The Departing

Blistering cold surrounds me as I awake in a stale leather berth. The air is thick, with a hint of Whiskey and Tobacco. Why do I have no memory of boarding this train? Old cigarettes litter the floor, leaving my dwelling acrid-Instantly an intense pain erupts in my head, putting pressure on my temple to ease the pain; I rub my greasy and coarse skin. Strange portraits lay across the dusty floor, all sharing the same image, a man with his wife and child. My heart beats rapidly, and cold sweat fills my palms as an ear-piercing screech fills the corridor; I need to leave this place.

Darkness echoes from the next room, and the feeling of sorrow overwhelms me. I cautiously open the door; another poorly-lit walkway is waiting, lined with small dining booths. Although I am not alone in this hallway, there, in the back corner, sits a shadow with nothing but a bottle of whiskey.

‘Hello’ is all I muster.

Violent shaking from the train causes me to stumble forward; glancing up, the shadow slowly rises from a booth, saying nothing. It begins rushing forward; fear causes me to fall to the floor. Thundering footsteps echo in the room. As I look up, a man looms over me, his face nothing but a dark void; even still, I can see his despair. The man has a strangely familiar revolver in his hand. My time has come; having no desire to fight this man, closing my eyes, I accept my fate.

A sharp whistle fills the corridor; looking up, there is no man in front of me, just the empty dining area. Suddenly I long for my family, their faces escape me, but my love for them does not. I remember the last night with my wife. She pleaded for me not to travel to Perryville, we argued, and I left. I can’t remember her face; why must I forget her face? I need to get back to her. Racing to the next door, I’m horrified to find it’s the same room, the next corridor precisely the same as well, and the next, all the same. Tears overtake me as a strange pain pierces through my hand; they turn grey as if being struck by frostbite; another sharp pain penetrates my head, and anger consumes me.

“What the fuck is going on?” My cry bounces through the cold hallway.

The longing to see my family is unbearable. I step slowly to make my way to the next corridor. Finally, a different room, though a peculiar one. Having no resemblance to a train, it shares the likeness of a home; large pocket doors inhabit the space opposite me, with a large fireplace crackling in the corner. The overwhelming scent of lavender and sandalwood is intoxicating, and I almost forget I’m on a dreadful train. In the distance, a child’s laughter echoes in the room; not far from me, a young boy lays on an old wooden floor, intently listening to his mother as she reads to him, perched upon a lavishly padded chair. I feel unwelcome, despite the touching scene.

The woman becomes surprised; turning rapidly around the room, grabbing the boy; she attempts to run out the door, stopped by the sizable, faceless man from before. Her face becomes tainted with horror as the man lunges toward her, forcing her to the ground. Putting up a fight, she punches and claws him. Nonetheless, it is futile; her face darkens as he clenches tightly around her throat. The young woman’s suffering saddens me. I am angry that I can not help her. The man continues his iron grip for what seems to be an eternity; then, he turns to the whimpering boy; their eyes lock in a seemingly shared understanding. I want to protect the boy, but something prevents me. I must watch as the boy meets the same fate as his mother. The faceless man turns to me, his face no longer a dark void. His grotesque flesh has no mouth, nose, or eyes, he tilts his head, and blood begins oozing out of his temple; playing with a revolver, he points it at the boy and woman’s corpse, firing several shots, mutilating their faces. Dull aches overtake me; my head swarms with pain; it must end soon.

Finding myself back in a lonesome corridor, my strength wavers; what is this? Why imagine such horrid scenes? Questions no one is here to answer. I do not want to continue this nightmare, though it is necessary to get back home. Opening the next door is beautiful; the small round windows share a peaceful view, a Stormfront with ashen clouds unleashes a torrent of rain, pounding on the old roof.

At last, catching a glimpse of the train, around the bend of the twisted rails, its large black wheels grinding as dark smoke chokes out of the stack. Though the storm is calming, the locomotive feels somber, like an impenetrable vessel of darkness. Slithering into a cold leather seat, I become enthralled watching the rain bounce from my small window, sliding around, aimlessly racing with other drops. I become startled as a woman joins me in the booth.

‘Hi, James.’ Her eyes avoided mine.

‘Elsa?’

My wife, the one person who could help me, gave me no response—shifting in her leather seat, setting her gaze on the thrashing storm.

Unable to resist, I too admire its beauty with her. Turning back to her, a bottle of whiskey sits in front of me, accompanied by a revolver. I sip the whiskey; its salty flavor brings a sense of warmth, leaving my cracked lips to burn. Elsa peers at me, lighting a wilted cigarette, unleashing a long, soft exhale toward me, provoking a tickle in my throat.

‘Why are you here, Elsa?’

She whispered, ‘To Show you.’

Intense fear of realization overcomes me,

‘That was you with the boy; what the fuck is happening?’

She replies with an uneven smile.

Desperately taking another sloshy gulp of the whiskey chokes me; wiping my cracking lips causes another burning sensation, igniting the peeled-back skin. The painful sip has me recall that I hate my wife; she was determined to ruin my life. The young boy, my son, unnaturally crawls into the seat with his mother, his face mutilated, slabs of flesh dangling from his cheeks; he says nothing, just whimpers, staring at me.

Elsa cackles, ‘You did this, James.’

‘No, You’re wrong Elsa.’

Screeching echoes in the hallway as the train stops abruptly; being thrown forward, I catch myself on the table, knocking the whisky over, and I watch as it pours all over my wife and son. They keep still, left careless.

‘ What the fuck is happening? Please help me, Elsa’

Letting out a sinister smile, she grabs my hand, and utter pain overtakes me. Pulling away from her touch, I fall out of the booth, painfully screaming. Having no strength, I lay still.

‘I..Remember’

Countless memories become unbearable, I lived my entire life motivated by twisted ambitions, and found validation only in pain. I killed my family; I relished killing them and left for Perryville. Looking at Elsa, dark bruises shape her neck, and her skin begins to peel back, exposing a face I mutilated. My son starts slithering out of the booth. Softly whispering

‘I’ll never leave you, daddy.’

Dread overtakes me as my wife and son begin to laugh and gawk at me. I beg them to stop; I beg to be let off this train though my pleads are answered only by their haunting laughter. I had the power of life over death, and I abused it. I can’t be here with them. I can’t stand their faces, their voices. Elsa smiles, taking another drag of her cigarette and blowing a flurry of rotten smoke toward me. I grab the revolver, giving them a selfish smile, placing it to my temple, and slowly squeeze the trigger… Blistering cold surrounds me as I awake in a stale leather berth. The air is thick, with a hint of Whiskey and Tobacco.