It isn't every day that you walk into a train station full of zombies, unfortunately. But last Saturday I did. Absentmindedly, lost in my own thoughts, hidden between the musical comfort of my earphones, I pushed open the door to the North Station. As usual, I was assailed by the station's usual public-restroom acrid smell as I walked down the hallway. The station had its usual crowd: businessmen, bums, scruffy students, and those shady people who hang out in public places for no apparent reason. I walked past a businessman in a suit, an old lady in a purple fleece sweatshirt, a homeless looking man in blood soaked rags... wait, what? Double take. He had scars across his face, purple bruises under his eyes, white pasty skin, and a trail of bloody gore from his mouth and down the front of his shirt. Had my long awaited zombie apocalypse finally begun? Did this mean that I didn't need to finish my masters? No, wait a second, what was that? A vampire? Zeus? a convict? And someone who I can only describe as an African-American Gandalf? The conflicting mythologies cleared up any doubts: no apocalypse, just Halloween.
It really shouldn't have caught me off guard; after all, I was on my way to a Halloween party in Beverly. But somehow, when you aren't in your own costume you forget these things. When I walked into the main ticket lobby, I saw that there were all sorts of people in costume waiting for the train to Salem. Due to the unfortunate nature of it's history, Salem has become an icon for all things witch-related, and therefore the place to go for a Halloween party. An estimated 100,000 people flood that little town at the end of October; some looking to have an actual occult experience, most simply looking to get drunk and maybe cursed by a disgruntled warlock. Well, it was just my luck that the train to Beverly has to go through Salem, so all those colorful characters got to ride with me.
As soon as the platform numbers was announced, an unholy exodus of the undead shuffled quickly towards the train, hoping to get a seat. Unencumbered by fairy wings, vampire capes, or prosthetic body parts, I made it into the car much faster than the ghouls behind me. From my seat, I watched the train fill up with all the curious freaks waiting to get to Salem. A biology student sat next to me dressed as a convict. His odor was particularly compelling. I found out he was a bio student because he was talking to a girl who must have been a classmate of his before she died and became the corpse she was that night. It is always funny to see people in costume but out of character: a convict and a zombie talking about fungus growth (fairly relevant to a zombie, I guess); a vampire eating cookies; satan talking to his mother on his cell phone; all four members of K.I.S.S sitting quietly... And yet, I was really the odd man out. Later on that evening I would be dressed as a monk, but on the train I was one of the few normal looking humans there. Being the only person not dressed up is just as awkward as being the only one that is.
