Trains really were the invention of the century. Woodford couldn’t imagine anything more important than connection. Nothing else could spur progress in the same way.
However, they lost some charm when one had to take the same track every week again and again. The same plush seats. The same hour and a half. The same cart with a squeaky wheel rolling by at the same time. In fact, it should have been coming in the next minute.
Woodford stared at the floral design on the carpet, waiting for the cart with a squeaky wheel. Ridiculous. Nothing would change when it passed by. He wasted so much time sitting on trains to go to meetings and come back home. He needed to find a hobby.
Woodford pulled out a newspaper and tried to focus on an article about a girl telling stories about traveling to another world through a tunnel in her backyard, but his focus kept drifting away.
He could talk to people. He would have, but he was in a compartment alone. He could move, but he thought that might be odd. Hello, I am bored and lonely. Do you mind if I join your compartment? Superb.
That wouldn’t be awkward at all.
It occurred to Woodford again that the cart had yet to come by. In fact, no one had passed through the dimly lit hall. The staff should have walked past at least three times.
It wasn’t exactly a logical decision to go looking for the squeaky cart, but Woodford had nothing better to do. His life was endless repetition, what he wouldn’t give for some adventure. All he did was work; he had nothing else. No family. No loved one. No dreams.
This wasn’t exactly a trip through the looking glass, but it would have to do. He left his coat and briefcase where they were, heading for the front of the train. It swayed back and forth, occasionally jerking as it went around a tight bend. The train was moving really fast this morning. He hadn’t passed a soul.
Woodford moved to the next car. It was quiet. The only sound was the slam of the door behind him and the clacking of the wheels along the track. He hurried through the car, glancing in to find each compartment empty and the staff room vacant as well, though a fresh pot of tea was boiling over. Something was off.
One of the bright red walls had a dent in it that Woodford hadn’t noticed before, and in another place, the trim was barely hanging on. Had the station used an older car for some reason?
There was also a particular smell Woodford couldn’t put his finger on. It was faint and metallic, like a wet metal pan.
He could have written it off if not for the distinct sensation that someone was watching him. He told himself it was because he was alone and uncomfortable, but that didn’t stop the chill that went through him.
Next was the dining car, and it was always bustling with customers, cooks, and waiters. In fact, it was where he was heading in his search for the squeaky cart.
It was completely empty.
Woodford couldn’t slow his breath. It didn’t seem possible. One empty car was strange enough, but two? The statistical odds of that did not seem probable. In the dining car, no less! Not to mention the strange prickly sensation that followed him. In fact, he would argue that it grew stronger.
Woodford stood stock still. There was no reason to keep going forward. He was heading for the dining car, and he had gotten there. Behind the counter was the squeaky cart. He found it. Now would be a good time to go back to his own compartment. Though that didn’t explain why the cart hadn’t come by… it didn’t matter. He was almost to his stop, regardless.
He took a slow step forward. Woodford’s nose started to bleed. He spun around, looking for something to fix it with, leaning forward so he didn’t get blood on his work clothes. There, on the counter, was a box of napkins. After a minute, he was able to get the bleeding to stop. He looked down to see how much of a mess he made.
The end of the carpet was solid red. It was so covered in blood it was hard to see the printed maroon designs. Was it possible that he had bled that much?
Woodford tried to think back to see if the carpet had looked strange when he came in. All he could remember was looking in the kitchen and around all the tables, not the floor. It was probably just from the nosebleed, but…
It was all a coincidence. It had to be. What else could possibly be happening? Even if he went back to his compartment, he wouldn’t be comfortable until he proved the worries in the back of his mind wrong. He had to go on.
Woodford would have looked ridiculous if anyone had been watching. But he was alone. That sinking feeling was just a figment of his imagination.
There had to be a hoard of people waiting in the next car. Maybe he missed an announcement for some sort of entertainment. Perhaps stand-up comedy. He did so enjoy stand-up comedy.
His steps sped up, enthused by the prospect, but he still opened the door to the next car slowly, cautiously. He wished there was a window in the door so he could have some sense of what he was walking into.
The door creaked, and Woodford stepped inside, not processing what he saw until the door had already slammed shut behind him.
Blood covered the floors. Bodies draped across seats. Many were partially eaten, and several looked like they had been moved, bruises covering arms or heads with dents. But they were all dead. This was the community car. It was where the most people should have been. There weren’t nearly enough bodies. Woodford took a step back, slower than he should have, still trying to process what he was seeing, trying not to throw up. His hand reached the door handle.
Then he saw it. A shock went across his skin. He froze. Large wings draped on the floor. It was covered in black scales and spines, with teeth dripping red with blood. Each eye bored into him: yellow, slit, and almost as big as his hand.
He couldn’t look away from those eyes. It felt as though his heart would burst out of his chest. It would beat hard enough, and he would just drop dead. The monster took a step closer. Woodford could hardly breathe anymore. The monster stepped over a body, his tail dragging through wet blood.
Woodford caught sight of a small movement by the wall the monster had been standing in front of. A boy, about six or seven, crouched in the corner, shaking.
It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Yet it clearly was. Woodford knew well enough when he was awake and when he was dreaming. He was awake. The monster was just ten feet away.
Woodford glanced at the door behind him. He could make it, but he couldn’t leave the child. This was something he could do that would actually matter, that would be about more than just him or his company.
It wasn’t much of a plan, but it would have to do. Woodford threw his phone against the opposite wall, and the monster’s eyes followed it. Woodford darted past his side.
The child looked up at him hopefully, and the monster’s head jerked back in his direction.
The monster pounced. ◆
Hannah is a sophomore at University of the Cumberlands majoring in English and Communications. When not at school, she lives in Lexington, Ky. She has won several awards from the Scholastic Young Writers Association and KET.
Pensworth 