Last Train to Nowhere
She didn’t know how she got to the train station. There was a vague memory of walking in the foggy morning, between the dirt road and the train tracks, ticket in her hands.
A train pulled in as the sun rose, but it wasn’t the right one. Not that she had any reason in thinking so, it just didn’t feel right to rush on it along with the men in suits holding briefcases. They weren’t going to wherever she needed to go.
Another train came and went, more people getting on, some stepping off. Couples, more men in suits, families, solo travelers. Nobody noticed her standing on the platform in her nightgown and bare feet, despite the chill in the air.
Yet another train pulled into the station, then out. It wasn’t the one her ticket was for, she knew that much.
And another.
And even another.
None of them were the right one.
The sun set, and she stayed there waiting. There were no trains for a long time, and the question of whom or what she was waiting for breezed through her mind too quickly to dwell on. She would know when it was time, she was sure of it.
The clock in the tower at the station rung eleven times, and a passenger train pulled up to the platform. The lights were on in all the windows, and she could feel the warmth from inside just by looking through the glass.
A man stepped off and held his hand out to her. “This is your train, Miss,” he said.
Of course, this is the right one. He sounded so sure.
She followed him into the carriage and asked, “Where are we going?”
It was the first time she wondered. The first time any of it seemed strange.
He merely smiled at her, tucked her ticket into his jacket, and continued leading her through the car.
They passed people–or, she thought they did. Couples clinking champagne glasses, people celebrating something or other over dessert plates, passengers dressed to the nines. But something about them felt…fuzzy. Like she couldn’t get a good glimpse at anyone’s faces or make out any of the words they were saying.
She reached down to touch the fabric of her nightgown, feeling underdressed for the festivities, and found she was now donned in silks. And shoes! She was now wearing shoes. Again, though briefly, she found this odd.
“When did I change?” she asked the man. “I didn’t know I had this dress.”
He smiled once more, his face the only one she saw with any clarity, and said, “All in good time.”
They walked and walked, past more merry people and glittering garb and golden plates of sweets, until they reached a row of cabins. The carriage seemed to be endless, the hallway stretched as far as she could see. Soon, she couldn’t even hear the diners.
Eventually, they stopped. The man slid open the door and gestured for her to step inside. “Your cabin, Miss.”
It was a small room but elegantly decorated. A smooth sofa with fluffy pillows and thick blankets, drapes with the same beautiful embroidery as the tablecloths back in the dining area, a stack of leather-bound books.
“Make yourself comfortable, it will be a while.”
She sunk into the cushions. It was so cozy, she almost forgot. “Wait!” she called before he could slide the door shut. She repeated her question, “Where are we going?”
He nodded and said nothing, closing the door behind him.
Feeling, at last, in control of her limbs, she jumped up to open the door to ask again, but he was gone. The hallway was empty, the sounds from the celebrations so quiet and distant.
The urgency left her then, so she sat back down and picked up one of the books. Like the faces from before, the words didn’t quite form clearly in front of her eyes, but she still thought, Yes, I’ve read this one before. She turned the page, then the next, until half the book had gone by. She absorbed the narrative, but she couldn’t be sure she’d actually read anything.
“I must be dreaming,” she said aloud to herself.
But the couch beneath her and the book in her hands felt so solid, so real. She pinched her arm–”Ow!”–but she didn’t wake up. Maybe it’s not a dream after all.
She pulled back the drapes, but it was still so dark outside, only her reflection stared back.
A shadow, even darker than the night, crossed the window outside. Just a tree, she told herself. There were so many trees along the train tracks around here. Or at least, around where home was. The back of her neck prickled with cold, though. It didn’t feel like a tree.
Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak up. She couldn’t force her legs to move and go searching for answers. The book still laid open to the middle, where she left off, so she continued reading. It seemed like the best thing to do at the time.
It was too quiet in the car, she thought she might fall asleep. The subtle bounce of the train and whoosh of the wind was like a lullaby. When she looked up, there was a turntable on the opposite wall, directly across from her.
Was that there before? She got up and saw there was already a record in place, she just needed to move the needle. It was a jazzy, nondescript piece. Familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Something about it made her feel better, enough to sit back down and continue reading.
Another shadow floated past the window. The same shadow? But again, her reflection was the sole thing she could see in the glass. With the lights on in the cabin, though dim, she felt like there were eyes on her. Like she was putting on the most mundane show for someone.
But that couldn’t be right, the train was moving too fast for anyone to get a good enough look inside for long. For the second time, cold touched the back of her neck.
She sat back down, but she was unable to pick up the book again. She simply stared out the window, as if daring someone to look back.
It could’ve been hours, this staring contest. She never would have known. She wasn’t wearing a watch and there was no clock in the cabin. The sun should have surely risen by now. Dawn again. Only it was still pitch black outside.
The train began to slow. We must be arriving, she thought, dread creeping up on her. But where?
The wheels faintly creaked when the train came to a stop. At first, she waited for the man to come get her, but after several minutes, she knew he wouldn’t.
She stepped out into the hall. Nobody was there, nobody gathering their things to depart. Then again, she didn’t have any things to gather, so maybe they all just left. Unable to stop herself, she walked in the direction she was sure she came from until she found the dining room. It was empty: no people, all the plates and food cleared away and cleaned. It was as if nobody had ever stepped foot there.
At the end of the carriage, the man appeared. He walked over to the door and slid it open. Only black lay beyond it, the lights didn’t even cast a glow outside. He held out his hand for her to take.
“We’re here,” he said, still smiling, luring.
Her feet took her to him, her hand placed itself in his. She felt almost desperate as she asked, “Where?”
His grin, so charming before, turned wicked, and he yanked her away into the darkness.