Matthew Stewart Trammell

The 7:12 from Queens Plaza was late pulling into Montauk, and it was nearly noon by the time he stepped onto the platform. The autumn sky was awash in clouds, a jaundiced sun struggling to emerge from a low bank of gauzy gray. Small children gawked at his string bean frame, hollowed eyes, and vampyric hue. He pulled the faux fur-lined hood of his enormous parka close as he shuffled along, anxiously cracking his bone-thin fingers as he considered what awaited him.