Tag: Horror

Part 5

Geoff looked back at his name on the board. He rested his finger under it, whispering, ‘Cawley, 2162. Cawley 2162.’

‘Come on,’ said George, putting his arm around Geoff and guiding him away from the timetables. ‘Let’s get you sat down. It’s all a bit of a shock to begin with.’

Geoff stared ahead as they walked down the platform. They passed below an electronic display, it’s orange dots fixed and steady. Geoff looked up.
‘2023,’ he murmured as he read the numbers. ‘2023.’

They reached the bench where Hugh sat. ‘Alright?’ he asked, still scanning the newspaper, hoping to find something he hadn’t read already.

Terry guided Geoff down next to Hugh. ‘There you go, mate’ he said, looking concerned.

Geoff sat, his gaze fixed, unfocussed. His lips moved but the sound was barely audible. ‘2023, 2023.’

‘I don’t like the look of him,’ said Terry. ‘He hasn’t taken it well.’

‘Do they ever?’ said Hugh, carefully folding his newspaper.

Geoff’s voice was building in volume. ‘2023, 2023, 2023…’

Hugh stood up, stowing his newspaper under an arm like a drill sergeant’s pace stick. He studied Geoff. ‘Yes, he’s about to blow. No doubt about it. Stand by, laddie,’ he ordered.

Geoff sprang up from the bench, screaming, ‘2162! 2162!’

Terry was trying to hold Geoff. They wrestled as he continued to shout the numbers, now a rising inclination, ‘2162? 2162?’

‘Help me, Hugh. We don’t want him trying to make a run for it,’ pleaded Terry. He was attempting to grip Geoff’s arms as they writhed like frenzied eels.

Hugh slapped his rolled newspaper against Geoff’s cheek. The shock of the strike brought him to a standstill.

After a brief hiatus, Geoff started to struggle again, managing to break free from Terry.

The sound of the newspaper landing on the top of Geoff’s head resonated along the station. ‘That… will… do…’ shouted Hugh with each blow.

Geoff crouched down under the volley; his arms arched over his head as he dropped to the floor.

‘That’s enough,’ shouted Terry as he kneeled next to Geoff.

The elderly couple in the waiting room came out onto the platform curious to see what was happening.

‘My apologies folks,’ said Hugh, smoothing his roll of newspaper as he spoke. ‘Our new arrival. I’m afraid he needed a little sedative.’ He raised the paper and waved it in the air. ‘It’s all sorted now.’

With disapproving shakes of the head, the man and woman disappeared back inside.

Hugh helped Terry lift Geoff to his feet. They guided him carefully to the bench. Geoff sobbed. He rocked back and forth in his seat, tears streaming over his cheeks and dropping into his lap.

Terry sat beside him. ‘It’s okay It’s a shock to all of us at first.’

‘Aye,’ added Hugh. ‘You’re not the first man to cry like a baby.’

Terry looked up at Hugh, frowning.

‘What?’ asked Hugh. ‘It’s true.’

Geoff was trying to say something.

‘It’s okay. Take your time,’ said Terry.

Hugh sat on the other side of Geoff. He considered having a glance at his newspaper but thought better of it. He rested it across his thighs and assessed the damage. Please God, see that the next one brings a decent paper with them, he thought.

‘Why is this happening to me?’ asked Geoff, his crying subsiding just enough for him to speak.

‘Well, the way I see it,’ began Terry, ‘is that we’re here for a purpose.’

‘Oh, here we go,’ mocked Hugh.

‘What? It’s what I believe Hugh,’ insisted Terry.

‘Aye, it’s what you believe laddie, nothing more.’

‘But he asked us a question. I’m giving him my answer.’

‘Aye and there’s no need to sugar-coat it. Best he hears it as it is.’

‘Well, I’m just saying there are several different ways at looking at it. People have different interpretations.’

‘Oh, come on!’ snapped Geoff. He appeared more annoyed than distressed. He turned his head to look at both men in turn. ‘Have you two quite finished?’

‘Sorry,’ said Terry.

‘May I?’ asked Hugh, looking across at Terry.

‘Be my guest,’ Terry replied, folding his arms, and settling back on the bench.

‘This is what we know,’ continued Hugh. ‘We’ve been brought here for a reason. We can only guess at why. Judging from what other passengers have told me in conversation, or from my own observations, those arriving seem to be, what would you say, lacking certain graces.’

Terry chuckled. ‘Lacking certain graces?’

‘And how exactly would you put it, laddie?’

‘How about miserable, or mean, nasty, bad tempered, short tempered, a bit of an arse…’

‘Aye,’ interrupted Hugh. ‘As I was saying, we seem to be lacking certain…’ He glanced at Terry, who was grinning devilishly. ‘We seem to be lacking… decorum. Yes, decorum, I’d say.’

Terry laughed. ‘Decorum?’

‘Hey. Don’t be thinking you’re beyond a good thumping,’ threatened Hugh.

‘Whoa, steady now,’ said Terry, his laugh quickly subsiding. ‘We don’t want your train being delayed.’ He leant into Geoff and spoke softly into his ear. ‘What our friend is trying to say is that we’re all, or we have been, as my old mum used to say, nasty bags of washing.’

Geoff lifted his head, roused from staring at the flagstone between the scuffed toecaps of his shoes. ‘We’re what?’ he asked.

‘Well, take me for example,’ said Terry. ‘I loved my mum, was raised to respect my elders and be polite to those that lived in the street. But after a hard week at work, I liked to unwind with my mates, have a few pints, and spend Saturday afternoon at the Bridge.’

‘The Bridge?’ asked Geoff, barely interested.

‘Stamford Bridge,’ replied Terry. ‘Not that I was that bothered about the football, mind. It was all about the fighting.’

‘And to think that’s what they’ve done to the game. Longhaired hooligans, the lot of them,’ added Hugh.

‘Yeah, afraid so,’ conceded Terry, ‘I can’t deny it. Every weekend. Until I took one kicking too many in an alley by Filbert Street.’

‘Bloody disgrace,’ muttered Hugh.

‘I’m not proud of it,’ admitted Terry, ‘but none of us are perfect. All of us here could have done a better job of it. I was a football hooligan. Hugh was a…’ He stopped talking as he saw the Scotsman slowly raising the brim of his bowler hat with a pointed finger. ‘Well, I was a football hooligan, and I dare say you might admit to being a bit of a grouch. If the truth be told.’

Geoff started crying again. He groaned, bending forward, dragging his fingers through his thinning hair, and resting them on the back of his head. With his elbows braced on his thighs, his body trembled. He sat back again, looking up at the station roof as he spoke. ‘What about Susan? What about my wife?’

The three men sat in uncomfortable silence.

Hugh stood up. ‘Come on,’ he said, gesturing with his thumb. ‘That’s enough of all that. Let’s get you off to see old Bill.’

Geoff wiped his cheeks with his jacket sleeve. ‘The Old Bill?’ he asked.

‘Christ, have mercy, no. Not the Old Bill, just old Bill.’

Terry laughed. ‘He means Old William. He keeps our clothes store.’

‘Run’s it more like a haberdashery than a warehouse,’ added Hugh. ‘If people arrive here with luggage, they’re encouraged to donate it to the collection. Not everyone can be persuaded, but we find one set of clothes will suffice.’

‘If there’s one good thing about being here,’ said Terry, rising to his feet, ‘it’s the absence of sweat glands.’ He sniffed his armpit and grinned. ‘Fresh as a daisy.’

‘Charming,’ replied Hugh. ‘He’s right, mind. It would seem only tears are essential for repentance, nothing more.’ They helped Geoff to his feet. ‘You won’t be needing to dress for dinner either,’ continued Hugh, ‘but there’s no sense waiting around an eternity in those dirty things.’

‘An eternity?’ asked Geoff.

‘Well, no, not an eternity,’ Hugh replied, ‘just a figure of speech, laddie. What was it, 2160…?’

Geoff didn’t answer.

‘2162, I think,’ suggested Terry, as they started to lead Geoff away, his upper arms held firmly by the two men on each side.

Geoff walked between them, his head bowed, like a man being escorted to the gallows.

They approached the storeroom, its door a thick layer of blue gloss, the station lights behind them reflecting brightly on its surface.

Terry hesitated before pressing the bell button. ‘Whatever you do, don’t be too critical about the clothes he offers you,’ he said.

‘Aye, rumour has it he arrived on Stephenson’s Rocket,’ added Hugh. ‘He’s been here all this time and he’s still a curmudgeonly old bast…’

The sound of a bolt scraping in its housing silenced him, and the door swung open.

Part Four

Geoff was woken by the side-to-side rocking of the train and the metallic clunk of wheels on the interchange of track below. Instinctively, he felt that they were approaching his stop. He’d been dreaming. It wasn’t a nightmare about being chased and attacked by the reivers that had unsettled him; he’d dreamt of his wife. He felt emptiness in his stomach. Not of hunger, although he’d eaten nothing for hours. He missed her desperately. And knowing that while he had slept his subconscious had thought to create a scene where he had chastised his wife, only made the feeling worse. He stood up and made his way down the carriage as it continued to buffet around. He reached the door and pressed his nose against the glass. He could see shapes passing in the darkness, blocks and angles he assumed must be buildings. If there were streets and houses, they were all unlit.

He was startled by a voice on the carriage PA system. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are now approaching our destination. Please remember to take all your luggage with you. Take care when alighting from the train and please mind the gap between the train and the platform edge.’

‘Is he for real?’ mumbled Geoff, making his way to the luggage compartment. It was empty.

I’m sure this is the carriage I was in originally, he thought. He made his way to the next carriage. Empty again. And the next. He reached the head of the train, the air in the carriage chilled from the broken window. He turned about immediately, cursing as he started back down the train.

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, tell me I’m wrong!’ he shouted as he travelled along the aisle.

He’d almost made it all the way to the door of the conductor’s cabin when the door opened, and Clive appeared.

‘Sorry,’ said Clive. ‘I can’t resist doing the announcements. No harm in keeping the mood light, I reckon.’

He recoiled from a lunge by Geoff, Clive’s back now pressed against the cabin door. Geoff stood inches from him and began poking Clive’s chest as he asked,

‘Where’s my luggage?’

‘What?’ replied Clive.

‘My luggage. What have you done with my suitcase?’

Clive thought for a moment, his eyes widening. He raised his hands as if he was being held up by a gunman. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to think. I had to get the reiver off you. I just grabbed the closest thing to hand. I’m sorry, mate.’

‘I’m sorry, mate?’

Clive nodded.

‘You’re telling me my luggage is strewn across the Badlands, and you’re sorry?’

Geoff stood back from Clive. He rested his head on a forearm as he leaned against the carriage wall. ‘Fucking marvellous,’ he whispered.

Clive edged up beside him. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, placing his hand gently on Geoff’s shoulder. ‘They’ll sort you out when you get there.’

Geoff stepped onto the platform. It looked no different from any train station he would have expected to see. Well illuminated with modern lighting, its walls were a combination of brickwork and smooth, cream-coloured facias. The bright lights appeared to intensify what lay beyond the station’s perimeter. Although a neon glow sat low above the station, the stifling darkness Geoff had experienced in the Borders sat only metres away. It looked no more habitable here than it had in the wilds. And the electronic signs on the platform offered no indication of his location, their orange dots all collaborating with the same message, “This train terminates here.”

He felt completely alone. The whine of the engine of the train that had just deposited him added to his feeling of abandonment. He watched as it picked up speed. Lights on, still empty, he saw Clive waving from the open window of the conductor’s compartment.

‘Wait!’ shouted Geoff, getting as close to the edge of the platform as he dared.

‘Good luck,’ replied Clive as the train passed.

‘But wait,’ pleaded Geoff, his voice falling away. ‘Where the hell am I?’

He continued to watch the train till it’s rear light faded. He felt sick.

He was startled by a voice on the platform. ‘Hello. You’ve just arrived.’

Geoff turned and saw someone sitting on a bench, their face hidden behind a broadsheet newspaper. He was dressed in dark trousers and black shoes, legs crossed at the ankles. He spoke again. ‘You’ve just arrived.’

Geoff was confused. The man seemed to be making a statement rather than asking him a question, and he believed he’d detected a Scottish accent. Don’t tell me I’ve been brough here just to be torn apart by one of those wild men, he thought.

The newspaper started to lower slowly. Geoff readied himself.

He was relieved to see a man of relatively normal appearance. He wore a bowler hat, a long moustache over a short beard. His shirt collar was upright, folded at the tips above a long, black tie.

The man spoke again. ‘You’ve just arrived. Have you brought a newspaper?’

‘No, I haven’t,’ replied Geoff, surprised by the man’s question.

‘What, not even a magazine?’

‘No, not even a magazine.’

‘Oh, for the love of God, don’t you people read anything anymore? On paper, I mean.’

‘Excuse me?’ Geoff replied, his feelings of despondency erased by a growing sense of irritation.

Someone approaching from behind broke into the conversation. ‘Oh, don’t you take any notice of old Hugh, now. He gets a bit cranky when he hasn’t had anything new to read for a while. He always gets his hopes up when a train arrives.’

Hugh nodded, his moustache flexing upwards on a curled lip. He lifted his newspaper and disappeared back behind a worn copy of The Times.

The other man walked up to Geoff, extended his hand as he stopped in front of him. ‘Please to meet you. I’m Terry,’ said the man, patiently waiting for Geoff to shake his hand. He withdrew it, and quickly thrust it back out again. His insistence triggered a reaction from Geoff, and he begrudgingly complied.

‘Are you in charge?’ asked Geoff.

Terry laughed. ‘Oh, God no,’ he said, walking over to the bench and sitting next to Hugh. ‘I’m just a traveller. A passenger like you.’

With the two men sat side by side, Geoff was struck by how different they looked. ‘Are you two travelling together?’ he asked.

‘No. What makes you think that?’ replied Terry.

‘I thought you might be coming from the same party.’

‘Party?’ asked Terry.

Hugh lowered his newspaper and turned his head to look at Terry, his brow lined in thought. ‘Party? What bloody party would this be?’

The two men stared up from the bench.

‘You know… You dressed as an undertaker and you dressed as, er, I don’t know… David Sussex.’

‘An undertaker? You would do well to take a good, long look at yourself,’ replied Hugh, shifting forward on the bench. ‘It appears they’ve had you digging your own grave. Or lying in it!’

Terry put his arm across Hugh as if to prevent him leaping up at Geoff. ‘Come on guys. Let’s not fall out.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean,’ asked Geoff, ‘digging my own grave?’

Hugh looked down at Geoff’s legs. ‘Look at the state of you, man. You look like you’ve been playing along the Clyde.’

‘You do look a bit shitty,’ added Terry, laughing as Geoff stood looking down at his muddy trousers and shoes.

‘Oh, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you,’ Geoff replied, losing interest. He started to look around the platform.

‘Oh, we’d believe you,’ said Terry. ‘Don’t tell us… the reivers?’

Geoff turned sharply to look at Terry. The two men laughed, pitching around the bench with exaggerated motion.

‘What? You think you’re the first passenger to freak out on the journey here and piss his trousers at the sight of a reiver?’ Hugh mocked.

Terry was hysterical. He tried to speak, his voice several octaves higher than usual. ‘You don’t think… I would wear bell-bottoms… as wide as these, do you?’

Geoff started walking up the platform.

Terry called after him. ‘Hey, don’t go too far. We don’t want to lose you. It’s dangerous out there!’

‘Don’t worry,’ added Hugh. ‘We won’t lose him. We can smell him a mile away!’

Geoff passed a waiting room and looked in through the glass. An elderly couple sat opposite one another with two large suitcases placed between them. The lady, her gaze now fixed on him, didn’t move when Geoff nodded in acknowledgement. The old man turned to see what his wife was looking at and joined her in examining Geoff with an indomitable stare. The old man turned away, but the lady continued to watch as Geoff walked on. He glimpsed someone sleeping on the seating – their head hidden under a coat – just below the window. Their trousered legs lay exposed above high-heeled shoes. Almost certainly a woman, Geoff didn’t dare gawp under the watch of the old lady.

He came to a hoarding of timetables, displayed like pages in a vast, Perspex book. He’d seen similar at other train stations, but never so many sheets. There must have been hundreds of frames fanning along the entire length of the platform. He started to read the information closest to him.

ARRAN 2035 PLATFORM 2
ARTHUR 2033 PLATFORM 2
ASH 2158 PLATFORM 3

And then some more.

BELLINGHAM 2032 PLATFORM 1
BENNETT 2036 PLATFORM 3
BENSON 2216 PLATFORM 3

‘Where on Earth are these places supposed to be?’ he muttered. ‘Where the hell is Bellingham for God’s sake? Never heard of it.’

Geoff shouted down the platform, ‘What’s this all about, then?’

‘That didn’t take long,’ said Terry as he stood up from the bench. ‘I’ll go.’

‘Be my guest,’ Hugh replied, continuing to read his newspaper.

Terry arrived alongside Geoff as he frantically shuffled through the timetables. ‘Absolute garbage,’ he complained. ‘Absolute garbage. What are they supposed to be? These aren’t places. They’re just names.’

‘Precisely,’ said Terry. ‘They’re names, not places.’

‘Right,’ agreed Geoff, ‘but what does it mean?’

‘The thing is, those are the train times, but we all have individual departure times. So, if you look…’

Geoff interrupted, ‘Right, OK. Cawley, Cawley, Cawley…’ He started shuffling further down the sheets. He stopped, running his finger over the names under one of the plastic panes. ‘There! Cawley, 2162.’ He frowned. ‘What? 2162? They’ve made a mistake.’ He looked back at Terry. ‘Don’t they mean 2202?’

George appeared hesitant, then slowly made his way up alongside Geoff. ‘That’s no mistake. The thing is… that’s not the time… it’s the year.’

© 2023

Part Three

Standing in the doorway, Clive took a deep breath. As he turned his back to step down beside the track, he felt his legs trembling. His shoes crunched on the shale surface. He was hardly moving, but the noise sounded deafening to him. They must have heard the train stop, he thought. He had no doubt they’d be here soon. He felt he should leave the side of the carriage and search for Geoff. They were running out of time. Clive found his legs unresponsive. He was pegged to the spot. He tried to call for Geoff. A pathetic screeching sound was all that emerged from his throat. His instinct was to keep his profile as low as possible. He dropped to his knees. He forced himself to swallow, trying to summon moisture in his mouth to wet his lips. ‘Geoff. Geoff. Where are you?’

He could see nothing beyond the light cast from the train windows. The silhouette of scrub and heath quickly fell away.

Then, a sound. There was movement in the darkness. Clive stood up. He reached for the train. The sound got louder. Something was coming towards him. Clive jumped into the carriage doorway. He landed awkwardly on his stomach, his belt digging uncomfortably in his belly as he writhed around desperately trying to get back inside. The train engine roared as the driver got them moving again. Clive rolled onto his back and sat himself up. He could see someone running alongside the train, emerging into the light

Geoff was shouting. ‘No! Stop! Wait! Wait!’

Clive knelt in the doorway. ‘Come on,’ he beckoned, ‘hurry up!’ He could see that Geoff was not alone. They were chasing him and gaining ground. ‘Come on. Give me your hand!’

Geoff panted and gasped as he reached out towards Clive.

‘Come on,’ repeated Clive. ‘Don’t give up!’

The train pulsed slowly around a crescent of track, the driver watching from his cab as the two men struggled to connect. Clive saw Geoff grit his teeth in determination and put in a final burst of effort. Clive reached out as far as he could and managed to grab hold of Geoff’s wrist. He hauled him up towards the door and Geoff grasped at whatever he could, flailing alongside the carriage. He climbed up over Clive, the conductor’s body and clothes clawed and pulled as Geoff re-entered the train. Clive worried he was about to be pushed out of the door by Geoff and the sudden acceleration of the train. He felt his grip weakening on the handrail, the pain rising in the muscles and joints of his arm. He believed he might unfurl any moment, flapping like a beaten sail in a storm.

He watched them approach, their horses thundering along, wildly enthusiastic. The blanched, translucence of the horsemen’s form made them fearsome to look at. Their mouths were open, emitting threats and screams of hatred.

As the leader closed in, Clive saw him glaring back at him, his eyes opaque and dull. It was all Clive could do to hold on and stop himself being jettisoned into the darkness. He closed his eyes and waited. He felt a hand on his arm. He heard the throbbing of the train’s engine, the smell of diesel and grease. His body tingled. He felt cold. He heard someone calling him.

He reluctantly opened his eyes. He saw Geoff, his face a mixture of fear and dogged determination. He was pulling at Clive with both hands, his shoulder against the inside of the carriage as he attempted to haul him inside.

‘Get in!’ shouted Geoff as Clive landed on the carriage floor. He lay there, winded, and heard the train door slam shut, the heavy clunk of the door locking. Then a loud bang. The glass from the train door shattered and showered Clive as he cowered on the floor. A horseman’s arm appeared through the window frame, thrashing around, searching for someone to grab. Geoff attempted to move away from its reach but couldn’t react quickly enough. Its bony hand latched onto his jacket, pulling him back towards the exit. Geoff reached around and tried to free himself, struggling with the hand holding him. Despite its emaciated look, the limb managed to drag Geoff with ease. He crashed against the carriage door. Stunned, he watched long, dirty fingernails tear his jacket as they gathered material in their hand. There was the sound of laughter. Geoff saw a head appear through the door. Although colourless and washed white with age, Geoff had no doubt that the horseman’s eyes were focused on him. It leered, grinning with thin lips around stained teeth. Geoff felt his body being lifted slowly towards the waiting ghoul. The laughter continued as he was hoisted level with the horseman’s face. Geoff looked away, feeling like trapped prey, resigned to the pot. He heard sniffing, sensing the horseman’s nose moving up his neck, across his cheek. Unable to resist the temptation, like a child peeping above the bedclothes at imagined shapes in the shadows of their room, Geoff slowly turned his head back towards the horseman. It was grinning. The lack of flesh on the skull made its teeth appear oversized. Geoff stared at them. The horseman stopped smiling, as if he realised Geoff was considering his appearance. Geoff smiled back in hope of a truce. The horseman opened his mouth wide and screamed. His black tongue rattled like the tail of a serpent.

Geoff flinched as a suitcase flashed passed his head. Clive drove the luggage into the horseman’s face another time, its screams drowned by the draught of the train as it fell back through the window and away into the darkness. Clive held out a hand and helped Geoff up to his feet. ‘Are you ok?’ he asked.

‘Never been better,’ replied Geoff. ‘And you?’

‘Oh, I’ll be a bit sore in the morning. I need to check the rest of the train is secure.’

Geoff watched Clive start to hobble down the aisle, astonished by the man’s indifference. Clive had almost reached the end of the carriage when Geoff erupted in anger. ‘What the hell? Just what the hell is going on here? You’re not going to give me an explanation? You just walk away like nothing has happened?’

Clive turned around. He paused, looked pensive, as if he was a police officer about to give an unsuspecting family member some grave news. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Can we sit down?’

Geoff started down the aisle. ‘No, I’m fine standing up,’ he replied. ‘Just start by telling me just what the fuck that thing was!’

‘I’m sorry,’ repeated Clive. ‘I’m sorry, but I really need to sit down.’ He lowered himself carefully behind a table seat, his face contorted with pain.

Geoff landed on the chair opposite. He continued to interrogate Clive. ‘Well, what the hell was that thing?’

Clive had slid across the seats and was resting awkwardly in a corner between seat and window. He spoke amid back spasms and associated grunts. ‘They’re the reivers. Border men, who never quite welcomed the arrival of the train running through their lands.’

Geoff sat quietly for a moment, trying to process what he’d just heard. ‘You’re telling me that these, what did you call them?’

‘Reivers.’

‘These, reivers are basically NIMBYs?’

‘They’re what?’ asked Clive.

‘Like NIMBYs,’ repeated Geoff. ‘You know; not in my back yarders.’

Clive began to laugh until his back hurt more from the movement. ‘That’s a good one, Geoff. I’ll have to remember that for next time.’

‘And what’s with the Stiggy Pops look?’

‘Sorry Geoff, I have no idea who or what Stiggy Pops is. I’ve been working the late train for a long time. I don’t get the chance to get out much.’ Clive smiled but could see that Geoff was looking concerned again. He shuffled in his seat, trying to rest his head on the backrest. ‘It’s what happens when you try to live outside, in the borders, in the darkness. It never gets light out there. Sun never rises. Try and live outside and you’ll end up like them. Just like them. No, you’ve got to wait it out, until it’s time.’

‘Time for what?’

‘The time to make your connection.’

Geoff turned his head to look at the window. All he could see was his reflection, sitting despondently at the table. ‘Well, if I was hoping for an explanation, all you’ve given me is nonsense and riddles,’ complained Geoff.

‘I’m afraid it’ll have to do for now,’ Clive replied, easing himself across and back to his feet. ‘I really need to check that we haven’t picked up any more passengers. Although we would probably know it by now. Try and get some rest. We’ll be there in a couple of hours.’

‘And where exactly is there?’ asked Geoff.

© 2023

Part Two

Geoff felt himself rousing, the gentle rocking of the train summoning him back from sleep. He was content to doze for a while, listening to the rhythmic clunks of the wheels on the track. Gradually, slowly creeping into his conscience, he became aware of no other sounds around him. He sat upright in his seat.

He looked about an empty carriage. Whilst surprised to see no other passengers, he was especially alarmed by Susan’s absence. If she had gone to the toilet, she had been careful to take all her personal belongings with her. Perhaps a little overcautious, but understandable, considering he had been in such a deep sleep, he thought.

He noticed that it had become dark outside. It was difficult to see through the windows, with the bright lights of the carriage projecting the interior of the train.

Geoff remained seated for a little while, becoming increasingly anxious and a little annoyed that Susan hadn’t returned. Feeling he could wait no longer, he stood, his head bobbing from side to side like a curious owl as he began to sidle down the train. He peered into each vacant seat as it came into view. He reached the intersecting doors and hesitated as he looked through. Something wasn’t right. The next carriage appeared empty too.

Geoff decided to turn back and check the carriage behind. He remembered that it housed the nearest toilet and reasoned that Susan had most likely gone in that direction. As he approached, he could see that the toilet sign indicated it was vacant. He opened the toilet door as he passed, needing to be convinced that she wasn’t there.

He continued, determined to walk the entire train until he found her. Geoff gathered pace as he cleared each carriage. He paused only momentarily as he waited impatiently for each one to slide open. He soon arrived at the final coach, having seen no one. By the direction the train was heading, he assumed that the driver must be on the other side of a locked compartment. He was tempted to bang on the door but decided against it, believing the conductor must be at the other end of the train. He set off to find him.

Halfway down, noticing his luggage resting in the rack, Geoff realised he was back in Coach D. Seeing his suitcase sitting alone, he began to panic. If Susan is still on the train, where is her luggage? And why do I appear to be the only passenger? he thought.

Geoff picked up his suitcase and placed it on the floor. He extended the telescopic handle and towed the luggage behind him, heading off to search the remainder of the train.

Although trying to reign-in his emotions, he now found himself running down the aisles, desperate to find anyone who might answer his questions.

As the train flexed round a curve in the track, he thought he spotted a figure in one of the carriages ahead. Temporarily obscured by the bend in the train, the figure re-emerged as the carriages straightened. Geoff recognised the conductor’s uniform, and began to shout whilst still several coaches away, ‘Hey, you. Hey, come here.’

The conductor was walking towards him. As they approached one another, Geoff could see that the man was looking straight at him.

Geoff opened the final doors between them, venting his frustration immediately. ‘Can you possibly explain what the bloody hell is going on?’

The conductor raised his hands. ‘Ok, Geoff, try to remain calm.’

‘Excuse me,’ replied Geoff, taken aback. ‘Ok, Geoff? Since when were we on first-name terms?’

‘Oh,’ replied the conductor, ‘what would you prefer me to call you?’

‘Well, the last conductor was a bloody idiot, but at least he managed to call me, “sir”’.

‘Ok, sir. Please try to calm down.’

‘Hold on a minute,’ said Geoff. ‘How do you know my name? And where’s everyone else? Where’s my wife.’

‘There was an incident earlier. Everybody’s left the train,’ explained the conductor.

‘Everybody? And my wife?’

‘Yes, sir, and your wife.’

‘What about me?’ asked Geoff. ‘Why am I still here?’

‘I’m afraid you couldn’t. They did everything they could to try and wake you.’

‘Bollocks,’ said Geoff. ‘Susan wouldn’t leave me on the train just because she couldn’t wake me. I want to speak to somebody else, someone in charge. And you still haven’t told me how you know my name.’

‘Please try to remain calm, sir. I suggest you take a seat and try to get some rest.’

‘Why, so I can fall asleep again and you can rummage through my pockets? Is that how you know my name? Had a good look in my wallet, have you?’

Geoff produced his wallet from his trouser pocket and looked inside, quickly filing through his bank cards. Satisfied that nothing was missing, he shoved it back in his pocket. ‘I want to speak to somebody in charge,’ he repeated.

‘I’m the train manager, sir. I am in charge,’ replied the man.

‘Bollocks!’ snapped Geoff. ‘You’re just a conductor. Get me someone responsible.’

The conductor edged slowly towards him. ‘Please try to get some rest. We’ll be at our destination before you know it,’ he said, trying to shepherd Geoff into a seat.

Compliant for a moment, Geoff suddenly batted the conductor’s arms away. ‘Get away from me,’ he shouted, bursting past the startled man.

He ran as fast as he could down the remainder of the carriages, the conductor shouting behind him, ‘Geoff, Geoff, please stop. Please, you need to rest.’

Geoff reached the driver’s compartment at the head of the train. He hammered loudly on the locked door. ‘Hey, let me in, let me in,’ he shouted.

The conductor approached, slowing down as he reached the end of the carriage. ‘Come on, Geoff,’ he bargained, ‘let’s go and sit down and have a little chat about this.’

Geoff continued to bang on the driver’s door, his fists clenched in anger. ‘Hey, let me in, let me in,’ he raged.

The conductor continued in his attempt to appease Geoff, adding softly, ‘Come on, mate, let’s talk about this, eh?’ He reached out an arm, momentarily resting his hand on Geoff’s shoulder.

Geoff immediately swung around, aiming a fist at the man. He landed a blow in the conductor’s face. Geoff was shocked. Susan would be mortified, he thought.

Geoff watched the conductor steady himself.

Thinking of his wife and the combination of his violent outburst overwhelmed Geoff, and he started to cry. ‘Stay back,’ he pleaded. He held his head back theatrically, eyes open wide, the overemphasis of a silent movie star. His wild gaze rested upon the mechanism by his shoulder. With the dramatized moves of a hammy actor, he slowly raised a hand across his chest, glancing from hand to conductor, hand to conductor, back and forth until his fingers reached the edge of the plastic flap covering the emergency brake.

The conductor spoke calmly. ‘That really wouldn’t be a good idea. We don’t want the train stopping. Not here.’

Geoff didn’t answer, his fingers now lifting the plastic guard.

The standoff held against the sound of the wheels on the track below, and the gentle rocking of the train.

The conductor pounced. He grabbed Geoff, wrestling him away from the brake. He tried wrapping his arms around him and keeping hold, but Geoff broke free, careering off down the carriage. The conductor steadied himself before taking pursuit, but the gap between them was too great. As Geoff reached the end of the compartment, he made straight for the next available exit.

‘NO!’ boomed the conductor as he was thrown to the floor under the squeal of brakes. For a moment he couldn’t move; the force of the train pinning him down. He found himself lying amongst seats, joined by rolling coffee cups and drink bottles. Liquid residue smelling of caffeine and syrup slopped around him. He was able to clamber onto his knees, encouraged by the desire to avoid a further soaking. Once seated, he tried to gather his composure. He was winded and he ached. He wasn’t sure if he had been badly injured, though that wasn’t his main concern. What he feared most was the danger awaiting a stationary train.

The conductor rose from the seat. He steadied himself, hands on the table, stretching his back as he stood in the aisle.

A voice shouted from further up the train. ‘What the hell is going on? What’s the emergency? Do you know where we are?’ The driver was running towards him, clearly panicked.

‘Another one. Another one’s freaked out,’ replied the conductor, rubbing the back of his neck.

‘Again? You know what happened last time. Well, where is he?’ asked the driver.

‘I think he got off,’ said the conductor.

‘You think? For God’s sake, Clive. Go and find him.’ The driver turned and made his way back towards his cab. He shouted over his shoulder as he continued to run. ‘Five minutes, Clive. Just five minutes and we’re out of here. You hear?’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Clive. Then raising his voice, he shouted after the driver, ‘Make it three minutes!’

Clive reached the exit where Geoff had alighted. The door was wide open and there was no sign of him. The darkness outside was total.

© 2023

Part One

As the train approached, Geoff joined the crowd on the platform.

‘Come along, Susan,’ he said.

By the time the train had stopped, he had positioned himself strategically. He glanced around, evaluating the opposition.

‘Come along, Susan,’ he repeated.

Susan politely tagged onto the rear of the line congregating by the door of the carriage and waited to board.

The final passenger had barely exited the train when Geoff sidestepped into the doorway, he and his luggage squeezing through as he elbowed his way aboard.

‘Where are you, Susan?’ he asked, turning to yank at an uncooperative suitcase. ‘Christ, what are you doing back there? We don’t want to lose our seats!’ He disappeared out of sight as he moved down the train.

After Geoff’s rudeness, geniality blossomed between the remaining passengers, with some sympathetic smiles flashed towards Susan. She was encouraged to move up the line by a couple of elderly gentlemen escorting their wives. ‘Thank you,’ she said, as her suitcase was lifted aboard.

She was disappointed to see that Geoff had only reached as far as the luggage station positioned just inside the carriage. He appeared typically agitated, grappling with suitcases and baggage already stowed in the rack. He glanced at her as she approached, his face contorted by effort.

‘Can you believe this?’ he said. There was no need to answer; Susan knew he wasn’t expecting one. ‘What kind of idiot thinks of putting their luggage in like that?’ he continued. ‘Just how on earth are the rest of us supposed to get ours in?’  

Susan felt a flush of embarrassment and leaning into Geoff, whispered, ‘Please, Geoffrey, people are staring.’

Geoff continued until he believed that he had solved the puzzle of finding space for his suitcase. He rested, bending over the top of the luggage to catch his breath. He turned to his wife, now aware that he was being observed by several other passengers. He forced a smile. Susan watched it slowly dissolve as he spotted her suitcase still resting at her feet.

He looked up, breathing in deeply, then exhaling loudly. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out their tickets. He glanced at them, and handing them to Susan he said calmly, ‘There you go, dear, seat reservations: nineteen and twenty. Leave your case with me and go and find our seats.’

No sooner had he started to reshuffle the luggage to try and make room for Susan’s suitcase, she reappeared looking a little sheepish. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

She hesitated.

‘Well?’

‘It appears somebody else is sitting in our seats.’

‘We’ll soon see about that!’ He threw her suitcase on top of the others, and pushing past her, marched down the carriage.

‘Seats nineteen and twenty, seats nineteen and twenty,’ he repeated, until stopping abruptly in the aisle. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, tapping an unsuspecting passenger on the shoulder.

The man looked up from his newspaper, ‘Is there a problem?’

‘I should say so,’ replied Geoff, his voice trembling. ‘Seats nineteen and twenty. Look.’ He leant over the man and jabbed a finger towards the numbers displayed above the window. He stood back, hands on hips. Geoff swayed with the motion of the train and was forced to shuffle and reposition his feet. With reddened face and unsteady stance, he might have appeared drunk.

The seated passenger put the newspaper down on his lap. ‘Yes, I can see the numbers. What of it?’

Susan had walked part way down the carriage but retained a little distance from the confrontation. After twenty-seven years of marriage, she had learnt to expect the occasional incident whilst out with Geoff, but they seemed to be occurring far more frequently.

‘You’re sitting in our seats,’ said Geoff.

‘You have a ticket reservation I take it?’ asked the man.

‘We do,’ said Geoff.

‘Let’s see them then,’ said the man.

‘Right. As you wish.’ Geoff put his hand inside his jacket and reached into his pocket. He felt around inside. Finding nothing, he frantically began checking his other jacket pockets, and then his trouser pockets.

‘Geoffrey… Geoffrey.’

‘What, Susan?’ snapped Geoff. ‘Can’t you see there’s a problem?’

‘I have the tickets,’ she said, holding them out in her hand.

‘Christ, Susan,’ barked Geoff, snatching them from her. He returned to the seated passenger and held the tickets in front of the man’s face. ‘There,’ he said triumphantly, ‘seats nineteen and twenty.’

The man gazed at them for a while. ‘Oh, yes,’ said the man. ‘Right seats, wrong coach, mate.’ He held his gaze on Geoff briefly as he slowly lifted his newspaper and started reading again.

Geoff stood, confused. He swayed like a pummelled boxer whilst trying to focus on the tickets. He spun around, checking for verification, and found above the carriage doors the clarification. They were in ‘Coach E’.

He barged past Susan and up the aisle. He pulled furiously at their luggage in the rack. She made her way towards him, saddened by the realisation of yet another dismal holiday together.

Geoff shot through the sliding doors and into the adjacent carriage. Susan dutifully followed. He paused in the space alongside the toilet and waited for her. ‘For God’s sake, did you not think to check we were in the right carriage? You’ve made me look a right bloody idiot.’ She considered a response but reasoned against it. ‘No? Well, I guess I must think of everything,’ he said.

Geoff reached the next set of doors, pressing manically at the button till they opened. ‘Just sit down,’ he ordered, starting to fuss at another luggage rack. ‘Leave your suitcase and sit down. Nineteen and twenty. Coach D!’

Susan hurried down the aisle, desperate to hide. Mercifully, their places were vacant, and she quickly tucked herself away, sliding her frame as low as possible in the seat. She felt a film of moisture coating her eyes, but it was unlikely to well into tears. She was finding it increasingly difficult to feel anything other than resignation.

Susan tried to lie against the seat to make herself invisible to a new set of spectators. She closed her eyes.

After a few minutes, Susan felt Geoff land in his seat. ‘A right bloody performance,’ he said.

She kept her eyes shut. She could feel Geoff fidgeting, accompanied by a litany of grunts and groans as he rummaged around his pockets. She felt compelled to watch the ritual of Geoff locating his personal items, and then logging their location: house keys, left trouser pocket; mobile phone, right trouser pocket; wallet, rear trouser pocket; train tickets, top left, inside jacket pocket. Quietly observing, she felt some sympathy. Maybe he’d always been like this, and she hadn’t noticed – or chose to ignore it – at the beginning of their relationship? Maybe his condition had worsened over time? Susan only wished something could be done to help him. To help them.

She watched Geoff settle, checks over. He placed his hand on the armrest and Susan reached out and gently rested her hand on his. She eased herself a little closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

A voice called from behind them, ‘All tickets, all tickets. Have all your tickets ready for inspection, please.’ Geoff pulled his hand away and leant forward in his seat. Susan was forced to sit upright.

Geoff restarted the frenzied search of his pockets, having forgotten the results of his recent audit.

The conductor stood above them, ‘Tickets, please.’

‘Yes, one moment,’ replied Geoff. He pulled out the tickets, his hand trembling.

Geoff looked up at the conductor, ‘Here,’ he said.

‘Thank you, sir,’ replied the conductor, smiling as he took them. He studied the tickets for a while. ‘Do you have another ticket, sir?’

‘What?’

‘Another ticket. You’ve given me an outward journey and a return.’

‘No, I haven’t. Two returns,’ insisted Geoff. He snatched the tickets from the conductor’s hand.

‘Geoffrey,’ interrupted Susan.

‘What now?’ he asked, as he quickly scanned the tickets, holding them out side by side.

‘There’s one on the floor,’ said Susan, reaching down to pick it up by her foot. Geoff snatched it from her.

‘There,’ he said, glancing at it as he passed it to the conductor. ‘Another return. Two returns.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ he said, handing them back to Geoff. He smiled at Susan and said, ‘Have a good day, miss.’

Geoff looked up as he attempted to stow the tickets back in his jacket pocket. ‘Excuse me? Have a good day, miss?’ He leant over the side of his seat and peered down the aisle after the conductor. ‘No wonder the service here is so bloody poor, staff too busy flirting with other people’s wives. Have a good day miss, indeed!’

Susan felt her cheeks flush, turning her face away from Geoff and looking out of the window.

Perspiration pooling on his forehead, Geoff loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar.

His fresh fidgeting alerted Susan. ‘Geoffrey, do you think you should have another one of your tablets?’

He didn’t answer. He was feeling unwell: sweaty, strangely cold, clammy.

‘Geoff, have you got your tablets? Where’s your medication?’

He sat motionless in his seat with his arms draped over the armrests. ‘In my suitcase… I think.’

She pushed past Geoff and ran towards their luggage. He closed his eyes.

© 2023