The Torrent Express

My eyes flutter open, the world a blur until I rub them for a few moments. My body feels as light as the air, and I find it very disorienting. I sit up slowly and gaze around, trying to get my bearings and figure out where I am. Wherever I am, it’s moving… as the entire room undulates slowly. Tchk tchk… Tchk tchk… that’s the subtle sound I hear coming from under my feet. The sound is familiar to me, but my clouded mind can’t quite place it. The room I find myself in is quite opulent, the couch I’m sitting on and the surrounding décor all Victorian. There is another couch on the opposite wall, not more than eight feet away, and a man sits there staring at me. Not in any disdainful or questioning way, but in empathy. To either side of us, the remainder of the room is lined with dining tables. Each seat is full, and I notice that all of the people in here are in dressed in the same style as the room’s décor.

What’s going on here?, I think to myself. Is it 2023, or 1823?

I return my gaze to the man sitting across from me, a tear welling up in his eye. I focus on his bowler hat and the close-trimmed beard framing his jaw line. Feeling out of place with my jeans and t-shirt, I dare to speak.

“Where are we?” I ask the man.

He says nothing, he just keeps staring. I decide to take a more formal tone.

“Sir, can you tell me where this is?”

His silence endures. I close my mouth and huff through my nose. The people seated at the tables don’t seem to be aware of my presence, and I decide to make them aware. Standing just as slowly as I sat up, I steady myself using the wall behind me. The constant tchk-tchk from below unnerves me as the knowledge of the sound continues to elude me. With wobbly steps, I make my way to the table to the right of the silent man across from me. The woman facing my approach doesn’t notice me, she just sits there laughing daintily and sipping her tea.

“Ma’am,” I begin, “can you please-”

Her head snaps to and her eyes glare into my soul. Her mouth opens and releases a scream like a banshee. I cover my hands with my ears and stumble back into the couch I woke up on. The room goes silent again… tchk tchk… Removing my hands from my ears, I’m curious and incensed that nobody in room seemed to hear the woman scream at me. The man across from me still stares at me, the tear that was in his eye now rolling slowly down his cheek. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

I look to the man’s left, directly at a man seated and facing me. I rise with authority and cover the distance between us in three steps.

“Sir,” I begin, the authority in my voice matching the authority of my presence, “will you tell me-”

Another banshee scream, a second take of my hands going to my ears. But I manage to hold my place instead of being pushed back to the couch. My confusion shifts to anger as the room again falls silent. Then my fist connects, full force, to the man’s jaw. I recognize instantly that it was a bad move. Falling to one knee, I release my own scream of pain. The man’s jaw was like solid rock. Through the tears welling up in my eyes, though, I can see the man stand… and grow larger. Here comes Mr. Hyde, I think to myself.

I make for the door at the far end of the room as a growl rises from the man’s throat. Cradling my hand, I catch a glimpse of the man still seated on the couch. He is motionless, but I can see the tears now streaming down his face. He knows something… But I dare not stop to ask questions of him, Mr. Hyde is not a happy camper, and I don’t feel like dying in a strange place.

Mr. Hyde’s anger seems to have awakened the same feelings in the other patrons and, as I get closer to the door, the room becomes a cacophony of banshee screams and growls. Deep down, I’m not surprised by my luck in the fact that these people (?) move slowly. But again, I dare not take the time to dwell on a mystery, I have to escape.

I crash through the door in flurry of glass and wood and ram into a metal door. The world again goes silent, except for the tchk tchk… Gathering my wits through the throbbing in my hand and my shoulder, I can see that I’m between the cars of a train. It makes a little more sense now. But only a little. I look back to where I just was and see the door that I had just crashed through is fine, and the people inside the car, the screamers, are all sitting quietly as though I had never been there. Except for the old man on the couch, he is still staring at me and weeping silently.

I push the open the metal door behind me and enter the next car. It’s like a diner from the 1950s, lit up bright with a black and white checkerboard floor and the golden oldies blaring from a chromed out jukebox in the corner. The noise is lively and jovial, letterman jackets and hoop skirts a stark contrast to the drab Victorian clothes of the previous car.

Nobody appears to notice me in my t-shirt and jeans, and I decide to keep it that way. My steps are quick, but measured, as I begin to walk to the next car. The aromas of malt and popcorn and burgers invade my nose, and a feeling of nausea rolls over me. It’s the blood I smell, I think to myself. It’s never affected me before, why now? My eyes find the cook. It’s him! The man from the other car!

Suddenly, I scream in pain and double over, both knees hitting the floor hard. The train lurches forward at the same time, speeding up to its unknown destination. The crowd of teenagers finally notices me, and their eyes grow as large as saucers in rising fear. My screams begin to sound like growls, and my entire body is wracked by pain. Holding my hands in front of me, I see them growing larger, the nails becoming like claws and thick fur appearing where there was only skin. Even my own thoughts are becoming scrambled with whatever is happening to me. My vision beomes glazed in red as I look to the ceiling and howl.

The next few minutes are a blur of blood, gore, and dismemberment. Every single kid in that train car is murdered and partially eaten by me… the werewolf me. Again, my thoughts are so scrambled in this condition that I don’t think I’ll be able to recall the events accurately. I only know that what I did is horrible, but it feels so good! The crunching of bone and rending of flesh is music to my ears. Gurgling screams energize me as I rip my prey limb from limb. And with each kill, I am one step closer to getting out of this.

Standing before the door that leads to the next car, werewolf me turns and surveys the carnage. I can feel the blood dripping from my snout, I can see blood and guts painting the walls, I can see death in its worst form. And I feel a sense of joy and accomplishment. My paw extends behind me and pushes open the door.

The chill in the air catches me by surprise, my breath escaping me in large, vaporous plumes. I am human again, and with the thoughts of what I had just done still fresh my mind, I retch my human meal onto the tracks passing swiftly beneath me. The action is so violent that tears blur my vision of it, and that makes me thankful. When it’s over, I wipe the bloody vomit from my mouth and let the chill air flow over me.

For the first time since I awakened, I speak out loud, “What is happening to me?”

As if to hide the response, the door to the next car opens, a hand jumps out and grabs my shoulder, and hauls me in with a strength I did not expect. I’m now standing in a more normal-looking train car, but the men around me are wearing suits, trench coats, and fedoras. The light in the car is dim, and the lights seem to flicker in tune with the tchk tchk of the speeding train. It’s disorienting and does nothing to help my slowly retreating nausea.

The train car itself is in very fine order, though, with the baggage trays above the passengers all packed nicely and each passenger themselves seated quietly and unmoving. Across the carpeted ceiling are the words The Torrent Express, and it’s then that I realize I’m part of a conversation.

“There has been murder on the Torrent Express, and this man is obviously responsible! I demand the constable arrest him at once!” Spoken by a man in what appears to be his fifties, I watch as spittle erupts from beneath his mustache as he glares menacingly into my eyes.

Murder on the Torrent Express? I can’t help the laugh that bellows from me. This is demented!

I feel one of the constable’s deputies grab my elbow to place me under arrest. Pulling away from his grasp, I say, “Who the hell are you people?! I don’t even know what I’m doing here!”

I storm through the small group of men and walk down the aisle of the train car a few steps. Looking around, the faces of the people appear familiar. I know I have seen them all before.

“Stop him!” yells my accuser.

“Hold it!” I scream as I raise my hands in a ‘back off’ gesture. “Can somebody please tell me what the hell is going on here?!”

In the ensuing quiet, I take in each passenger’s face, and I realize three things. These are the same people that I killed in the ‘fifties party car’, the same people who were in the ‘banshee car, and they are all dead here, too. Another study of my accuser’s face reveals that he is the weeping old man that sat across from me. The train lurches forward again with a sudden burst of acceleration. I can also sense that the train is now turning to the right.

The expression on my face must’ve tipped the group of men off because they suddenly pulled out their pistols. I turn and run headlong for the exit, but something tells me that the bullets will never strike me. I am through the door in moments, the bullets flying to either side and showering me in shards of wood.

The next door has no handle, its dull metal cold to the touch. It opens with a hiss onto an almost empty room. Lining the walls are obvious androids, their eyes are closed, and they stand motionless in what appear to be Borg charging stations from Star Trek. As I walk towards the next door, I know that something is bound to happen. And, indeed, a blue hologram appears before me, and it’s the weeping man again…

“You must stand fast, human. You are not authorized in this location. Identify yourself and the location of your internment space.”

As though it had always been there, I raise the laser blaster and aim it at the hologram’s projection device. Immediately after firing the weapon and disabling the hologram, the androids awaken, and the killing begins.

I escape again, only to find more trouble in the next car, and then the next car… Over and over again I face death in each train car, and each scene is wierder than the previous. I can’t track the time that has passed, nor, I think, will I ever feel the true passage of time again. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I know that this may never end. The train continues to spiral downwards, ever faster it goes with each train car I survive.

If I could find the real ‘Weeping Man’, then maybe I can find the answer to what is happening to me…

* * *

Doctor Ford stared at Earnest with tears rolling down his cheeks. He knew that Jimmy would not be able to come out of this psychosis. Two days ago, he was happy, sane, and properly medicated. Now, he was being swallowed by the mouth of madness, his eyes open and unblinking and his body catatonic. Earnest would die this way. Doctor Ford wept…