The Night Train

by Karen Goldrick

I was doing fine until Vanessa and Mark moved in next door. And Sam. The Landlord hadn’t warned me. I walked out my back door one morning to have a shower, past the kitchen sink nestled so comfortably on the wooden landing at the top of the stairs, and saw them as I was walking down the stairs. They just looked at me. They stood on their back stairs, which ran down from their kitchen sink also outside their back door.

There was no fence dividing our houses. More like a duplex really. Two shoebox terraces like Siamese twins cojoined at the backyard. We also shared a shower, downstairs under the house, and a toilet way, way out the back, near the old tram line.

I thought about saying hello. Rehearsed it in my head a few times. With a shy smile. With confident exuberance. Then my towel slipped open around my waist. I panicked. Turned and ran.

So that was out first meeting. I didn’t see them much after that. That is to say ... they didn’t see me. I’d sneak down to the shower, fully clothed, before they got up in the morning. That wasn't too hard, because they partied late most nights. When they were up, I’d sit in my kitchen with the Venetians three quarter closed, and spy on them between the gaps.

Vanessa was gorgeous. If I thought about her too long I had to reach for those magazines tucked under my mattress just so I could stop shaking. She had long dark hair, and wore long filmy black skirts and tight deep purple tops. I gazed at her almost not there breasts, and rounded hips as she hung out the washing, using my half of the hoist as well as theirs. Mark was tall and angular, and drove a tiny green car which he somehow folded into, with a fluorescent purple sticker on the rear windscreen which yelled: Magic Happens.

They both sat on their back stairs most of the day drinking coffee from chipped enamel cups and smoking rollies and spliffs and God knows what else. Sam would swing around on the hoist tilting it dangerously to one side, or race around the yard hitting my umbrella plant with a stick until the leaves fell off. He never seemed to go to school.

He wasn’t David’s. I can’t remember if I overheard that, or just figured it out. But I felt a quiet pleasure in the knowledge, as if knowing Vanessa could leave Sam’s father somehow bettered my chances. Surely she could leave this tall ring-in also.

And she did. Or, rather, he did. One night I heard screaming and the sound of timber smashing. Then I think maybe he put his hand through the glass panel in their back door. The next day she was by herself smoking on the stairs, and the green car had gone. Magic happens.

I watched her, as she ran her fingers down her hair and pushed it behind her ears. I thought about going out to say hello. What would I wear? Jeans and a tight white T-shirt for a Calvin Klein look. Black shirt and purple shorts of a failed art student. I pushed my own hair back, and polished my teeth with a tissue.

When I went out on the stairs she’d gone, her cigarette still smoking balanced on the edge of a cup. I couldn’t decide whether it was best to wait, or retreat back inside. Instead I decided to use the time constructively, and walked down to the outhouse.

Sam was there. He was building a tower of rocks on the tracks, then pelting it with more rocks until it collapsed. He didn’t look up as I opened the door.

“Did you hear the noise? Last night?” he asked me.

“Umm yeah,” I said, feeling extremely uncomfortable. I stopped outside the door, thinking I should say something more. I could sit down and be a surrogate uncle. Maybe Vanessa would notice. Or I could change the subject. I checked out the sky to prepare some comment about the weather.

“It always happens at eleven o’clock. Right after Nightline,” he said. No subject change allowed.

“Well ... ummm ... Are you OK? He’s gone now.” I replied.

“Yes. he’s gone. But he’ll be back. He always comes back.”

“Always?”

“Always” he said, smashing another tower and finally looking up at me. “What’s wrong with you hair?”

I wished I had worn a hat. “When will he be back?” I asked.

“Maybe tonight. Depends if it rains. He doesn’t like the rain.”

I heard the clatter of cutlery in the sink. Vanessa was at the top of her stairs, doing the dishes.

“Well,” I said, heading back up the yard, “Be seeing you.”

“He wants me to go with him,” Sam called after me. “Do you think that I should?”

I looked back at him, now intent on creating a new pyramid on the rails. How the hell should I know, I thought, but I didn’t say it. Funny. Those rails really seemed to shine in the overcast light. I'd always thought of them as rusty.

“Umm ... you should do whatever ... makes you happy,” I said, hoping that was enough. I turned to go again, and walked away quickly so if he said anything more I could pretend not to have heard it. Vanessa had crouched down at the top of her stairs, and was picking through long shards of coloured glass.

“Don’t cut yourself,” I imagined myself saying to her. Maybe I had a spare garbage bag inside. I saw myself go up to help her. I’d cut my hand, and her fingers would gently wipe the blood away.

Vanessa stopped, holding a long blue shard which looked like the coldest icicle in the world, and looked over at me. I gave her a hurried smile, skipped up my stairs two at a time and retreated inside.

That night I couldn’t sleep. My bedroom was right out the back, hanging out over the back yard. They had a TV on in their back-end room. There were no voices though. No shouting. It wasn’t raining, but he hadn't come back. I wondered if she sat watching TV, a glass of red wine cupped in her hand. Or did she just like the noise for company. The wind stirred the chimes which hung over her kitchen sink. The light from her kitchen cast a diamond on my bedroom wall. Then abruptly the TV shut off and the diamond went out.

I got up to have a pee. I kept an old orange juice bottle under the kitchen sink for after dark, but I’d forgotten to empty it a few times and it was full. It was cold out, so I went back to pull on a jumper before beginning the long trek out the back.

We didn’t have a backyard light. There was a small globe over the kitchen sink, which cast so many shadows on the stairs it was probably more dangerous on. But once past the stairs you were on your own.

I hadn’t any shoes on, so I walked slowly carefully heel to toe so as not to stub my toes on tree roots or stones. I held my hands in front of me, aiming for the back fence, then I’d feel my way along it to the outhouse. There was no moon. No stars. No convenient streetlight in the back lane. It was completely black. I kept waiting for my eyes to adjust, I could feel my pupils completely dilate, but there was no light to let in. Then I think maybe my eyes began to play tricks on me. I could see these parallel shining lines, as if my mind couldn’t really accept the notion of seeing absolutely nothing.

“Hello.”

I jumped. My heartbeat surged upwards through my throat and I very nearly wet myself. It was Sam.

“Shit,” I said, when I cold finally talk.

“Did I scare you?”

“No ... you just ... I just didn’t see you. What the Hell ... I mean ... does your Mum now you’re here?”

“No. I’m supposed to tell her if I have to go after dark.”

“So you should.” I said nothing more, felt my way to the toilet and stepped inside. When I had finished, maybe five minutes later, he was still there. I couldn’t actually see him, but I could here his breath, nasal, as if he had a bit of a cold. And I could hear him piling rocks onto the rails.

“Do you want to walk back with me?” I asked him.

“No.”

That was gratitude for you. I just wanted to get back to bed, but I was pretty sure I shouldn’t be leaving a seven year old boy out here in the dark by himself. There was a screech overhead, a fruitbat, and I thought I could feel brush of air on my face.

“C’mon,” I tried not to beg. “It’s cold and it’s late. Don’t you have to go to school in the morning?”

“No.”

I pulled the sleeves of my jumper down over my hands to keep them warm. I could feel rather than see my warm breath turn to fog. I danced on the spot to prevent frostbite, and promptly kicked my toe on the rails.

“Shit!”

“That’s a bad word.”

“I can teach you worse,” I replied. “C’mon kid. You can’t stay here. There’s bad people about in the big bad city.” I looked back up the yard to my feeble porch light, calling me home. Then I sat down next to him and made to rub my sore toe.

“He’s coming back. Tonight,” he told me. That maybe explained why he didn’t want to go back. My eyes seemed to have finally adjusted to the dark, and I could just make out his hands as they piled rocks on the rails.

“Are you scared of him? Will he hurt you?”. I pictured myself making an anonymous call to Docs. Hoping Vanessa wouldn’t suspect it was me. Maybe she’d be grateful.

“No.” he said.

I could see the rails clearly now. Shining, as if in moonlight. But there was no moon. They ran in a straight line diagonally across out back yard. They emerged under the outhouse, then disappeared under the back fence into the lane. The sleepers were rotten and almost hidden by dandelions and grass, but the metal rails were intact.

“Feel this,” Sam said, grabbing my hand and pushing it onto the metal. At first I felt nothing. Then I noticed it was warm. As I held on to it, I felt a vibration so small that if I pushed my fingers hard enough it vanished.

“It means he’s coming.”

“You mean Mark?” I said.

“No. He’s gone for good. It’s the Night Train. He’s coming.”

I stood up. This kid needed a counsellor and I needed to go back to bed. It wouldn’t be so bad, to just leave him here. He’d obviously been here after dark before.

There was a plane flying overhead, only it was way past the curfew so I looked up. Sometimes Westpac helicopters fly low overhead on their way to RPA. Their headlights seeming to seek out victims in their wake. But it didn’t sound like a Ôcopter.

I stood on the rails, and I could feel the vibrations get stronger and stronger until for some reason I decided it was better to move away. Sam stood also, and moved to my side.

“Stand clear of the door,” he said.

“What door?”

“The toilet door.” he sounded as if he thought I was some kind of idiot. I moved away from the door.

“He’s coming.”

“What?”

“The Night Train.”

I looked around for the source of the increasing noise.”Pardon?” I yelled.

“I said the Train’s coming,” he yelled back.

Then I wanted to run back to the safety of my house, but my feet wouldn’t move. I don’t know if I was frozen by fear, or some other unknown force. And I stood there waiting in that terrible noise for either a very long time or a very short time. I'm not really sure.

Then it stopped. It was quiet, And dark. And there was nothing there.

“Is it here?” I asked Sam.

“Yes.”

All I could see was the rails, gleaming in the dark.

“Is it sky blue with a smiling face. Is there a Fat Controller?” I said. There was no reply.

Then, for a second, I saw something. Like a shadow of something. Then I lost it. I stared and stared at the place where I thought I’d seen it, like looking at a 3D picture, waiting for my focus to shift.

I saw it again. It was black. Large, rounded and metallic rising up up up in front of me. It could have been the boiler of a large steam engine. Ghosts of steam rose from the rails at my feet. I heard a hiss, like a sigh. Then it was gone again. But I knew it was still there.

“He wants me to go with him.”

“C’mon kid, we’re going back to the house.”

“But I have to go.”

“This is crazy,” I said to him. “There’s nothing really there,” I said, more to convince myself than him, “And you have to go home. You’re mum will be worried sick.”

“I know. I don’t want to go. But I have to. Maybe I’ll come back,” Sam said.

I grabbed his hand. It was warm and small. “You’re coming back with me. There’s nothing ...”

And then I heard a large belch of steam and it was there again. I could see it more clearly now. It took up the whole of the back of the yard. Went out over then fence into the laneway. In fact the fence had disappeared. So had the outhouse. And I bet if I had turned around my house would have gone too. It was all black, although it was probably too dark to see any colour. But I still think it was all black. It had a large black bull catcher grid, and, I don’t know, maybe eight large wheels under the engine. Bigger than me. The coal train was where the outhouse used to be. I couldn’t see any carriages though. There was another puff of steam. I waited for it to disappear again, but it had decided to stay.

“Where should I get on?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know. The cabin bit, maybe,” I replied. “But ... what about school ... won’t you miss your friends?”

“No.” he said.

“Well ... what about your toys and things? Some warm clothes? A change of underwear?”

“You sound like Mum?”

“What about your Mother? You can’t leave her?”

“I know. She’ll have no-one to look out for her. Can you do it?” he asked.

It was everything I wanted. Permission from the son. I imagined holding her sobbing form as I explained what had happened. Kissing her tenderly on the neck to give her comfort. The steam belched again and I jumped as the whistle blew.

“It’s time to go,” said Sam. “I can’t reach the door. Can you open it for me?”

I reached up to the cabin door. Then I hesitated. Maybe it would burn my hand off. Or freeze it off. Maybe I would be zapped away into nothingness if I touched it. The whistle blew again.

“Quick!” said Sam. I reached for the handle. It was surprisingly warm. It pulled down easily,as if someone had recently oiled it. The door clicked open.

“Lift me in. Hurry.” Sam said.He was heavier than he looked and I groaned with the strain. As I was about to shut the door behind him something made me turn to look back at the house. Was that Vanessa, sitting on her stairs, smoking a cigarette and waving? I wondered if she really would notice, if I disappeared. If she’d ever really noticed me anyway. I imagined the headlines:

“Strange midnight disappearance. Uni student and boy missing.” She’d have to notice me then.

Besides, I hadn’t finished the Psyche assignment that was due in the morning.

I climbed in after Sam as the whistle blew a third time, and pulled the door shut after me.