The rain fell down, like tiny pebbles being dropped from the sky. The water merely flowed over the stone slabs making up the small platform, gushing over the edge and onto the tracks. The parallel tracks glistened in the moonlight, creating one of the few light sources in the station. The others, a small lamp hanging from the wall, just above the closed ticket booth, and the moon, shinning down, lighting up a small minority of the platform, leaving the rest enveloped in darkness. The winding track laid out in front of me, reminded me of the times when my parent's used to take me on holiday, normally to the sea side, or sometimes deeper into the country. Now that I think about it, I realise that it has been much too long since I last took a visit to go and see my father. But, ever since we had Jona, we almost forgot about everything else, we were living isolated from the world, and because of that, I never really went back to see my father. No, I mustn’t think of Jona, and I mustn’t be thinking of Elena either. Since that was the reason for me taking this trip in the first place. But now, its beginning to turn into more of a longing to see my father once more.
I was disturbed from my thoughts by the glare now reaching my eye. My train to Buckden, was approaching the platform, it was only a small train, probably consisting of three or four carriages. The main body was a dirty metal, yet the wheels were of a shinning silver, the carriages with small separate windows were topped with a smooth curved roof. The water ran down the sides, cascading off the bottom, splashing upon the platforms edge, just sprinkling my boots. As I boarded, I handed my ticket to the conductor. He was a tall man, with a large nose, sitting just above a bushy black moustache, his glasses rimmed with a tinted metal frame, emphasised his dark eyes, which seemed sum what uninviting. I walked down the carriage, and sat down at an empty table. Resting my head upon my rolled up jacket, I tried to catch up on my sleep. I knew that this train terminated at Buckden, so I wouldn't miss my stop, yet I would have to get off the train and board the following one which would take me the rest of the journey to Yorkshire. As I lay down my head and directed my gaze out of the window, the water running down the glass, distorting the country side shrouded in darkness, began to remind me of the horror stories which I was once told by my parents, it seemed almost like one of the perfect scenes which my mother would set, the ones she used to send me to sleep with.
I was awoken, by a rhythmic rocking, causing the carriage to creak. Looking down at my pocket watch, I realised that the train should have arrived at Buckden over half an hour ago, yet we were still in motion, and the thought that perhaps the train had continued past Buckden, was discarded by my remembrance of the fact that Buckden was this trains termination. I stoop up, and began walking to the front of the train, assuming that this would be where I could find more information about when we're going to arrive. After reaching the front of the train, a slim door faced me, which I decided was separating me from the conductor and driver. Knocking on it repeatedly, caused it the be sharply opened, after which, the same man who checked my ticket faced me. I was soon told, that we had faced a delay earlier on, due to a reason which I wasn't made aware of. Deciding that we would most likely soon arrive, there wasn't very much point in trying to sleep again, therefore, I decided to use this time to read the paper which I had brought with me, but within minutes I found myself looking out of the window once again, and with the darkness enveloping my thoughts, I soon began drifting into another state of sleep.
For the second time I woke, now that the rhythmic movement normally created by the rails had stopped, I realise that we've finally arrive at our destination. The door at the end of my carriage, which was swinging open, gave the impression that the train had recently stopped, since it mustn’t of been long since the previous commuter had exited. I walked slowly off the train and stepped onto the Buckden platform, my eyes met the train further down the platform, and my legs broke into a run. I could see that it was my Yorkshire train, yet I also knew that it was ready to leave, whereas if the first train had of arrived as planned then I would have been left with an hour before the second should have been due. With my train only a few metres distance away, I felt like reaching it was a certainty. Yet as I began reaching into my right hand pocket to retrieve my ticket, a taller man presumably five foot eleven, strutted into my path causing me to stumble over. I landed on my bag, but it was enough to knock my pace, turning my head to see the man who caused my fall, I was only able to catch a glimpse of him, before I heard another loud noise. A deep echoing whistle, rapidly filling the station. Realising that my train had left, I began turning once more, to say something to the man who had tripped me, and who's fault it now was that I had missed the Yorkshire train. But, pivoting to face the back of the station presented me with nothing. Turning again to face in the opposite direction, still left me alone. I was the only person left. The platform now consisted of four large pillars, supporting an tall arched roof, set back against a stone wall, and me. However, cut into the wall, in-between two of the large pillars, was a ticket office, surrounded with a thick rope, presumably used to control queues. Set aside from the ticket office, was a black board, similar to that of one occasionally found in a class room, yet this one was different, since this one, was showing visitors and commuters, that this train station was now closed. Therefore, I decided to travel into the village, in search of an inn to spend the night in. But as I left, a thought kept nudging at the back of my mind. Not a complex thought just a simple one. The one of the man. The man, who had walked into me on my way to the train, the man who had suddenly disappeared. But one image manifested itself within my mind, the image of his face. Because although I only caught a glimpse of it, I was aware that it wasn't a normal face. Because his face was blank. No features, eyes, nose or hair. Just skin. Pure white skin. But that couldn't be, since no man has such a face. And now as I began walking out of the station, that thought stayed with me. The thought of who was he. Or more so, what was he.
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Book / Horror
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