by Lauren King
The train was quiet, the only sound coming from the brisk wind whipping against the windows—its chilled breath damp against the warmth of the insulated car—and the rhythmic pull of wheels spinning on the rails underneath. Outside, the world was midnight blue with faint stars speckled throughout the sky. Last night’s snow covered the ground, small puddles now icing over from a day’s thaw underneath the Pennsylvanian sun. The car rumbled against the rails, occasionally swaying with the wind. The seats—ten rows in sets of two with an isle running down the middle of the car, mustard carpet lining the floors—were almost empty. The car was still—a small child resting his head in his mother’s lap, a middle-aged man finishing up the remainder of a book (preferably historical nonfiction), a young girl slumped in her seat with her headphones glued over her ears, and Riley, looking out of the frosted window and mentally preparing himself for the holiday weekend with his family in rural Michigan. Riley reached for the shade, pulling it down to blanket the glass.
Riley rested his head against the seat, the back of his neck uncomfortable against the patchwork cloth. His lips sucked the air from the car, filling his mouth and pouring the oxygen into his lungs. One… two… three… four. The air pushed itself out of his nostrils, longing to be back in the car. His eyes wrestled beneath the lids, desiring sleep, but unable to ease themselves. Riley felt uneasy, unable to relax. He could only seem to focus on the soon arrival to his hometown of Sutton’s Bay. He hadn’t been home for the holidays since he turned eighteen, when he left the small town to attend college at a prestigious university. Riley had no idea what the town would be like now, let alone his own family. Riley hoped that with his father’s sudden, fatal disease, he would be able to spend some last-minute quality time with him. However, the reality was that Riley would be forced to spend most of his time with his unhinged mother and his trashy half-sister. He was going to be miserable. He opened his eyelids, pupils wide, searching for something to redirect his attention. Eyes the color of coffee searched the rows, until they met the seat of the young girl four seats back and to the left.
She fidgeted with the wiring of her headphones, fingers fumbling in circles around the cord. She changed patterns, running her finger down the wire until the tip of her fake, ruby-red nail slammed into the portable cassette player. Rounded cheeks rested against her fair face, each tinted with a rosy hue matted underneath large eyes. She reminded Riley of his older sister when she was in high school. Riley always squirmed when Annie put on her caked makeup—thick lashes and heavy blush, just like the unknown girl before him—the only thing that kind of look accomplished was driving his friends crazy. His lips began to curl and he receded into the safety of his seat.
He tilted his head to the side once more, eyes peaking in between the cushions, looking toward the girl behind him. A single tear rolled from the dimple of her eye, down the crease of her nose, until it hit the corner of her lips where her tongue poked out and carried the salt-stained drop inside her mouth. Her head jolted upward, her eyes meeting Riley’s. After a couple seconds, she tilted her head back downward, shoving her chin into her chest and wiping her eyes with the cuffs of her sleeves. Riley’s eyebrows furrowed and his lips pursed. His hand reached toward the armrest to pull his body upward, but his mind stilled his legs, commanding them to stay. He shifted his head back to the front of the car, staring at the bald opening atop the middle-aged man’s head.
Faint whispering stirred the silence, and Riley glanced toward both the man and the woman seated in front of him. The small child’s head was lifted, looking into his mother’s eyes. Chapped lips moved faintly, muttering without spilling any sound. Riley’s body eased, relaxing each muscle. Then, the whispers moved closer, growing louder and harsher, almost as if they were spoken in a foreign language. With each inch, his muscles tensed once more. Short breaths wafted over his right ear, cooling the skin and forming chills over each forearm. Riley shifted his head to the right, slowly turning toward the row of seats behind him.
“You’re going to die.”
The young girl was in the seat directly behind him. She leaned forward so much that her lips lightly brushed Riley’s ear and hot breath hugged his skin. He sat stiff, unable to move any limbs. His lips struggled to force the words out, his gut clenching and unclenching. His tongue pushed against the roof of his mouth to focus on the ridges. Nothing escaped his lips—not even his own breath. His fingers began to tremble, lightly tapping the armrest and creating a faint melody of clicks, a harmony of keratin and sleek, silver metal.
“There is nothing I can do. How do I save us? You have to help me save us.”
“Miss…” Riley attempted to interrupt her, cut her thoughts off, but she kept muttering.
“I am scared to die. We are all going to die…”
“Miss… please.” Riley was now facing her, his whole body turned toward her direction.
“No survivors… not one…”
“Hey!” He yelled loudly, waving his accessible hand at her with his fingers spread wide. The others on the car turned slowly, desiring to look, but unable to make direct contact.
“You have to help me. Please,” she whined, just as Riley’s sister used to when she was trying to convince their mom to get her something she wanted, but didn’t need. Riley stared into her eyes blankly. The girl’s eyes were wide, fingernails gripping the seat, digging into the cloth and creating new holes. Her lips quivered, chapped and raw, and they drew out short breaths that barely inhaled oxygen. Tears welled up in her eyes, but stopped before they began to drip down her cheeks.
“Why don’t you go talk to her about it?” He lifted his hand, a stiff finger raised toward the mother a couple rows up from the pair. From where the two were sitting, the only part of the woman they could see was her layered bob, the back ratted from rubbing against the seat. Riley shifted the weight of his body, attempting to turn back toward the front of the car.
“Hey, listen to me,” the girl said. “You have to listen. I can’t scare him like that.” The girl’s eyes shifted toward the little boy snoozing soundlessly against the chair. Short breaths filled the air as his chest rose and fell. His mother’s hand stroked the back of his head, fingers detangling his hair.
“Well, keep it up, and it’ll happen,” Riley muttered through loose lips.
“Then tell me, what exactly is wrong?” Riley said, his voice purposefully strained. He looked down at his wrist, examining the sharp, brown leather watch.
“We are all going to die.”
“Who?” He said with eyebrows raised, eyed narrowed, and head tilted downward.
“Each of us,” her boney finger lifted into the open air of the car, pointing first toward the middle-aged man, then the mother and child.
“How do you know this?”
“I saw it… I—I know. It sounds crazy. But, I saw it.”
“What do you mean?” Riley asked, further narrowing his eyes, his best ear tilted toward her lips.
“Since I was little, I’ve seen these um—uh visions. Like mini movies inside my head. It happens when I sleep, or when I’m awake, or…”
“Miss, what exactly are you saying? I don’t think I understand.” Riley extended his hand, allowing it to relax and flail about the air.
“I had a vision. And I saw our train crash. And there were no survivors. There will be no survivors.” Riley lifted his eyebrows, attempting an expression of utter shock. He allowed his lips to loosen, gaping a bit to imitate fear. The girl did not look at him, for she was too busy glancing around the room. Her eyes moved frantically from one window to the other, the front seat to the back. Her grip on the seat tightened, her fingertips now fully engulfed in the holes, ripping through fabric and digging into the cushion underneath. She looked down, pulling each finger out of the fabric with uneasy eyes and her lips tucked between her teeth, looking as if she was wearing dentures. She pulled away her palms, observing the red lint mixed with cream-colored fuzz sewn into her fingertips. She quickly rubbed her palms against the surface of her jeans, leaving the lint attached to the white-washed blue.
“Miss, everything is going to be fine. The conductor is very well trained. I mean, this is his job, ya know,” Riley said, attempting to calm the girl so he could turn back around in his seat. He felt a sudden aching pain in his heart that made his chest burn, so he reached over the seat to rest his hand over her own. “Trust me.”
She shook her head up and down vigorously, repeating, “okay,” to Riley over and over. She kept her eyes closed while repeating this, clasping them tight as if she were suffocating them. Her hand flipped over, grabbing Riley’s palm and giving it a tight squeeze, then released it. Riley gave her hand two quick pats and pulled his own back, praying that the girl would quit muttering and crying. He settled the back of his neck into the head rest once more, rocking it left and right until it was adjusted comfortably. His eyes locked on the ceiling, pupils rolled back to examine his skull, a long breath escaping at the same time. He was not used to her kind of behavior, and frequently glanced toward the mother in front of him hoping she would step in.
* * *
It seemed as though the girl had finally calmed down. She rested with her body slumped in her seat, the cushion behind her the only thing holding her upright. Headphones were placed on the top of her head, covering her ears; the music encased within the muffs blaring a soft punk song. Her eyes laid flat, the lack of wrinkles or creases making her seem at ease. Short breaths puffed out of the space between her lips, her chest rising and falling rhythmically. Riley brought the right side of his face back from being smooshed against the seat, pulling his wondering eyes from the girl before she noticed he was watching her.
Riley laid back in his seat, wiggling his body around until it was fully situated. His eyes locked on the ceiling above him, his thoughts overcrowding his mind. He was actually excited to see his father. He had been feeling guilty about not visiting him more often, especially since Riley found out about his disease. However, Riley knew his father understood. His father was the only one to visit Riley at his graduation from Bucknell. In fact, his father was the only one in the family who supported Riley leaving at all. He supposed his mother could never grasp the thought of him leaving, especially to such a high-class area. Riley removed his eyes from their position toward the ceiling, closing the lids and allowing them to relax.
The girl woke gasping, clutching her hands to her chest as she grappled at her clothes, as if to rip the suffocating fabric from her body. Her eyes were wild as a rabid animal—lids wide, pupils so enlarged that her irises showed no color. Mouth gaped open, she tried to inhale the air within the car, but her lungs would not accept them. Her throat made an awful screeching sound like that of wheels against rail when braking. Riley stared at her, his feet planted and firm on the ground below. His arms went to grab at her, secure her from her flailing, but every time his mind felt the urge his limbs did not receive the message. The middle-aged man was in the seat next to the girl. With one hand encasing her shoulder and the other placed on her chest, he spoke to her in whispers. He grabbed her hand, placing her palm against his own chest. His face remained at ease, his voice continuing with whispers—words only for the girl to hear.
The mother at the front of the train was standing on one leg, the other knee propped in her seat. Clutched to her waist was the little boy, his arms wrapped around his mother’s belly. His face was buried deep into her side, causing her skin to fall over his hair. Her palm was wrapped around the exposed side of his face, pushing him further into safety. Her eyes were concerned, her mouth pulled tight and teeth chewing at the inside of her cheeks. Riley’s body stiffened every time he heard her high waisted jeans rubbing against cloth each time she shifted her legs. When she did this, it pulled her dark green, button-up shirt tight around her stomach forcing the collar to shift backward encasing her neck. She waved her hand quickly, motioning Riley to assist the middle-aged man.
Riley turned his attention back to the pair. His ears unclogged after moments of ear-muffed shock.
“I’m telling you… please believe me… just say you’ll believe me…” she blurted the words out between short puffs of sobs. Saliva hung from her chin, dripping from her spit-filled mouth.
The middle-aged man looked at Riley, his eyes wondrous, seeming as if they were trying to pick Riley’s brain for any previous knowledge of the situation. Riley stared at him, his eyes locked on the green emerald’s morphed from the lenses of his wire glasses. The middle-aged man nodded his head toward the girl, forcing Riley to shift his gaze. He then shook his head swiftly in annoyance at Riley, rolling his eyes upward and fluttering his lids.
“Miss, I’m telling you. Nothing bad is going to happen,” the middle-aged man said. His voice was affirmative and sturdy—every word ended sharp, never missing a syllable.
The girl grabbed the middle-aged man by the collar of his navy-blue suit jacket, pulling the two separate sides together to where they hid his tie and crinkled his white shirt.
“WHY DON’T YOU BELIEVE ME! I’M TELLING YOU! WE ARE ALL DYING TONIGHT!”
She thrashed her arms downward, hitting his thighs with both of her fists. “HELL, PROBABLY WITHIN THE NEXT 20 MINUTES,” she screamed, her arms flailing around uncontrollably while emphasizing each word as she raised them, then slamming them back down with each syllable.
The mother was cradling her son, his soft whimpers growing into a steady cry. “Listen, can we not talk like this around him? He doesn’t understand, he’s only five,” the mother’s eyes were pleading, a single tear welling up in her eye.
“Miss, just calm down. There is no need to scare anybody, and it’s not good for you to get so worked up after your incident.” The middle-aged man placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder, but she shook it off with one swift move of her body. She huffed, a long sigh escaping her throat. She crossed her arms, then as quickly as she crossed them, they were uncrossed again and she was on the move. Shoving the middle-aged man’s legs out of her way, she pushed through him and into the isle of the car. Riley reached out to grab her arm, but his fingers only grazed the sleeve of her faux leather jacket.
“Miss! What are you doing?” Riley yelled, both of his hands reached outward with his palms wide.
“If no one is going to believe me, then I need to save myself,” the girl said while poking her chest with her index finger. “Forget about all of you, I’m getting out of here!” She began to turn around toward the door to the next car, but the middle-aged man spoke again before she could take a step.
“This is a moving train; how do you expect to get off? You’ll only hurt yourself.”
“We’re only 30 minutes out from the station, I just checked the system,” Riley said, trying to help the middle-aged man wrangle the girl back to sanity. “You might as well stay here and wait it out. You’re just anxious and need to sit.”
“You just don’t understand. No matter how many times I tell you. Every time I relax, I see us die.” She began to cry again, starting out with a whimper and then progressively increasing. She looked out the windows on the back right of the train, past a couple with their blinds open. Something caught her eye, causing her to stare. She walked over to the glass, her fingertips reaching out to the frozen surface.
“Oh no! No, no, no, no…”
She started to release harsh sobs, violent choking noises filling the car. Limbs flailed, then wrapped around herself to control the shaking of her whole body.
“What? What is it?” The mother stood with eyebrows raised, her body tense in anticipation. “SAY SOMETHING, DAMNIT!” The mother shouted, fear pouring into her expressions. Riley raised his eyebrows, his face immediately turned toward the mother’s direction. He gripped the seat in front of him, his own fingers now caught in the plush stuffing.
“That’s it,” the girl said with a wavering finger, “the bridge… I saw it… this is where it happens.”
Each passenger moved toward the glass, raising the closed blinds. The wind blew harsh, whipping crystal white snowflakes and chunks of ice into the frail windows. The frames creaked, screaming in pain from the plummeting ice, small splinters glittering the surface. The car rocked with each breath, as though it would run off the rails. In the distance, frozen trees tipped into the snow, laying down for a long night’s sleep, using the fresh powder as a blanket. The train rounded the bridge, allowing each passenger to view the scene. A large tree, tilting slowly, moving in fragments, crumbled onto the last segment of the bridge.
The mother looked horrified, holding her child and cradling his head into the safety of her chest, out of sight and unaware of the danger ahead.
“DEAR LORD! My husband’s waiting at the station! What do we do, I have to see him again!”
“Ma’am, we all have people waiting for us at the station, they’ll send help. They have to,” the middle-aged man said. His voice was suddenly wavering and unsure, causing Riley to tense his muscles. The middle-aged man slowly backed away from the window. He stumbled backward with wide eyes and jaw dropped so low it hung against his chest. He fell into the seat beneath him as the brakes squealed, drowning out every thought. Riley reached over the seat before him, hands extended toward the middle-aged man slumped in the seat.
The lampposts standing tall over the bridge illuminated the area just enough to see the oncoming incident. Riley stared at the girl behind him, bug-eyed and face red. She locked eyes with him as she bawled, harsh sobs escaping her lips, drool forming at the corners of her mouth, puddles leaking from her eyes. She mouthed through her sobbing, why couldn’t you believe me?
Riley thought of his family, how he had avoided them when all they did was try to love him the best way they knew how. He knew he should have visited more. He should have visited his father more. Riley stared at the girl before him, his ears swallowing her wails as the train plummeted off the bridge, scraped the cliff, and plunged down into the dark abyss.
Lauren King is currently studying both English and strategic communications at Oklahoma State University, and she will graduate in the spring. After graduation, Lauren hopes to work for a public relations firm, where she can pursue her love for writing within her career. Lauren is most interested in literary fiction, and she enjoys exploring realms of the supernatural, horror and mystery genres. In her free time, Lauren enjoys spending time with family and friends.