NIGHT TRAIN

             

                                                   

                                                            NIGHT TRAIN

     Now he was sure it was following him. But it wasn’t. No, now he was sure. Just past the old house with the vines webbing up to the second story where the wood balcony hung among the blooms mostly withered he heard it rustling in the dead leaves, and since it was dark, and since there were so many magnolias on the street, and since where were always cats, he new what a cat sounded like in dead leaves. But he tried not to increase his pace because nothing was following him.

     The street was dark. There was the liquor store sign. There was the bait shop sign. It was out. The last light on the street was the mortuary sign with the trimmed junipers around the entrance and the dark door and a few dark windows and all the dead bodies inside staring.

     He was near the beach, wasn't he? That’s where Bill and Shirley and Ellen and everyone lay in the sun or walked the Boardwalk. That’s where they got stoned and rode the rides all night and laughed. But now he had choice, either the street with no more lights or the railroad tunnel.

    A train came through at night sometimes but it wasn’t a long tunnel and there was plenty of room on both sides of the tracks if one did come. The street without the lights was longer and lined with old houses and dead leaves, and dead people.

     So it was the tunnel and the tracks with the gravel. Cats don’t make a sound on heavy rock fill and the train always gave a warning blast as it neared. There was plenty of time to run to the street on the other side right near the house. God, it would be good to get into the house, turn on the lights, the music, talk to his roommates but of course he would not say anything about it following him. Nothing was following him. Nothing ever did.

     He stopped when he heard two crunches behind him. He walked on. He quickened his pace hopping on a rail and listened but there was nothing so he loped from tie to tie thinking about all the blackberry bushes along the side of the tracks and the jam Bill and Shirley and Ellen and he had made once. He stopped and waited. There was a crunch, then another. He walked fast now, looking at the tunnel ahead pitch black in the rock face around it. He'd be through and into the house in an instant. He concentrated on the blackness and began to run, run faster, as fast as he could. It wouldn't get him. They wouldn't get him, even if they were right behind him, and they were. There was only the dark void of the tunnel he stared into, completely dark, no shadows, no forms, just peaceful black that exploded with the white headlight of the train as it raced out of the tunnel towards him.

     He was frozen in the middle of the tracks as the engine bore down on him. The whistle shrieked. He threw himself into a bush. The train roared past, shaking the ground. All he could do was stare at the wheels that began to spark blue as they slowed, as the train stopped.

     A boxcar loomed over him. He dug his fingers into the loose stones. The door opened slowly and they all smiled at him but he couldn’t move. Two lepers mumbled through lipless mouths as they smiled at him.  There were eyes without faces. There was a floating, opaque essence constantly changing shape, smiling monkeys, fanged harpies, naked men and women dancing.  A little girl with her hair and skirts on fire smiled at him. Little people smiled. Dogs and giraffes smiled. They were all smiling at him. Then a figure stepped down onto the tacks. It was a woman transforming from hag to beauty to adolescent to three days dead as she walked towards him. When she stood over him, she was elderly and bent.  She smiled.

     “Well? Well? We’re here. What’s the matter, dear? We’re here. Child, why are you so afraid? Stop clutching the gravel. You’re hurting yourself. Oh dear, you’ve wet your pants. Why are you afraid of us? We’re not here to hurt you. We will never hurt you. Why are you always afraid? Why do you cover your head in bed every night, close the closet doors so you can’t see us in the shadows? Don’t you see how lucky you are, dear? Look, a whole train full of us. Well, you’re still young. Don’t worry, dear. You’ll learn. But you must try and you must trust yourself. You’re so very special. Don’t let this interminably boring world, this mundane, pedantic, dogmatic world turn us against you. We’re yours. We’re all yours to do what you want with us, make of us what you want. Well, please hold on to yourself and trust yourself and us. I’ll make a point of somehow keeping everyone occupied and leave you alone for a while. How long do you need? Dear, how long do you need? Oh, you can’t even talk. It’s alright, dear. Don’t try.  We’ll give you a year then I’ll just come by myself and we can talk. How about an empty laundromat some night? How does that sound? Well, I suppose we better be going. Goodnight, dear, for now.”  

     She walked slowly back to the boxcar. A dead baby dropped from the car as she stepped on. She turned and shrugged. She smiled as the door closed. The train began to move. Soon it was roaring past him. It was a good ten minutes before the last car disappeared. 

     The night was cool. There was a slight breeze. He gritted his teeth and turned slowly to look at the dead baby but there was only a large tomcat staring at him. It began to purr.