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The Nocturnal Express
Stephen could hardly open his eyes. Using almost every bit of energy left in him he opened them. A bright beam of light glided into the lonely platform, followed by a breathless chugging and a shrill whistle. A train at this time? The minute arm of the station clock reached twelve and a series of twelve gongs announced that it was midnight.
Stephen had been successful in securing himself a comfortable spot in the lonely station where he would have to spent the next five long hours until the train arrived at dawn, the next day. He had rested for merely half an hour when he saw a train moving into the snowy station. The dark and unusually large engine of the train would generally develop a feeling of suspicion and horror in the person who would be fortunate enough to see its grandeur in a snowy moonless night on a deserted station. Quite the contrary, Stephen was feeling rather happy. Perhaps his own mistake in predicting the timings of the next train filled him with joy. He didn't have to spend five hours at that lonely station all by himself. What could be more satisfying? he thought. It took a bit more than two minutes for him to pack his belongings into the trunk. Ready to board the train, he made a brisk walk towards the nearest door into the train. As he passed the engine, he made a quick stop to look at the name. He could see the glittering words on the side of the engine shining in the light from the station lamp. 'The Nocturnal Express' it read.
Even before he made an attempt to knock at the door, it opened and in the bright light of the compartment there stood a thin man, with wavy black hair and a short, shrewd smile on his face. Disregarding all the peculiarities that might have caught his attention, Stephen hurried into the compartment, the conductor at the gate helping him with his trunk. As Stephen made himself comfortable in his seat he heard a shrill whistle and with a spontaneous jerk, the train glided out of the station.
In some fifteen minutes, Stephen had made himself comfortable in one of the coupes. The train was now speeding violently through the moonless night, leaving behind nothing more than a trail of dark smoke. Although while boarding, Stephen had promised hours of rest on the train, he was unable to rest his eyes for even five minutes. It seemed that the peculiarities of the situation had ultimately caught his attention. He couldn't make himself believe that the train which was to arrive at dawn next day had arrived hours before its scheduled time. Also there was quite an unusual silence in the coach. He thought to himself, it is midnight, perhaps everyone is resting. But on his way to the washroom and back, he was not able to see a single soul on the compartment. As these thoughts came hurling towards him, he felt a bit eerie. The coupe in which he was seated added to the eerieness. Black coach walls and seats covered with red velvet was not the usual for trains in Scotland. Although there was a considerable amount of doubt in his mind, his joy of finding a train hours beforehand overpowered his anxiety and finally forced him to believe that the restlessness and anxiety in him were the effects of an empty stomach.
Tightening the strap of his overcoat, he went in search of the man who had led him into his coupe. After about five minutes of travelling from one coach to another, Stephen was pretty sure that he was the only person on 'The Nocturnal Express'. There was no sign of any attendant or the conductor. As Stephen returned back to his coupe and sat down in his chair, the eerieness and abusrdness of the train and the series of the events that had happened to him, again floated back to him. The unusually big engine, the mysterious conductor, and the absence of passengers, all these factors formed a subtle fright in him. His expressions gradually changed as the colours from his face drained and there was a touch of fright in his crooked eyebrows. As Stephen started to process all the facts in his head, there was a sharp knock on the doors. As his attention as well as vision shifted towards the door, his expressions worsened and his face turned almost white. Standing at the door was the same man who had mysteriously disappeared a few minutes back when Stephen had gone to order for his dinner. His pale hands held a silver tray which probably supported the dinner. How could he have read my mind? Stephen thought as he gazed at the brown eyes of the man. As the man left, Stephen moved towards the tray put down on the table in front of him. Irrespective of the fact that just a few minutes back Stephen was filled with horror and fright, he started to relish the food served, as if some sort of magic had overpowered his conscious.
Two hours had already was away. Stephen could not rest for even a minute though he kept on trying. He tried his best to make himself believe that everything had been normal, and that it was just his mind playing games with him, none of this was real. He could feel the tiny drops of sweat trickling down his forehead. He could feel the train gradually decrease speed. A station was approaching, he thought. A sudden urge made him determined to get down from the train. Something, he thought was definitely fishy about the train. He covered himself carefully to protect himself from the cold outside and took his trunk. As he was about to open the door of the coupe, he heard a whispering voice floating in the air, "The time has not come yet." Stephen didn't understand the meaning of this nor did he want to. He opened the door and burst out into the corridor. His walk turned out into a brisk run as he made his way towards the coach door. Perhaps the best was kept for the last.
As he tried to open the door of the coach, he noticed that it wouldn't budge. He tried his best to move it even by a bit so that he could slip through the gap. His hands started to sweat, which added to the problem. For the second time he heard the strange voices, "Welcome to the Nocturnal Express". Seeing no progress in opening the door, he returned to his coupe, his whole body drained in sweat as well as fear. Whose voice was echoing in the air? Stephen was a agnostic but the series of events that he had witnessed in the last few hours made his mind determined of the presence of supernatural in the world. Suddenly he happened to look at his watch and his fear was increased exponentially. It was already six in the morning. Did he spend six hours on the train? Immediately his attention went towards the window searching for even a flicker of light in the horizon. But it was complete darkness. The situations were so worse that he couldn't even make himself believe that the watch might have been broken. He fell to the nearest seat. The eeireness of the black coach walls and the red velvet seats seemed to mock him. Will he ever make it out of the train? He wanted to cry, but tried hard to contain his emotions and stay calm, though tears were sliding down his cheek. He would never be able to see the light of the day again. The Nocturnal Express appeared to him as a train to hell.
No, he didn't want that to happen. I have to get out somehow, he thought. So he made his second attempt. The train was gaining speed but he just wanted to get out of the train. The fact that there was no nearby station, didn't come to him. He burst into the corridor, and ran for the door. To his utter amazement, he kept on running but there was no end to the corridor. As if he was running in an eternal loop of darkness. How long could the train be? He thought. He increased his speed. He heard the strange voices again, mocking at his condition. He finally stopped after a minute or two. He could see no end to the corridor. What he could see in front of him was only darkness. The voices lurking in the air were suprresed by Stephen's sobbing. He fell on the ground. He had given up. There was nothing he could do. The voices died away. And in the silence of the cold night, he laid there on the red carpet, listening to the distant chugging of the engine.
Stephen woke up with a jerk, still breathing frantically and sweating as if it were summer. It took him a couple of minutes to register the surroundings in his subconscious mind. He was sitting in the same lonely station with a thick blanket over him. "Then it was all a dream" he murmured as a foolish little smile appeared on his face. The colours returned to his face and for a split second, all the happiness in the world was in him. Perhaps all happiness doesn't last long. Just then, he saw a spot of light far away, which slowly materialised into a train. All the colours were drained off his face as did the smile. He made no mistakes in recognising the same dark and unusually large engine with a series of letters at its side glistering in the light of the station lamp - " The Nocturnal Express". As the train stopped, the minutes hand of the station clock reached twelve and there were twelve successive gongs. Some kind of force pulled Stephen towards the nearest door into the train. His face was nearly white, and his eyes didn't move away from the train for a single second. The door opened by itself and in the bright light of the coach there stood a very thin man, with wavy black hair and a familiar short, shrewd smile. Perhaps another ride on "The Nocturnal Express " wouldn't be any worse.
Stephen had been successful in securing himself a comfortable spot in the lonely station where he would have to spent the next five long hours until the train arrived at dawn, the next day. He had rested for merely half an hour when he saw a train moving into the snowy station. The dark and unusually large engine of the train would generally develop a feeling of suspicion and horror in the person who would be fortunate enough to see its grandeur in a snowy moonless night on a deserted station. Quite the contrary, Stephen was feeling rather happy. Perhaps his own mistake in predicting the timings of the next train filled him with joy. He didn't have to spend five hours at that lonely station all by himself. What could be more satisfying? he thought. It took a bit more than two minutes for him to pack his belongings into the trunk. Ready to board the train, he made a brisk walk towards the nearest door into the train. As he passed the engine, he made a quick stop to look at the name. He could see the glittering words on the side of the engine shining in the light from the station lamp. 'The Nocturnal Express' it read.
Even before he made an attempt to knock at the door, it opened and in the bright light of the compartment there stood a thin man, with wavy black hair and a short, shrewd smile on his face. Disregarding all the peculiarities that might have caught his attention, Stephen hurried into the compartment, the conductor at the gate helping him with his trunk. As Stephen made himself comfortable in his seat he heard a shrill whistle and with a spontaneous jerk, the train glided out of the station.
In some fifteen minutes, Stephen had made himself comfortable in one of the coupes. The train was now speeding violently through the moonless night, leaving behind nothing more than a trail of dark smoke. Although while boarding, Stephen had promised hours of rest on the train, he was unable to rest his eyes for even five minutes. It seemed that the peculiarities of the situation had ultimately caught his attention. He couldn't make himself believe that the train which was to arrive at dawn next day had arrived hours before its scheduled time. Also there was quite an unusual silence in the coach. He thought to himself, it is midnight, perhaps everyone is resting. But on his way to the washroom and back, he was not able to see a single soul on the compartment. As these thoughts came hurling towards him, he felt a bit eerie. The coupe in which he was seated added to the eerieness. Black coach walls and seats covered with red velvet was not the usual for trains in Scotland. Although there was a considerable amount of doubt in his mind, his joy of finding a train hours beforehand overpowered his anxiety and finally forced him to believe that the restlessness and anxiety in him were the effects of an empty stomach.
Tightening the strap of his overcoat, he went in search of the man who had led him into his coupe. After about five minutes of travelling from one coach to another, Stephen was pretty sure that he was the only person on 'The Nocturnal Express'. There was no sign of any attendant or the conductor. As Stephen returned back to his coupe and sat down in his chair, the eerieness and abusrdness of the train and the series of the events that had happened to him, again floated back to him. The unusually big engine, the mysterious conductor, and the absence of passengers, all these factors formed a subtle fright in him. His expressions gradually changed as the colours from his face drained and there was a touch of fright in his crooked eyebrows. As Stephen started to process all the facts in his head, there was a sharp knock on the doors. As his attention as well as vision shifted towards the door, his expressions worsened and his face turned almost white. Standing at the door was the same man who had mysteriously disappeared a few minutes back when Stephen had gone to order for his dinner. His pale hands held a silver tray which probably supported the dinner. How could he have read my mind? Stephen thought as he gazed at the brown eyes of the man. As the man left, Stephen moved towards the tray put down on the table in front of him. Irrespective of the fact that just a few minutes back Stephen was filled with horror and fright, he started to relish the food served, as if some sort of magic had overpowered his conscious.
Two hours had already was away. Stephen could not rest for even a minute though he kept on trying. He tried his best to make himself believe that everything had been normal, and that it was just his mind playing games with him, none of this was real. He could feel the tiny drops of sweat trickling down his forehead. He could feel the train gradually decrease speed. A station was approaching, he thought. A sudden urge made him determined to get down from the train. Something, he thought was definitely fishy about the train. He covered himself carefully to protect himself from the cold outside and took his trunk. As he was about to open the door of the coupe, he heard a whispering voice floating in the air, "The time has not come yet." Stephen didn't understand the meaning of this nor did he want to. He opened the door and burst out into the corridor. His walk turned out into a brisk run as he made his way towards the coach door. Perhaps the best was kept for the last.
As he tried to open the door of the coach, he noticed that it wouldn't budge. He tried his best to move it even by a bit so that he could slip through the gap. His hands started to sweat, which added to the problem. For the second time he heard the strange voices, "Welcome to the Nocturnal Express". Seeing no progress in opening the door, he returned to his coupe, his whole body drained in sweat as well as fear. Whose voice was echoing in the air? Stephen was a agnostic but the series of events that he had witnessed in the last few hours made his mind determined of the presence of supernatural in the world. Suddenly he happened to look at his watch and his fear was increased exponentially. It was already six in the morning. Did he spend six hours on the train? Immediately his attention went towards the window searching for even a flicker of light in the horizon. But it was complete darkness. The situations were so worse that he couldn't even make himself believe that the watch might have been broken. He fell to the nearest seat. The eeireness of the black coach walls and the red velvet seats seemed to mock him. Will he ever make it out of the train? He wanted to cry, but tried hard to contain his emotions and stay calm, though tears were sliding down his cheek. He would never be able to see the light of the day again. The Nocturnal Express appeared to him as a train to hell.
No, he didn't want that to happen. I have to get out somehow, he thought. So he made his second attempt. The train was gaining speed but he just wanted to get out of the train. The fact that there was no nearby station, didn't come to him. He burst into the corridor, and ran for the door. To his utter amazement, he kept on running but there was no end to the corridor. As if he was running in an eternal loop of darkness. How long could the train be? He thought. He increased his speed. He heard the strange voices again, mocking at his condition. He finally stopped after a minute or two. He could see no end to the corridor. What he could see in front of him was only darkness. The voices lurking in the air were suprresed by Stephen's sobbing. He fell on the ground. He had given up. There was nothing he could do. The voices died away. And in the silence of the cold night, he laid there on the red carpet, listening to the distant chugging of the engine.
Stephen woke up with a jerk, still breathing frantically and sweating as if it were summer. It took him a couple of minutes to register the surroundings in his subconscious mind. He was sitting in the same lonely station with a thick blanket over him. "Then it was all a dream" he murmured as a foolish little smile appeared on his face. The colours returned to his face and for a split second, all the happiness in the world was in him. Perhaps all happiness doesn't last long. Just then, he saw a spot of light far away, which slowly materialised into a train. All the colours were drained off his face as did the smile. He made no mistakes in recognising the same dark and unusually large engine with a series of letters at its side glistering in the light of the station lamp - " The Nocturnal Express". As the train stopped, the minutes hand of the station clock reached twelve and there were twelve successive gongs. Some kind of force pulled Stephen towards the nearest door into the train. His face was nearly white, and his eyes didn't move away from the train for a single second. The door opened by itself and in the bright light of the coach there stood a very thin man, with wavy black hair and a familiar short, shrewd smile. Perhaps another ride on "The Nocturnal Express " wouldn't be any worse.
