Ghost Train - Part 2

Dad's voice snapped me out of my shock status. After a short explanation of what has been happening he was worried and got to the station as quickly as possible to pick his daughter up.

I was certainly relieved when his car turned up and stopped in front of my pale, shivering body.

That night I slept at my parent's place. Well, I tried to fall asleep which finally happened after a 3 hours long struggle against fear.

As soon as sleep numbed my scattered mind a picture of the empty train turned my dreams into nightmares. Although there was nothing particularly horrifying about it, it made me feel helpless and lost. The train emitted an atmosphere that seemed to attract my consciousness.

The next day I approached a middle-aged railway official right before lectures started. He assured me that no train has been on the tracks near my station during 8:15 and 9:05 pm. Naturally this made me even more worried. He laughed it off and called me a prankster who's trying to scare him. His person seemed nervous about my question though, so I asked him if there was something wrong. The man's face suddenly changed to a concerned expression. He looked me over, leaned forward and whispered:

''So you're serious about this?''

I nodded since I had a lump in my throat. He shook his head like he was in disbelieve but then continued:

''See, no one here wants to work at night times,'' he looked at the other counters next to him with his co-workers talking to customers.

''They say this station was the last place a man named Wallace L. Gimbert has been seen. He lived in the 19^th century – don't remember when exactly. Was a kind-hearted railroad engineer loved by passengers. Rumors tell his whistle also had a unique sound.''

He stopped and tried to fake a smile. I couldn't believe this was the sole reason why nobody wanted to work until or during graveyard shift.

''That's all?''

''Nah, but lemme get this straight: I've got work to do and can't waste my time on crazy urban legends. My boss wouldn't appreciate that. I help you with tickets, schedules or other train related business though.''

I said goodbye, thanked him with a sick feeling in my stomach and went to university.

Studying and my fellow students distracted me from my last night experience. I told no one. They shouldn't think that I believe in a legend that's been passed around for 200 years. I forgot about it throughout the day. But as soon as I was alone again an eerie state of solitude cornered me.

Nothing unordinary happened the remaining week except bad dreams about the same picture over and over: Me standing in front of what looked like an invitation to a lonely ride into darkness.

I caught every train and the nightmares became less towards the weekend when I wouldn't use public transport. My dad called it off as a creation of my imagination due to no sleep and a hard day of studying combined with harsh weather. I wanted to believe him.

Monday came and went as usual. Oddly enough I slept like a baby, cuddled into my warm and cozy bed that night.

Tuesday morning I was resfreshed and gave off a healthy vibe. I had a great day at university and finally got a hang of a complicated series of lectures.

Hoping I had a lucky day my eyes glared at the windows during the last lecture. Nature crushed my hopes in form of an angry snow storm which was probably even more rude than a week ago.

''This time I'll do it,'' murmered through my head. Like a raving loony I jumped into the snow and stomped my way through the elements' barricade.

I ran, I stumbled, I panted but without success: With hurting throat and sides I arrived the moment the train departed.

Alarmed I looked about. Cold sweat ran down my forehead when I realized I was totally alone again. Not even the cats I heard fighting seconds ago remained at the station. The scoreboard said the same as last week: 50 minutes until the next train arrival. My stomach began to feel funny. To be more precise: My whole body reacted to this situation! It sent cold shivers up and down my spine, my heart began to race and thoughts telling me to call Dad or to leave shouted in my head. I felt dizzy and got on my knees with my bare hands touching the salt-snow slush-mix on the platform.

Then it happened.

Like a huge yellow eye the train's headlamp spotted my cowering self and crawled towards me. I felt like defeated prey ready to be eaten as the light grew brighter and the train opened it's big mouth-like doors once again before me.

I wished that I was dreaming. I prayed to wake up and bit my tongue in order to escape back into my bed but nothing happened. The uncanny vehicle was still in front of me.

Shaking I built myself up again.

The freezing wind played with my hair as I stood in the middle of lonliness facing the manifestation of my nightmares. The urge to vomit climbed it's way up my gullet, the diziness increased as I nearly collapsed. I strived after collapsing just to get out of this situation.

''Wallace Gimbert,'' I recalled the legend's protagonist. Suddenly prickling pierced the darkened thoughts of fear and misery. My brain seemed to brighten up. Saying his name worked like a command.

I'm not sure how long I fought with myself not to enter the train but I couldn't resist an unknown will to finally take a step forward. So I did. I obeyed and got inside.

The warmness of the heated passenger car welcomed me as the doors closed behind.

The tension inside my body cooled down. Breath after breath I got more relaxed.

I turned around and looked outside. My pupils widened as a man's silhoutte put a whistle in his mouth. A high-pitched yet soft sound penetrated my ears. ''A unique sound,'' my lips stated on their own.

Smoothly the train set itself in motion. I expected the lights to turn off but fortunately it didn't happen so I decided to take a seat.

On my way into the cabin my nose took note of many smells. I smelled bourgeoise perfume, leather, wood and sweat. For a moment I blamed it on my bizarre situation and therefore oversensitive senses but as I looked outside the window at my seat my hair stood on end. It's hard to describe. I try to forget about it. I try to erase it from my memory:

The light caused a reflection in the window. A reflection that showed people sitting on the empty seats. People dressed in old fashioned clothes: Men wearing top hats and tailcoats, women wearing fancy dresses.

I leaped to my feet. My heart sank into my boots as I looked at the ''real'' seats.The passenger car was empty. Nobody has been here except me. I turned to the window again. The reflections disappeared. So did the smells.

At this point I questioned my state of mind. I threw myself into the seat's cushion and waited until my legs stopped trembling. Desperately I started laughing and determined what to do next: Break the glass to get out of this freak show or pay a visit to the driver?

I favored the latter and walked through the cabins until I reached the end of the train: The driver's cab.

I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Of course. I knew it. Why should it be different? What was I expecting?

The cab was unmanned. No person operated the cockpit.

Speechless I placed my exhausted body on the free seat and buried my face in my hands. Tears ran down my wrists and dropped on my shoes. After some minutes of sobbing I noticed something carved next to buttons on the console. It read ''W.L.G'' Reading his initials gave me hope. I smiled and suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder. Obviously no one has been found but I stood up and let an apparent ghost sit down. I watched as the joystick moved by its own and the train getting faster. I saw buttons being pressed. And heard a silent ''Farewell'' just as I closed my eyes for a second to wipe away the tears with my sweater.

[...]

''Why are you crying, Miss? Is something wrong? Can I help you?''

I stood on a crowded platform. An old lady gave me a concerned look. ''I'm okay, thanks.'' I tried to make out where I was. I realized I was at my home station. Excited I turned around to see if I could take a last look at Gimbert's train. Shocked I noticed that it was a different type of vehicle. It was filled with many people. Modern clothed people.

''I know this sounds odd, but did I just get out of that train?''

''Of course you did. You stepped out crying. Are you sure you're alright?''
''Y-yes. I am.''

I felt up my shoulder as I sat down a bench to recall everything that has been happening.

I brooded over every detail and watched the station. The train I supposedly arrived with meanwhile has left the platform and made place for something which left me even more puzzled: The 8:15 train I missed opened it's doors for the passengers.

Ghost Train - Part 1

Erste kleine Horrorstory - und das auch noch in Englisch für die internationalen Leser, die Deutsch doch noch ein wenig abschreckt:

I'm a commuter. I start my day earlier than my fellow students and come home later than them. On Tuesdays lectures last till sunset – at least during winter season.

Being a commuter you naturally gather a bunch of experiences with public transport: From major delays to cancellations and even unfriendly conductors. You will meet many things that may upset you after a hard day of work or uni.

Nonetheless this is not supposed to be a letter of complaint but rather a tale of an odd encounter. To this day I can't explain what happened. I'm thinking about it on a daily basis, trying to find something to finally soothe my mind.

It's strange when you suddenly fall out of your routine and experience something that shouldn't exist.

It happened on the very weekday that ends at 8 pm. I sat in university and looked outside the large windows since the howling of a winter storm wouldn't stop bringing layers of glittering snow on the pavement. I began to worry: There was only one train I could catch to carry me home. Said vehicle departs at 8:15 pm – my usual time walking to the station takes about 10 minutes. But now that chaos and cold reigned the streets, I knew that I had to hurry.

Without saying goodbye to my fellow students I rushed out of the auditorium the moment my prof closed his mouth. Every minute was important.

On my way over the campus I nearly rammed a student and when I set foot outside I was greeted by winter itself, throwing snow, ice and sleet in my face.

Biting cold devoured my body heat as I cleaved a path through the fresh powder snow. Sprinting like a mad woman I felt my shoes giving in and my socks slowly getting wet. Irregular footprints showed how efficiently the weather slowed me down. I felt my breath becoming colder.

By then I had an uneasy sense of being late. And I was right: A short look at my watch revealed that I had no time left. So I ran faster, slipped on ice that was as smooth as glass and got up again.

Even though I jumped up the stairs to the platform I was too late.

The conductor's whistle shrilled through the night, the doors shut with a bang and the engines started moving the train. I let out a loud ''SHIT!'' and sat down on a bench nearby.

Catching my breath again I looked around. I was completly alone. There was no soul to see. Not a single living being. Only the stinging wind and me.

My tired eyes caught sight of the scoreboard. The next train was schedulded in 50 minutes – and it wouldn't even drive to my town.

A sigh escaped my coolish lips when I was reaching for my mobile phone. I pondered who to call to give me a lift: My parents, friends or maybe my sister? I didn't actually decide since two headlamps caught my attention. They were coming from something that moved towards me on the same tracks I just missed my last ticket home.

It was a bright light from afar, making the snow flakes shimmer in the darkness. Slowly, as if it was in no hurry, it came nearer, demasking it's mysterious origin: I made out a train cab and glimpsed a shadowy figure, probably operating the vehicle.

Then the whole train arrived at the station and stopped in front of me.

I checked the scoreboard again, thinking there might have been a sudden change. 45 minutes until the next train. Once again I looked around to see if there were any other passengers waiting. Still, it couldn't be helped: I was alone.

With their usual sound the doors opened. I waited for people to exit the train but nobody got out. In fact I couldn't even see one person inside. The train's lights were on but there was no trace of potential passengers.

Confused I decided to head to the driver's cab. I was hesitant to knock the outside doors at first but to my surprise no one answered. So I looked through the windows and learned that it was just as empty as the rest of the train. ''The driver must have left into one of the passenger cars,'' I mumbled to myself, trying to calm me down a little bit.

Unfortunately my nervousness only increased when I couldn't find him anywhere. To be honest I didn't enter the train. It obviously creeped me out a lot. Therefore there was no way he could have left the train without me noticing it.

My body started shaking. I didn't know whether it was caused by the bitter, cold night or the fact that an abandoned, fully lit train opened it's doors for me at a lonely station.

My conclusion was that I should get home as soon as possible. For some reason I couldn't get my eyes off the strange train. I went back to the bench and got out my phone. The moment I heard the first dial tone I nearly dropped my backpack: The doors closed again. The train moved. And on top of it: The lights went out. Even the headlamps disappeared along with the train into the night's body.

Das Milchglas, das den Sprung wagte

Man stelle sich vor: Auf einem Frühstückstisch einer kleinen Familie stand jeden Morgen ein halbvolles Milchglas. Dieses Milchglas war sich schon seit seiner Schmelzung im Glaswerk sicher, dass es niemals zerbrechen werde. Es fürchtete den Abgrund, der sich am Tischrand auftat, nicht.

Nach jahrelangem Überlegen fasste es unter der Dusche der Spülmaschine endlich den Mut am folgenden Morgen seine Festigkeit vor all den anderen Gläsern und insbesondere den arroganten, verzierten Porzellanbechern zu beweisen.

Da war es also: Das durchsichtige Gefäß mit dem weißen Inhalt auf dem frisch gedeckten Tisch.

Es musste schnell gehen, bevor alle Familienmitglieder erscheinen. So schob sich das Glas zielsicher, jedoch behutsam um keinen Tropfen zu verschütten, an den Rand des Tisches.

Es betete zum Herrn der Schmelze und spürte, wie die aufgeregten Blicke der anderen Gläser an ihm hafteten. Noch bevor die natürliche Angst eintrat, schwang es sich elegant nach vorne und fiel in die Tiefe.

Während dem Flug achtete es darauf, nicht umzukippen, um auf dem Boden keine Sauerei zu hinterlassen. Es erlebte vor lauter Ekstase das gesamte Leben noch einmal: Wie es von der Familie einst in einem schwedischen Möbelladen erstanden wurde, wie aus ihm das erste Mal getrunken wurde, wie es die anderen Gläser kennen lernte... Alle wichtigen Ereignisse spielten sich vor dem inneren Auge ab.

Und dann endete der Flug. Er endete auf einem weichen, gestreiften Widerstand. Das Milchglas spürte, wie es robust blieb und war sich für einen Moment sicher, dass alles vorbei war.

Doch der Widerstand zuckte wild, das Glas glitt hinab auf den kalten Boden und verlor das Gleichgewicht. Zwar befand es sich immer noch in heilem Zustand, doch der Inhalt ergoss sich über die Fliesen der Küche. Nun wurde dem Glas klar: Es landete auf dem Kater der Familie, welcher sich fauchend über die merkwürdige Aufweckaktion beschwerte. Doch schlaftrunken wie er war, lies er vom Gefäß ab und machte sich über die Milch her.

Keine Minute später betrat der Besitzer die Küche, fluchte etwas, und griff nach dem Glas.

In der Luft sah das Milchglas die staunenden und sprachlosen Gesichter der Anderen und fühlte sich stolz, jedoch nach all dem Trubel, Stress und Verlust der Milch innerlich leer.

Als es eine Stunde später wieder mit den Kollegen im Schrank stand, lobten ihn manche. Andere wiederum konnten sich nicht erklären, wie das Milchglas den Sturz überlebte. Niemand hatte den Kater gesehen, denn es traute sich keiner an den Rand des Tisches.

Das Glas überlegte, ob es sich erklären solle. Es dachte darüber nach, den Zauber zu vernichten und den Deus ex machina zu entblößen.

Herbstallee

Es war Herbst. Das sah man an den langsam herabfallenden Blätter der Linden. Man sah es an dem Laub, welches den Weg der Allee golden färbte. Aber man merkte es auch an dem Mann, der bedächtlich - und mit unsicherem Gesicht, die trockenen Blätter unter seinen Schritten zerbrach. Fast wie ein Störenfried fühlte er sich dabei. Als würde er die Ruhe zwischen den Bäumen durch seine bloße Anwesenheit aus dem Einklang bringen. So bemühte er sich weniger panisch und vor allem leiser in seiner ledernen Lehrertasche zu wühlen. Der Mann war auf der Suche nach seinem Fahrticket, welches er heute morgen ganz bestimmt wie immer in das hintere Fach verstaut hatte. Doch auch nach der fünften Komplettdurchsuchung war das Ticket nicht auffindbar. Es wäre das erste Mal in 15 Jahren, dass er diesen Fetzen Papier verlieren würde. Und dies wäre auch ganz bestimmt etwas, was ihn aus seinem Rythmus wirft. - So wie er es gerade mit den Bäumen in der Allee machte. Das Gesamtbild passte nicht und er wollte einfach nur nach Hause. Sich vom stressigen Arbeitstag erholen. So wie jeden Tag. Nach Hause, essen, fernsehen, aus dem Fenster blicken. Und letztendlich seine Sammlung mit einem weiteren Ticket vergrößern, was heute leider nicht möglich war . Demnach konnte er seinen Tag nicht abschließen. Alle Mühen, vom Stress der Arbeit bis hin zu Alltagsgedanken, würden sich zu einem spitzen Steinchen formen, der den sich hypnotisch drehenden Kreisel aus der Bahn werfe. Der Deckel für das Emotionsgefäß ward verloren. Die Haare des Mannes noch grauer und seine Augen verwirrter. So blieb er in der Allee stehen und machte prompt auf dem Absatz kehrt. ''Wenn ich es hier nicht finde, gehe ich einfach zurück und suche auf dem Weg,'' hallte es in seinem Kopf. Er spürte, wie es ihm aufgrund des beschleunigten Schrittes warm in Gesicht und Körper wurde. Den Boden fixierend lief er angespannt vom Wohnbezirk der Stadt zurück in das Industriegebiet mit dem kleinen, rustikalen Personenbahnhof. Sein Gesicht schnitt eine konzentrierte Grimasse, welche die Sorgenfalten nur noch mehr betonte und sich im Ausdruck dem Lauftempo anpasste. Der Luftzug des weißen Kunststoffmantels, gekauft weil praktisch und günstig, wirbelte die Blätter hinter ihm auf. Seine Erscheinung ähnelte der eines zerstreuten Wissenschaftlers, welcher sich über das Misslingen eines langjährig geplanten Experimentes grämte. Leute wichen ihm aus - das taten sie sonst nie! "Vielleicht sollte ich es akzeptieren? So etwas kommt doch immer vor! Auch mir. Selbst mir kommt einmal etwas abhanden! Ich mache einfach weiter wie...'' Der alte Bahnhof vor ihm stoppte seinen Gedankengang. Der Herr kniff die Augen ein wenig zusammen und starrte die Messingbuchstaben des Bahnhofschilds wie eine Kampferklärung an. Er bemerkte seinen Puls und schweren Atem, fühlte zwei feuchte Stellen unter den Achseln. Und da entdeckte er den Mülleimer, der ihm nie zuvor auffiel. Der Abfall wurde noch nicht entsorgt. Bei näherer Betrachtung fielen ihm weggeworfene Fahrtickets auf. Er griff hinein, zog ein paar zufällig gewählte heraus, und las mit mulmigem Gefühl die Zielorte der Fahrgäste. Sie kamen von unterschiedlichen Orten, aber alle mit der Endstation an diesem Ort. ''Wenn ich sie mitnehme, kann ich dann meinen Verlust ausgleichen?'' Nein, die Abfahrtszeiten passten nicht. Es wäre nicht dasselbe. Es wäre eine Lüge: Es wäre nicht seine Geschichte. ''Wie aber soll ich nun so weitermachen? Ich fuhr heute Morgen los, doch kam nie zurück.'' Sein Blick wand sich dem Ticketautomaten zu. Für eine Sekunde rieb er sich den Kopf, dann trat er vor ihn. Der Mann lächelte schelmisch. Mit einem Gefühl der Freiheit saß er im Abteil und hielt das Ticket stolz in der Hand. Er hatte sich die längste und teuerste Fahrt, welche gerade möglich war, gebucht. Obgleich er vor Aufregung, Angst und Unsicherheit zitterte, konnte ihn nichts davon abbringen, die 4-stündige Reise abzubrechen. Landschaften, welche er sonst nicht sah, erfreuten sein Gemüt. Die Innenausstattung des Zuges war ihm fremd - sogar die Passagiere kamen ihm noch fremder als sonst vor. Kurz: Alles war ihm neu. Nach der erschöpfenden Hin- und Rückfahrt ward seine Heimat schon in Nacht getaucht und er trat zum ersten Mal seinen Heimweg im Schein des Mondes an. Müde bog er in die Allee. Sie war noch leiser als am Tage und seine Bewegungen tönten noch lauter. Doch das störte ihn nicht. Das knuspernde Geräusch unter seinen Schuhen belustigte ihn eher. So platzte das Equilibrium der Allee wie eine Seifenblase. Doch niemand schien es zu stören - nicht einmal die Bäume, welche dem Mann noch mehr Material zum Zertreten auf den Boden warfen. ''Heute hatte ich also frei,'' grinste er. ''Heute hatte ich mal Urlaub.''