My sister and I were waiting for the GO Train (Toronto's commuter train, for those of you who don't live in Southern Ontario) late one night. We sat in the only available pair of seats there were in Union Station, next to a middle-aged man who was all bundled up in a coat. He began making small talk. My sister and I listened politely, we can be really good at that.
"Hey, Girls?" "Yes?" "I really need to make that next train, but I can't stay conscious. When you get up to catch it, can you wake me up?" "Um, sure." "It's really important. I NEED TO GET OUT OF THE CITY. Do you understand? I need to get out of here. Where does that Train go? I have to get out of here as fast as possible!" "Yeah, uh.... we'll wake you up, don't worry."
"I was out with my students tonight." "Okay..." "I'm really drunk" "That's... nice?" "I have to tell you girls... don't try to show off knife tricks while you are drinking--"
And with that, he pulls his hand out of his pocket.
It is COVERED in blood and wrapped in some scraps of what I assume is his shirt.
"Girls, I really need to get out of the city. Do you understand? You are going to wake me up, right?"
We were too afraid to run away. We waited until the train came, woke him up, pointed him at the right platform and ran for a security guard. I don't remember a lot about what we claimed happened, except that it was very dramatic and the discussion was quite circular.
"Interesting, now what did this man look like?" "HE HAD A BLOODY HAND!" "But what did he look like?" "He was a man. And his hand...Was...BLOODY!!!" "But how will I find him on the platform?" "You will know it's him because his Hand is Bloody. He looks like the kind of man who has a Bloody Hand!" "How tall is he?" "Do you think we could remember that? We were looking at his Hand!" "Why?" "IT. WAS. BLEEDING!"