The Night Train

by Pil Lee

“But this is economy,” said Miranda.

Stuart checked the tickets. “It says Carriage B,” he said, looking up and down the aisle for a conductor.

“Well whether it says Carriage B or not, it’s definitely not where I’m going to be spending the night.” Miranda eyed the other occupants of the carriage with distaste then picked up her cosmetics bag and headed back the way they had come.

“Miranda!” Stuart bustled after her, his tiny pot belly bouncing ludicrously over the top of his too tight jeans in just the way she hated the most. He grabbed for her arm, dropping his wallet in the process. She watched him scrabbling on the filthy floor before she swivelled her dainty heel in front of him, just missing his fingers and made resolutely for the end of the aisle.

She wrestled the door open and stepped nervously through the concertina of metal holding the carriages together. When she was through the far door into the next carriage she looked back through the glass to where Stuart stood staring back at her. With a furious shake of his head he disappeared from view, no doubt sitting down in their allotted seats and waiting for her to meekly return, she thought. She turned away into the new carriage and realised immediately that this was where their tickets should have taken them. Instead of open rows of nylon covered seats, a dim corridor of lustrous rosewood led away from her, brass-knobbed doors lining the dark tunnel.

She checked that the corridor was empty then gently turned the handle closest to her. Peeking around the door she was that the compartment was empty — huge and empty. White organza curtains framed the windows, closed against the cold night, and velvet cushions nestled around the carved four poster bed. Miranda’s eyes shone with delight — she had never seen a train as sumptuously appointed before. She closed the door gently behind her and checked the drawers and cupboards. They were all empty and there were no other personal belongings anywhere that she could see.

She smiled, satisfied, hoping that Stuart was just settling in next to someone smelly and much too large in the carriage beyond, then changed quickly into her nightdress and climbed into the enormous bed. She snuggled beneath the covers and was just reaching out a small white hand to turn out the light when she became aware that all was not right with the mattress. It felt as if it was full of oranges or apples and she pushed back the sheets to see what was wrong. Beneath her the mattress was cratered and bulbous, and when she pushed down it was hard and pitted beneath. She pushed down again to try and flatten it and to her horror one of the large lumps began to move, as if it was turning amongst the springs. First the shape of a nose formed within the ticking and then a mouth opened wide against the linen and started to moan.

Miranda shrieked and jumped from the bed, knocking the bedside lamp over in her terror, and it rolled across the carpet and went dark.

She scrambled along the floor to her bag and groped blindly against the wall for the door handle. She heard a dull thud from the direction of the bed, then another, and another, then the sounds of heavy rolling towards her as, with a whimper, she wrenched open the door and fell into the corridor. She crawled desperately away from the rolling thuds that came closer and closer then the door slammed violently behind her and all was silent.

She lay breathless on the hallway floor for a long, long moment then turned fearfully back towards the compartment door. There were no sounds within and she carefully climbed to her feet and edged away. She realised that her bag was still in the room and that she was clad only in her nightdress, but she had no intention of going back inside to rescue her property.

She considered fleeing back to Stuart in Carriage B, but even the horror of the last few minutes was secondary to the horror of economy class and so she ventured hesitantly further down the corridor.

She searched along the length of the carriage for a guard or conductor, but it was as silent as the grave. There was no question of staying out in the hall all night, with the temperature dropping quickly and her arms and legs bare, so she decided to try another door. Surely whatever was being kept in the first compartment was against the law, and would be confined to one secret spot.

She was loathe to go the very end of the corridor, as it was too far from Stuart in an absolute emergency, and of course she wasn’t going to try any doors near that first one, so she chose a door half way along and knocked very gently against it.

There was no reply, so she turned the handle and slipped inside. Like the last room, this one was also richly appointed, but here the handsome bed and white organza were replaced by a round bed with a pink satin eiderdown and a riot of flower vases on every surface. It was a beautiful room, and Miranda found it quite unthinkable that any monster could lurk within it.

Just to be sure, however, she stood at arm’s reach from the bed and quickly twitched the cover aside. She ran a nervous hand over the mattress but found it soft and inviting. She checked all the cupboards and under the table, then with a sigh of relief she climbed into the bed and let her head rest on the pillow. It sank as if it was cushioned in the lightest feathery down and Miranda welcomed the feeling of luxurious surrender.

Then she started to turn on her side and found that it was almost impossible. Not only had her head sunk into the pillow but her whole body had sunk into the soft mattress like a heavy sack into quicksand. Miranda flailed her arms to try and get some purchase on the edge of the bed but they windmilled uselessly above her. Now the pillow was starting to close over her face and her body was being pulled relentlessly down into the centre of the mattress. She gasped for air, rocking her body violently as she sought some form of thrust with which to lever herself out. She threw all her last energy into one last wave of her arm and the very tips of her fingers just brushed the emergency cord strung above her head. With superhuman effort she grasped the cord with all her strength and with a great convulsive gasp she propelled her body out of the suffocating cocoon and flung herself onto the carpet.

She lay there stunned for a second, then started to crawl towards the door, sobbing pitifully. When she reached it she pulled herself to her feet then turned to look at the treacherous bed. For a second it was still, pink and beautiful again, if a little rumpled, then like a crashing wave the mattress surged towards her, a sucking maelstrom at its quilted centre.

Miranda heaved herself through the door and slammed it behind her. She sank back to the carpet on the corridor floor, which, regardless of whether she had a first class ticket or not, she seemed to be spending most of her night. She waited for the conductor who must have been alerted by her great pull on the emergency cord, but as the minutes ticked by and no-one appeared she began to wonder if there was anyone in this carriage of the train at all.

Soon, alas, the cold of the night train had her shivering again, her arms and legs turning blue and dimpled. She decided to try one last room. And then, back to Stuart in economy, she thought. She straightened her shoulders — this time she would find a safe room.

She couldn’t go back to the first compartment, and she had no wish to stay anywhere near the second, so she went to the far end of the carriage and tried the very last door. The room she entered wasn’t at all what she’d been looking forward to when they had booked their trip, but after the trauma she had just been through it was just what she needed. Soft blue lighting lit up a small striped bed, comforting and inviting with a little rubber hot water bottle and fluffy slippers on the floor. Miranda checked all the cupboards, twitched back the sheets to check the mattress and then, greatly daring, took a running leap across the room and jumped into the very centre of the bed and bounded off again. there were no hard lumps, there was no soft trap, this bed was just right.

Miranda nearly wept with relief. She was now so emotionally and physically exhausted that she fell immediately into a deep sleep and so never heard the three sets of footsteps down the corridor and the distant banging open of a door.

“Who’s been sleeping in my bed?”