A Voice In The Darkness

Author's Note: This short story doesn't have a nice tidy ending but instead is open-ended. If that's not your thing, feel free to read something else! ~ C

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The last train had pulled into the station long ago and now sat, a silent, menacing hulk of dark iron, dull copper and tarnished brass.

The station itself had long emptied of the passengers that moved in and out of it smoothly and quickly like sand falling through an hourglass. Now it, too, was silent. A chill wind blew through, barely impeded by the pillars dotted throughout the station that were more for show than actual function.

A lone figure sat on one of the long worn wooden benches positioned along either side of the station, facing outward, looking onto the railway tracks through graceful stone arches. The girl seemed small in the emptiness of the building, hunched in her long forest green pea coat in an effort to stay warm.

She glanced at the large clock that dominated the lintel over the main entrance, frowned, and then removed her own timepiece from the pocket of her coat. She flicked the lid of the pocket watch open and her frown deepened when she realized the time was correct. She snapped the case shut, and the sound, though quiet, seemed loud in the tomb-like silence, bouncing off the cold stone of the walls and pillars. She pulled her coat tighter around her and blew into her hands, even though she was wearing gloves.

“Where could he be?” she said aloud, more to herself, for comfort than anything. Panic surged through her from the base of her skull down and down her spine, like cold fire. She opened up her satchel that was sitting beside her on the bench and took out her diary, flipping through the pages. Yes, it was the correct date and time. She stood and looked around, not sure what she was looking for exactly, but unsure what to do.

A sudden hiss of steam and the creak of settling metal caused her to jump. “Hello?” she said quietly. She moved cautiously out onto the abandoned platform. “Is anyone there?” She looked at the train, crouched like an animal in the darkness waiting to pounce on unsuspecting prey. It looked different, somehow, at night. Most things did, she thought suddenly, reaching out impulsively to touch the smooth metal that shone where the moon hit it.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice cautioned from behind her. She whirled, snatching her hand back and stifled a scream.

A man detached himself from the heavy shadows that cloaked most of the platform, the moonlight unable to penetrate under the awnings.

The man tipped his head forward in a nod, tipping a grey bowler hat that caught the moonlight in greeting. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said with a smile that turned his mouth up at one side.

The woman clutched her satchel to her protectively. “Well, you may not have meant to, but you did,” she said brusquely, out of embarrassment. “And why shouldn’t I?” she added, replying to his statement.

“Because it may still be hot. Steam trains retain a lot of heat, especially around the engine room. Metal conducts heat and it takes a while to cool,” the man explained matter-of-factly.

“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say.

“What is a young lady such as yourself doing all by yourself in a train station?” He glanced at the pocket watch in the small front pocket of his vest made specifically for that purpose. “And at this ungodly hour?” the man asked as he stepped just to the edge of the shadows. Moonlight glinted on the toes of his polished black shoes, and highlighted the tip of his nose and mouth, but the rest of him remained in the safety of the dark.

“I’m waiting for someone,” she replied. She paused, hesitating. “I mean, I was supposed to meet someone here.”

“Oh?”

The woman could hear the surprise in the man’s voice, and even though she couldn’t see, she knew the man’s eyebrows would have risen towards the brim of his hat at her reply. It was none of his business, she thought, irritated, so remained silent.

The man continued, ignoring her stoicism. “Well, if you want someone to help pass the time until your friend shows up…” he trailed off.

She shook her head briskly. “No!” she said loudly and more forcefully that she meant, an edge of fear creeping into her voice. “No,” she repeated, more calmly. “I’ll be fine.” She glanced at her watch again. It was now almost half past midnight. Thirty minutes late. She looked up as the light from the moon suddenly disappeared, she thought at first it was just temporarily by one of the night-time delivery airships, but it was more unpredictably obscured by cloud.

The man was silent for a long, unnerving moment, and she took a step backward, in a futile effort to put space between them. She almost bumped up against the train.

“Who were you supposed to be meeting?” the man asked softly from the comfort of the shadows.

She had the sudden urge to reach into her bag for the small energy pistol hidden inside.

“No one that is of any interest to you,” she replied, trying unsuccessfully to keep the rising fear out of her voice.

“And how would you know that?”

She crabbed sideways, along the length of the train, towards the first of the passenger doors.

She didn’t know that. She didn’t even really know who it was she was meeting. She had received the note three days before. It had been waiting for her, propped against the front door, the corner of the envelope crushed and bent by an unsuccessful attempt to shove it under the door. A small bicycle leaned against the railings of the steps that lead up to the door.

She broke the seal on the envelope with shaking hands. A few words in dark, shaky script were scrawled across the single page. “If you want to see your child again, take the last train north to the last station on the line. Wait until midnight.”

She had run to the closest train station, careful not to twist an ankle on the uneven cobbles, and bought a ticket, but not before digging out the small energy gun she kept hidden in a shoebox under the bed. Better to be safe, she thought, tucking it away, underneath a spare shawl and the one photograph of her son that she had. She handed over almost all the money she had on her for the ticket and ignored the ticket booth clerks’ quizzical look at why someone like her, dressed in her least worn and tattered dress, would want to go to the last stop on the line. It was the middle of nowhere, surrounded by windswept and barren land that was home to almost perpetual fog year round.

She had been so filled with worry that she barely remembered getting on the train. She had managed to find a seat in the crowded cars, and sat by the window, oblivious of the chill through the glass. Her fingers drummed nervously against the polished mahogany of the armrests, and the paneling along the windows and sills. She was vaguely aware of the train emptying, more and more people getting off at each stop. Her head jerked up as a voice crackled loudly over the speakers, alerting passengers that they had reached the terminus station and to kindly please watch their step getting off.

She glanced around, slightly bewildered at the fact that she seemed to be the only person left. The car had lost its coziness, despite the velvet upholstered seats and rich wine coloured embroidered curtains that were draped across each window, when it had lost its inhabitants. She had stepped out of the train slowly, taking in the new, unfamiliar surroundings. She’d been on a train before. If she was honest, she preferred them to airship travel, but she had never been here and she didn’t know anyone who had ever had any reason to.

Her feet hit the platform, and she caught a glimpse of the conductor and one of the stewards in their wine-coloured jackets disappear through a gate and up a set of metal stairs to some unknown destination. Almost immediately she found herself alone.

But she wasn’t anymore. She edged her way closer to one of the carriage doors, clutching her bag tighter against her, as if it were a shield.

Movement caught her eye and she looked up at a flickering shadow. A moth fluttered erratically around one of the gaslight lanterns that cast a pale, feeble glow every couple meters or so down the length of the platform.

She turned her attention back to the man in the shadows and was surprised to see he was no longer there.

“What do you want?” Now the panic was evident in her voice.

The voice in the darkness came once more. This time, from further down the platform, in the direction she was heading. It sounded apologetic. “I’m sorry I’m late,” it said. “Something…” it paused before continuing. “Held me up.”

She tried to peer into the darkness to find his shape, black against black. She wished the moon would come out of hiding.

She reached the carriage door and, still standing with her back to it, put a shaking hand on the handle.

She repeated her question.

“You know what I want,” the voice in the darkness said smoothly.

She shook her head vehemently. “No, I don’t. I don’t understand. Why have you taken my son?” Her free hand went to her bag and slid under the flap, fingers searching for the comfort of the gun in its depths.

She almost stumbled backward and through the door as her hand moved on the handle when the man suddenly stepped from the dark into the strip of light created by the lanterns, though the light still didn’t seem to touch him in his all black outfit. He wore a long black coat, collar turned up to the brim of his hat, and a dark scarf tucked neatly into a dark waistcoat that flowed into black trousers. The one thing the light did touch was his black shoes which glittered.

She saw him open his mouth and then close it again. He was studying her, looking her up and down, from the tips of her scuffed teal boots, over her matching dress, to the tip of the piece of peacock feather that adorned the small hat she wore so that she didn’t have to put much effort into styling her hair.

She saw his eyebrows rise this time before he spoke. “You mean, you really don’t know?”

This caught her off guard and confusion engulfed her, increasing her panic that rose up her spine and down her arms into her hands. Her fingers tingled, a strange icy-hot sensation.

“No?” The word came out as a question, unsure. “What are you talking about?”

The man laughed. It was an odd, sharp sound like he didn’t believe her.

“Are you sure?” he said, pointing to her one hand that was still visible, wrapped tightly around the handle of the train car door.

“What?” Still confused she glanced, irritated, to where he indicated.

A scream escaped her. Her hand, which was still tingling and burning cold, was glowing blue. The colour surrounded her hand like a glove and was dancing, flickering and sparking like the new-fangled electricity that was being demonstrated at fairs around the country by Messrs. Tesla and Edison.

She snatched her hand away from the door, and pulled her other one free from her purse and away from its quest for her gun. That one was surrounded by blue as well. She held them in front of her, mesmerized.

“What-,” she stuttered. “What’s happening?”

“I’m surprised you don’t know,” the man said, taking another step closer, further into the light. She could see his eyes now, and they shone the same blue as her hands. “It’s why I’ve taken your son. He’s like you, but he needs guidance.” He watched her again. “And so do you, it seems. But I can’t help you with that. I’m assigned to your son.”

She tore her gaze from her hands as her head snapped up. “Assigned?”

“Your son can do magic,” the man explained. “And he needs teaching. I’ve been assigned as his teacher.”

“Magic? That’s preposterous!” She scoffed, shaking her head.

The man laughed again and inclined his head towards her hands. “Is it?”

She looked at her hands again. The blue was still there, but fading. She had no reply to that.

“What are you going to do with him? My Jeremy?” she asked.

“Not to worry, he is safe, and in good hands,” the man said with a smile that now seemed less frightening than before.

“Can I see him?” she asked quietly.

“I’m afraid he isn’t here.” The reply was almost sad.

Dread settled in a heavy ball in her stomach once more. “Where is he?” Her voice was a whisper.

“Where he belongs,” the man said, touching the brim of his hat once more before turning away and heading back into the station, between the columns that supported the platform roof.

It was then she noticed that what she thought had been a long, black coat were a pair of large black wings, folded tightly against the man’s back, trailing down to his heels. Before she could say anything, he had disappeared back into the shadows and was gone.

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