checked once more, but there was nothing.

I thought it was a nice spooky tale and fit the feel of the neighborhood, but as time went by I forgot all about it. It wasn't until years later that I would remember.

I was driving through the neighborhood on my way to his house, something like four years later. It was dark, and there was no one on the streets, not even the usual contingent of cats. All of a sudden, I heard a child's shrill voice screaming from behind me, as if it were coming from my trunk, "Let me out! Let me out!" I screeched to a halt, looking around wildly, but there was nothing and no one to be seen. I drove the rest of the way to his house, pulled over, and opened the trunk. Nothing. No one was around.

It wasn't until I was telling him what happened that I remembered what he'd said.