Devil on the train.

I had such an eerily vivid dream last night. I was on a train; one of those old steam-engine models that doesn’t run these days. It’s body was ornamented with the most exquisite oriental carpets, the walls crammed with water pipes, african wood sculptures and the occasional dead plant in carefully painted clay pots. The air was thick with steam from the ever laboring engine, and smelled of dust and oil. There lay a muted silence over the train; not the serene absence of sound that can be ever so welcome in a busy world, but the nasty pressing one, that makes your ears ring and your nerves tingle in relentless foreboding. 

The horrors I faced there where unspeakable, so forgive me for giving them little mention, and I pray I shall never know such dread again. 

I met the Devil, that night on the train. He was so understanding and kind, it was almost painful. Even though I knew he was the very one to blame for my presence there, I felt I could confide in him. And I did. He didn’t say much, but I knew that every word was heard, and felt. It made me think. Maybe God and the Devil aren’t two separate beings. We have learned that we were created in the image of God, and as yet, I have not met one person in this world who is altogether good, nor altogether evil. Then perhaps, is it absurde to speculate, it is the same with God.

I wrote this some time ago, and decided to elaborate on it for an assignment in class, where we where to write creative nonfiction. The prompt was to take an actual event and embellish to make it more interesting. I chose to make my story a mix of the first span of my trip travelling through Europe, and the above told dream.

Devil on the train.

It took me a while to fall asleep. Even though I was exhausted from the days events, my thoughts kept me up, and I tried to imagine the journey ahead of me. The low rumble and occasional screech of the wheels crashing against the rails was exhilarating, and the lights that was racing across the walls of the coach car entranced me. 

Mom and her boyfriend Jonas had insisted they’d walk me to the station. As I hugged them goodbye and heaved my new, big hiker’s backpack on to my shoulders, mom grabbed my hand and wouldn’t let go. Jonas almost had to drag her away so I could board. She started crying then, and I felt horrible as the doors shut between us. I wanted so badly to hold her and say it was alright and that she didn’t need to worry. But there was no time. As the train rolled out of the station, she started running. She was waving frantically and wiping her face with her sleeve. I did my best to look encouraging as I waved back through the window. Then the train rounded a corner and she was gone.

To get to Paris I had to make a switch of trains in Copenhagen. I’d booked a night train and as I stood waiting on the platform I was approached by a young man, not much older than myself, who was heading the same way. He spoke with a lovely Australian accent and I was excited to already be making friends. He told me his name was Rhys and that he was currently studying engineering in Austria. 

It turned out our tickets put us in the same cart, and as we entered we were met by a quiet gentlemen by the name of George. He had a solemn almost sad look about him, and he seemed to be constantly estimating his surroundings. He gave both me and Rhys a sharp look as we entered, but greeted us in a polite manner. The three of us sat talking for hours, although admittedly Rhys and me did most of the talking while George sat across from us nodding, making occasional remarks or vaguely answering questions fired off in his direction by me and Rhys. Thinking about it though, I never managed to learn anything about George himself.

Eventually we turned off the lights and crawled into our bunkbeds. George was now snoring gently in the bed across from mine, and although he was completely quiet, I could almost sense Rhys’s breathing in the bed over me. I caught myself wondering if he too was awake. Slowly, as my thoughts spun round and round, I was finally overtaken by sleep.

I woke up with a start. The air in the car felt strangely stale and I realised I was clammy with sweat. It was still dark and I kicked off the covers hoping I could go back to sleep, but I was suddenly wide awake. I had a creeping feeling something wasn’t quite right, but couldn’t for the life of me imagine what. I tried putting the feeling off as misplaced and absurd, and listened for George’s gentle snoring in an effort to calm my self. I realised I could no longer hear it. I looked over to find the bunk was empty. More over, it looked like it had never been slept in. I thought he might have left the train, but remembered he couldn’t have. The train wouldn’t stop until morning.

As I lay there listening I noticed something else too. Above the screeching of the rails was another sound. A huffing and puffing and then the blowing of a whistle. I sat up and looked around bewildered. The cart was completely different. Instead of the creamy linoleum walls that had been there when I fell asleep, they where now a deep maroon, and the windows had white lace curtains that obscured the light shining through. I lay one hand on the wall next to me. It felt like satin. I turned cold. This wasn't the train I'd stepped onto this morning.

Suddenly there was a creaking from the bunk above me as someone shuffled about. My mind when’t to Rhys, and I wondered if it was still him lying in the bunk above me. The blood was pumping in my ears as I slid out of the bed and grasped the ledge so I could heave myself up. I peeked over the rail of the top bunk and let out a sigh of relieve as I recognised the messy brown hair and green T-shirt. I reached out a hand to tap Rhys’s shoulder when he suddenly turned around. I froze. It looked like Rhys; His face was long with high cheekbones, a pointy nose and a slight stubble covering his chin and part of his neck. But his eyes had turned completely black, and as I stared, his thin lips parted and revealed a row of shining sharp teeth. The smile widened and spread over his face until it seemed as if there was nothing except teeth and that horrid smile.

I fled then. Rushed out of the cabin and down the hall in blind panic. I opened the door at the end of the car, and hurried through. And almost toppled over. There was not the rubber corridor I’d expected, but open air, and the rushing wind would have swept me right off the train had there not been a fence. I grabbed the railing and pulled myself up. Holding the two cars together was a heavy hook and beneath it I could see the ground rushing swiftly by. Driven by fear I made the jump, rushed inside and secured the door behind me.

I sat down against the wall and put my head in my hands, panting heavily. After a while I had recovered enough from the shock that I could raise my head and look around. I tried to make sense of where I was. It struck me the train was one of those old steam-engine models that shouldn’t run these days. The cart I was in now was ornamented with the most exquisite oriental carpets, the walls crammed with water pipes, african wood sculptures and the occasional dead plant in carefully painted clay pots. The air was thick with steam from the ever labouring engine, and smelled of dust and oil. There lay a muted silence over the train; not the serene absence of sound that can be ever so welcome in a busy world, but the nasty pressing one, that makes your ears ring and your nerves tingle in relentless foreboding.

Suddenly I became aware of a sniffling noise, and I felt as if my heart stopped. ‘Mom!’ I cried out. I could hear her clearly over the rumbling of the train, but I couldn’t make out where the sound came from. I was again overtaken by that unbearable urge to hold her. I got up, ready to look for her, but fell back against the wall. The horrible toothy grin on would be Rys’s face appeared before my inner vision and I was suddenly overwhelmed by helplessness.

Suddenly my eyes caught a movement from the corner of the room. A dusty old spin chair that was half hidden in a corner, started to slowly turn towards me. It’s back was so high that I hadn’t been able to tell anyone was sitting in it until the figure was already facing me. 

If it was because of the shock, or the drastic change of atmosphere as my attention was directed towards the figure in the chair, I cannot say, but the single moment it took for that creature to face me felt like a lifetime. The room went cold and I could feel the hair on my entire body stand on it’s end. The stale air seemed to thicken and I felt as if every breath I drew was a mass of heavy sticky smoke that burned my lunges. I looked up and saw black smoke was bursting out of the wide open mouth of the creature. As our eyes met, I realised the hideously misshapen form in the chair was George. 

Even if I found mom, I realised, I wouldn’t be able to tell her it was going to be alright.