The Overnight Train

I’d never been on an overnight train before. I’d only seen the cramped carriages in movies –two characters sharing one or two small beds pressed right against the wall, barely enough room to stand between them, people stacked together like sardines in tiny compartments. The train company caring more about emptying wallets than the quality of the carriages. But this one wasn’t like that. I had a bed that was big enough for me to comfortably stretch out facing a large, square window with shades I could pull down during the night, similar to those on a plane. A cabinet above my head stored my luggage and a small table beside my bed held my personal items. The walls were a dark chestnut, with glinting metal framing that sparkled against the sunrise.

There was a carriage known as ‘the common room’, with tables and chairs pressed against the wall, decks of cards and board games and puzzles stacked in a cabinet behind a glass door. My room was adjacent to the common room. The quiet hum of conversation punctuated by joyous laughter floated between carriages, carried in the air like moisture.

I was travelling back to my hometown. The journey felt almost bittersweet; leaving the life I had built for the one I left behind.

‘Up for a game?’ I was sitting alone in the common room. A bald man with deep creases under his kind, blue eyes was holding a pack of cards, smiling gently.

‘Sure,’ I replied. I was travelling alone, with a strange sense I was leaving something behind, or forgetting something, but couldn’t quite shine a light on the shadow hanging over my head.

The man shuffled, his movements slow and dulled, eyes wistful and far away.

‘Where are you going?’ I asked. He blinked, as if snapping back to reality.

‘The same place we all are.’ He smiled knowingly, but continued at my blank expression. ‘I was such a hard worker, in my life. I wish I hadn’t worked so hard. I should have spent more time with my family when I had the chance. I’m going to a place where there’s no more work or hot sun, no more loud music blasted into headphones to drown out the noises around me.’ It's all finished. He paused, his fingers frozen on the cards. ‘I was a construction worker.’

My stomach curdled with unease that I couldn’t explain. ‘Oh.’

‘Sorry, what about you? What happened to you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, why are you here?’ The man continued shuffling.

‘Oh, uh, I’m, I’m going home,’ I stammered. For some reason, my mind seemed hazy, and I couldn’t quite remember what I was doing. ‘Yeah, I’m going home. Visiting my parents. It’s been a while, you know?’

‘Yeah, sure, of course.’ The man seemed like he wanted to say more, but held his tongue.

There was a silence. The train rattled on the tracks.

‘My name’s June, by the way,’ I said quietly.

The man smiled, the creases around his mouth deepening. A warm smile. The kind you’d give to a friend or family member you hadn’t seen in a long time.

‘Nice to meet you, June. Like the month? That’s a really pretty name. Were you born in June?’

I hesitated. I knew where my name originated, but the words were struggling to make their way to my lips. ‘No, September. It’s short for Juniper. I was named after my grandmother.’ I eventually replied.

‘That’s lovely. Is she still around?’ The man asked. ‘Your grandmother, I mean.’

I looked down, pressing my lips together. ‘No, she’s gone. Lost her a few years ago, unfortunately.’ I still remembered the deep, gut-twisting grief at the news, the tears that carved rivers down my face at her funeral.

‘Hi! Sorry to interrupt you two, hope you’re having a good time. I’m your conductor. I’ll be getting you to your final destinations.’ A man wearing a dark suit lined with a lavish gold stitching and a pin beside his tie greeted us warmly.

‘Hi, nice to meet you! I’m June,’ I said, turning to the man I was with. I realised he hadn’t given me his name.

The conductor tilted his head, then his face quickly washed over with a smile, as if he knew something I didn’t.

‘Thanks for taking us! It’s been a great journey so far.’ The man said.

‘Of course! I’m glad you’re comfortable. I’ve always loved being a conductor, so I’m so happy I’ll get to do it for you wonderful people one last time.’

For some reason, his words made my blood curdle, but the man simply smiled knowingly.

‘Oh? Are you resigning after this?’ I questioned. The conductor was by no means old –his dark hair poked out in tufts under his hat, his skin smooth and speckled with spots from the sun.

‘No, but I’ll be staying at the destination for a while. We all will.’

The man I was with shifted uncomfortably. ‘Do you mind me asking how you –?’ He trailed off.

‘Oh, not at all. Train crash, actually. Ironic, considering everything.’ The conductor smiled warmly. I felt my brow furrow in confusion.

‘Oh, of course. Well, good luck with everything. It’s been nice meeting you.’ The man said, and the conductor smiled, panning to me, a glint of something unrecognisable in his eyes. Then he promptly stood up, approaching two old ladies sitting side-by-side at a table nearby.

The train rattled and the cards slid along the table. I caught them before they could slide off.

‘Good catch,’ the man remarked, and I smiled meekly. He continued shuffling, the cards snapping together on the table as he wedged them between each other.

‘You never told me your name,’ I prompted, my fingers drumming on the table. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but the limited interactions I’d had on the overnight train had an unsettling wrongness lingering just beneath the surface.

‘It’s the journey, you know?’ He didn’t look up. ‘Things merge together, a lifetime put behind us, a bridge to another place. You forget things.’

I didn’t know what he was saying, but I felt my heart speed up, drumming in my ears.

The man continued, ‘Do you remember? How you died?’

Time froze. The train carriage swayed. My stomach churned.

‘What?’

‘Do you remember how you died?’ He asked again. I felt blood rush to my cheeks. His face was stony, his eyes cold.

‘I’m not dead,’ I said, smiling, as if I was readying for him to tell me it was all a joke.

The man softened. ‘You really don’t know?’ He asked. ‘Everyone here is dead. We’re all on a journey –a journey to a place none of us have ever been, and none of us will ever leave. But you’re dead, June. We all are.’ His voice was kind but had a hard edge to it, the blunt truth with tones of empathy underneath.

‘What? No, I’m not dead. I’m going to see my parents. I’m going home. I’m spending Christmas with my family.’ My breath quickened, my mind somehow running a million miles an hour but also not at all.

‘June,’ the man said, but I couldn’t hear him. ‘June!’

My head snapped up, my breath frozen on a path to my lungs.

‘Just breathe, okay? You’ll be okay. What’s the last thing you remember?’ He asked, and I cast my mind back. Boarding the train, surely. When did I do that? Somehow, I couldn’t remember it. Somehow, I couldn’t remember packing my life into a suitcase and entering the train I was sitting on.

But somehow, glimpses of the road at night came back to me.

Bright headlights. A child screaming. No, not just any child. My child. Rain beating against my windshield. Screeching tires and the sound of a body slamming against the dashboard.

My body.

‘Oh, god,’ I whimpered. My stomach lurched with sickness. My child. My child. What had happened to her? Where was she? And what had happened to me?

‘It’s okay, June. Talk to me. What happened?’

‘I –I was in a car, and a kid –my kid was screaming –oh, God. What happened to her?’ I could picture her round face, her smile that carved into her chubby cheeks, her dark brown eyes, her chocolate hair that I used to braid, but her name. What was her name?

‘If she’s not here with you, it means she survived, June. She’s alive.’ The man said tenderly.

‘Oh, God, no. This can’t be real.’ My throat felt thick, my eyes hazy with tears. I felt the memories meld together and begin slipping away. I couldn’t be dead. What had happened to my life? Everything had been thrown away, like a used tissue, buried at the bottom of the wastebin.

‘It’s okay, June. You can let go. Let it all go. You forget things on your journey, and that’s okay.’

But I didn’t want to forget. I wanted to remember. I wanted to cling onto the memories and hug them tight like I did my daughter on cold winter’s mornings, our breath coming out in clouds in front of us.

‘What happens now?’ I asked hoarsely. ‘What happens once we’re dead?’

‘You see the world out that window?’ I hadn’t noticed it before, the window beside our table. The world rushing by. Trees and houses, buildings and snow.

I nodded, my eyes wide.

‘We become a part of it. The journey will end once you’re ready. I’m still hung up about how hard I worked before I died. But when you let it all melt away, you become the cold mornings and snowy nights and Christmases. You become the magic that keeps the rest of the world alive.’

I wiped my eyes, my heart in my stomach.

‘That sounds nice,’ I said quietly. My daughter –whatever her name was –could live with a part of me forever, and I could hug her with warmth on the cold mornings and willow in her frosty breath.

‘You just need to let go. Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault.’

His words were comforting, like a soft mattress beneath a tired body.

But I could still remember my name. I could still picture my daughter’s face and the headlights that ended it all, despite the small details slipping away.

Maybe my journey on the overnight train would be longer than just one night.