The Vanishing Train

[Degorram]

Archibald W. Peregrine pulled out his pocket handkerchief and nervously wiped the glass of his watch. The train was late, leaving him standing awkwardly on the platform in his nicest grey trousers which, he was sure, would smell like a train station for days. At the thought he sniffed nervously and blinked owlishly at his surroundings. There was no one else waiting at this particular platform. The wide open spaces, designed to handle the hustle and bustle of hundreds of people and now ominously empty, gave Archibald the horrid feeling that he was being watched. He tightened his tie.

 

Confound it, the train was late! He polished the glass of his watch a second time and watched as the second hand made a complete circuit. A small, shriveled old lady wearing a black rain coat and orange rubber boots pushed her trolley past him, casting strange looks at his back. Archibald did his best to ignore her, despite her garish boots. As it was, they were a very odd shade of orange, much like the color of a stray tabby cat that had been rolling through alleys too often, and he felt his eyes dragged to look at them closely. The old lady immediately turned his way, as if his gaze had been all the invitation she needed to launch into friendly conversation.

 

“Looks like rain,” she piped through a mouth full of gums and perhaps one spindly tooth. Her grey eyes became hidden behind folds of wrinkles when she grinned. Pulling her trolley up by her side, she stood next to him on the platform.

 

“Does it?” Archibald asked weakly, and he sniffed again, not even bothering to look at the thunderous clouds that were boiling just over their heads. A few threatening rain drops hit the glass paned roof.

 

“Always prepared I am, though,” the little old lady croaked. “Never caught unawares. Have you an umbrella on you?”

 

Archibald straightened his tie and looked at the end of the tracks. “Er….no…no, I’m afraid I…forgot mine.”

 

“Well, don’t you worry about that!” She reached to the bottom of her trolley and pulled out a battered and greasy mauve umbrella. It had at least two holes in it, and a parade of silver cats with ridiculous expressions made their way across its surface, all wearing orange rain boots. “You can have this one. Can’t have that suit of yours get wet!” and she cackled as she thrust the umbrella at him, almost like a sword.

 

Archibald, who was sure the umbrella’s dirty state would do far worse damage to his suit than even the most torrential rain storm, tried his best to politely refuse the umbrella, but before he could stutter his way through half an excuse the little old lady had wrapped his fingers around the handle and shook his hand. “There’s a good lad,” she grinned, her eyes disappearing again, and then she promptly turned about and rolled her trolley up to a different platform.

 

At that moment the train arrived in a flash. It was so sudden that Archibald had barely enough time to check his watch – four and a half minutes late. The doors opened with a crash of steam as the train settled down on the tracks, and Archibald rushed up the steps, fearing the little old lady would be back with a pair of rain boots to match the umbrella.

 

It was a handsome train, to be sure. Once inside, Archibald felt safe enough to slow down and admire the mahogany and brass furnishings, the comfy red seats that lined both sides of the compartment, the huge windows that gave the occupants a full view of passing scenery. The lights that were placed intermittently throughout the compartment resembled little lamp posts, and they glowed warmly as if filled with real fire.

 

The train was rather empty, just as the platform had been. In the seat directly behind the conductor sat the only other two occupants that Archibald could see: a pair of rather nervous looking twin girls, who sat facing straight forward as if they were avoiding talking to anyone. As the conductor stood to take Archibald’s ticket, their eyes examined him, from grey suit to mauve umbrella, and then just as quickly looked back to the front window of the train.

 

Archibald was just about to give the conductor his ticket when he noticed a plaque hanging from the ceiling that read The Vanishing Train. “I daresay,” Archibald said, blinking at the sign and pointing as he handed his ticket to the conductor. “What does that mean? A Vanishing Train? See here, it doesn’t really vanish now does it?”

 

“Every now an’ again,” the conductor said with a smile. “Can’ ever really be sure, can ‘ee? Sometimes she gets through one trip all right, an’ then the next…poof! Gone like a flash, can’ never tell where we’ll pop up.” At the look of alarm on Archibald’s face the conductor became very serious. “But she vanished just las’ trip she did, between Oxford an’ Swindon. Sure to make this round all right. An’ ye get free tea an’ crumpets on the hour, ev’y hour, as much as ye like. Just make sure ye hang on tight, an’ you’ll be right as rain.”

 

Archibald, encouraged at the prospect of tea and crumpets but still a bit nervous, picked a seat somewhere in the middle of the compartment and gripped the edge of his seat tightly. A few moments later and the train had set off, chugging handsomely as it pulled out of the station. As soon as the glass dome that covered the tracks was behind them, several fat drops of rain began pelting the windows of the train, and in no time a torrential downpour had engulfed them. The green country side, fields that soon turned into a vast forest, became blurred and indistinct as water ran down the glass in tiny waves. One of the girls at the front whispered something in her sister’s ear, but the response was drowned out by an earsplitting crash of thunder.

 

They continued on for at least an hour in this fashion, rain pouring down on them as they made their way through the countryside. It was getting to be about time for tea, Archibald reckoned, when something truly astounding happened.

 

There was a pop. The train jumped about a bit, seemed to rock, and the next moment Archibald didn’t know which way was up or down, and the landscape outside had turned into a multicolored twist. The lights flickered and dimmed, there was a howling noise prevailing over everything, his fingers were digging into the edge of his seat in fright, he could hear the cackling of the little old lady filling up his ears, and suddenly the silver cats were running up and down the aisles in their hideous orange boots, meowing and screeching wildly, and he thought he was surely going mad, and oh how his suit was going to be rumpled terribly and…!!

 

And it stopped. The lights came back on. The cats disappeared. The conductor brought the train to a shuddering halt and, panting, looked about at their surroundings.

 

“Well it appears we’re right about somewhere near Ipswich,” he said casually. “Ah that’s not so bad, las’ time it took us strai’ to Hiddlesbrough it did…”

 

“What, we’re in Ipswich?!?” Archibald cried, quite out of breath. “You told me it wasn’t going to vanish!!”

 

“I made no guarantees,” the conductor said a little guiltily. “I on’y said she might’nt vanish……”

 

Archibald was about ready to let the conductor have a piece of his mind, driving a vanishing train and not even keeping his promise about tea and crumpets punctually, when suddenly he noticed that they were the only ones left on the train. The twins had disappeared.

 

“I say!” he cried in alarm. “Where have they gone?” And he pointed to the empty seat.

 

“Ah,” the conductor said with a touch of dismay. “I might ‘ave forgotten to warn ‘em about hangin’ on. That’s a rub.” He leaned down into their seat and picked up two pairs of sneakers. “Seems their shoes got the message though,” and he burst out laughing.

 

Archibald didn’t find this funny at all, and seeing as how they were apparently near a train station, he suggested to the conductor that he finish his job and get them safely into Ipswich.

 

Moments later, as the station came blessedly into view, Archibald realized that the rain had stopped, leaving the sky dark and cloudy. He glanced at the mauve monstrosity at his side and, standing to leave, gently slid it under the seat as quietly as he could. He clambered shakily off the train and onto the platform, brushing himself off and breathing a sigh of relief that he was safe, in one piece, and his suit completely unsmudged (though definitely rumpled).

Then the conductor called after him, “Oy, ye forgot your umbrelly!”