The tracks beneath the train screeched as it pulled into the disused station.
It only stopped there once a month- officially this place didn't exist.
All trains visited eventually, be it for maintenance or passenger collection.
The maintenance is generally based within the train's two engines.
Oil builds up somehow no matter how thoroughly it is drained and scraped away.
Every time it is replaces by fresh blood, just as it should be, to keep the ride smooth.
Side effects of this sadly include the screeching of the tracks as the live blood donors pass on.
They are never forgotten though, their names are carved into the driver's compartment.
Every train does this and the world is none the wiser for this or the station that does such repairs.
Regular travellers never remembered stopping there but were left feeling vaguely uneasy for weeks.
Some even develop a phobia of trains and find themselves unable to even look at one.
Even when the mind can't fully comprehend it still manages to leave us warnings.
This can also come down to that twisting feeling of dread when another passenger's eyes meet yours
as it is with every passenger brought on from that station.
Something in their eyes isn't right, isn't alive enough to be human and not dead enough to feel safe.
Their bodies don't move like they should either.
As ours are jolted gently by the train's movements they remain too stationary or slightly out of synch.
They get off at stops you'll never hear or see again, leaving behind wet leaves and the scent of lilac.
No comments:
Post a Comment