I stepped from my train at Huntington Ave., leaving the wrong side of the platform and threading my way between the cars which had brought me and another train on the next track. The space was distressingly narrow. I was following a young fellow who was perhaps five yards ahead. The train on my right started slowly moving with us, then the car abreast of me became derailed and veered toward the other train, which was yet standing still. The two ground together with a hideous sound. The man before me was caught, and must have been instantly crushed, for the space where he stood closed utterly and the contact extended swiftly backward. I was in a narrowing crevice. "Heavens," I said in agony," "why doesn't the engineer stop?" Then as a last resort, I dropped to the ground and let the bodies of the two cars jam above me.