Night Train

I woke up as my head bumped on the window. Disoriented, I looked around the compartment, blinking. I saw my reflection in the dark window and sighed in relief. I had not been drooling. I suddenly realized how quiet it was. It was like being underwater. I could feel the rocking of the train, but there was no sound of any kind and the whole scene was bathed in a weird green light. I looked around for my fellow passengers. Where was the perspiring, overweight man who had squeezed into the seat next to mine at the last minute, talking loudly on his phone from the moment he sat down? The pungent smell of stale sweat and cigarette smoke emanating from him had been overpowering. The two middle-aged, slightly tipsy women who had sat opposite, gossiping, occasionally shrieking with laughter had disappeared. There was no sign of the teenagers who had been standing in the aisle, jostling and joking, scrolling on their phones.

Rain was streaming down the outside of the windowpane. When had the weather changed? It had been a cold but sunny day when I boarded the train that morning and my trip should only have taken forty minutes or so. There had been no announcements of delays. Although my fellow passengers had disappeared, I suddenly realized that I was not alone. I got up, trying not to lose my balance as the train juddered and shook. Inching forward, I saw that the interior of the compartment looked different. The wooden seats and leather upholstery belonged in a museum. I could see three women sitting ahead of me, two facing me and one with her back to me. They were intent in inaudible conversation. They wore strange clothes, long skirts, capes and bonnets. I shook my head, trying to clear my mind. There had to be an explanation. With relief, I realized that I must have stumbled into some kind of reenactment.

“Excuse me, ladies,” I said. My voice sounded hoarse and raspy.

I cleared my throat and tried again.

“Hello?” I said. “Can you tell me where this train is going? Hello?”

They paid no attention, continuing to chat and laugh as if they were in a silent movie. Frustrated, I tapped the shoulder of the woman sitting with her back to me and staggered forward as my hand went through nothing. I almost landed on top of the two women facing me. They continued talking, oblivious. I straightened up, my mouth dry, my hands trembling. Looking up, I saw a heavy woman waddling towards me, her wide skirts sweeping the aisle. She was followed by a weary looking man in a black frock coat and top hat. He had bushy white mutton chop whiskers, the kind I had only ever seen in oil paintings or costume drama movies. He was carrying a leather valise. She glanced disdainfully down her prominent nose at the seated women. They looked up, momentarily silent. As soon as the couple had passed, one woman stuck out her tongue and the others doubled in mirth, hiding their grins behind their hands.

I frantically looked around to see how I could get out of the woman's way as she bore down. She was so close that I could see bristly white hairs on her double chins and the gleam in her watery, little eyes. A clammy draft of air washed over me. As it dissipated, the couple reappeared behind me, sitting down in the seat I had left. She arranged her skirts and folded her hands in her lap, talking continuously. He removed his hat, crossed his arms and closed his eyes, responding only with an occasional nod or shrug.

I sank down into an empty seat, paralyzed with fear. Clubbing with friends years ago, I'd once had a bad trip after taking some pills. The hallucinations I'd experienced had scared me sober and I hadn't used drugs or alcohol since. Was I crazy? I scrabbled in my bag for my phone, clutching it in clammy fingers as I tried to dial, but it would not turn on. I dropped it into my pocket, feeling tears gather despite my determination to remain calm.

Suddenly the train began to jerk erratically from side to side and the ladies stopped talking, alarmed. Eyes dilated with fear, they held hands. The old lady began to pray, clutching her chest as her husband put his arm protectively around her shoulder. I curled up in my seat, bracing myself for I knew not what. Suddenly the carriage tipped sideways and plunged, throwing all the figures around like rag dolls as they silently screamed. I felt myself falling and shut my eyes as tightly as I could as we hurtled into some abyss.

“Miss, Miss, are you alright?”

I opened my eyes to see the ticket collector peering at me in concern. He was an elderly man with a kind face.

“You scared me, miss. Out for the count, you were. This is the end of the line.”

I smiled at him in relief and embarrassment.

“I’m sorry. I must have been more tired than I realized.”

I grabbed my bag and hurried to the door, turning to him as a thought occurred to me.

“Did anything bad ever happen on this railway? In the past, I mean.”

He chuckled.

“You must not be local, miss. Everyone around here knows about the great winter rail disaster. The bridge over the river collapsed during a storm when a train was crossing. Threw the whole kit and caboodle into the water. No one survived. You can still see the stumps of the old bridge sticking up out of the water.”

“When did that happen?”

He frowned as he thought.

“About a hundred years ago, give or take. Funny enough though, today’s the exact date it happened.”

I stared at him, feeling an icy chill settle over me.

“Thank you,” I whispered through dry lips.