Eve Williams - Aged 14 - Runner Up

The Journey

 

The platform was nearly deserted when Eliza stepped off the bus. The fog had come rolling in heavy wrapping itself around the lamps, making their glow look sickly and tired. She fished in the outer pocket of her rucksack and pulled out her phone, chestnut and orange leaves from her adventure, with Henry, days before, spilling onto the platform.  She clutched the rucksack, glancing at the clock, hanging above the tiled grey wall - 11:54. The last train was due in six minutes. She hated nights like this. Too still. The streets she had walked through only moments before didn't feel quiet - they felt like they were under surveillance, eyes watching her every movement. Every few steps she had turned her head, half-expecting someone to be standing close enough to touch… nothing. Only the scrape of her shoes echoing on the uneven paving slabs. Pricks of nerves shivering the length of her spine remained.

​

Even this train station - with the warped benches, the disintegrating, faded signs, and her breath dispersing into dull silence was eerie - the air felt thick, it could almost hold itself still.

 

“Ticket?” 

 

The harsh word landed on her wet feet like a rock in water. 

 

A man emerged from the fog, uniform pressed and old in style - she had only seen such a uniform in history books. The cap on his head cast a shadow over his eyes. A polite smile graced his face; almost too polite. 

​

Eliza rifled through her pocket and produced her wrinkled ticket, hands shaking more than she wanted him to notice.

 

"Off duty, such a late hour, huh?" he asked, punching the ticket.

 

"Just visiting family." The lie came out way too easy. 

 

He studied her for a moment that felt longer than it should have - and nodded. "Safe travels."

Then he was gone, just like that, into the fog.

 

Before she could even begin to process his sudden departure, a shriek blasted through the quietness. Blinding headlights burst in through the fog and burned like lasers. The train… Eliza froze. It was wrong. Old - too old. Its paint peeling in sections, windows shaded, metal hinges groaning like bones that would never heal. It dragged and whined like an injured animal towards her. The doors wheezed open. Instinctively she stepped inside.

​

The carriage smelled of wet wood and smoke, a kind of smell that sticks in the throat. Velvet seats, with droopy arms, in faded maroon. A single bulb swung - buzzed. The air was stale. It felt as though it had been trapped for decades. Scanning the carriage, she saw she was not alone. A boy was sitting by the window, maybe her age, with his chin in his hand - he did not acknowledge her boarding and did not even bat an eye when the train jolted and lurched forward, sending Eliza unsteadily further into the carriage.

​

She settled into the seat across from him, still gripping her rucksack – somehow it gave her comfort, a sense of safety - security?

 

For a spell, there was only the rumble of wheels, the soft hiss of steam. Then the boy softly mumbled “You shouldn’t be on this train."

 

Eliza blinked. “Excuse me?"

 

He turned. Immediately, she wished he hadn’t. His eyes were pale, too pale, like a washed-out silver coin. For a moment she thought she saw her own face shimmering inside them like a liquid photograph.

​

“This train doesn’t go where you think.”

 

Her uneasy laugh cracked - it sounded weird in the empty carriage. “Oh, and where does it go then?"

 

He leaned closer, “Not forward." He hushed.

 

The bulb flickered, shadows bent. The walls twisted and stretched, the windows rippled like glass left in the hot sun. Eliza’s stomach fell. Outside was not night anymore. There was no track, no towns, no stars… just black - rolling and churning like ink dissolving in water. The train groaned faster. Eliza, heart racing, jumped up, stumbled to the carriage door and pulled at the handle. It rattled but did not move. She kicked it. Nothing.

​

"It will not open." His voice was steady, almost tender. "Once you're on, you're on."

 

She felt tremors in her chest. She banged on the glass, but her fists released no sound. Even the rattling wheels sounded muffled, like the darkness beyond was swallowing them whole.

 

"Why are you here then?" she scoffed.

 

The boy tilted his head, as if considering. "Because I missed my stop… a while ago."

​

Her stomach lurched. She saw it more clearly now, his clothing decades old, his paper-white skin, the edges of him a blur like smoke. The bulb flickered weakly. His words dragged on like an echo.

 

"The only way off... is before the next station. Wait too long..."

 

The train howled. It slowed. Lights began to form outside, faint. A candle lit lantern swinging in the fog. A platform came into view, outlines of figures waiting in a line became clearer standing as still as statues. Eliza’s ears pounded with her racing heartbeat, her eyes wide and a cold dread creeping throughout her body.

 

"Go," the boy said, sharply. "Now! This is your only opportunity."

 

Her legs felt as heavy as lead, but she ushered herself towards the door. It slowly hissed open. The fog pushed inward and Eliza watched the figures turn their heads, in time, without speaking. She froze. The faces were muddled, features were hazy, but their eyes stuck her in place. She instinctively knew what stepping out would entail… becoming one of them. Her breath halted, she stumbled back into the familiar warmth of the carriage. The doors closed. The train released itself in a forward direction.

​

The boy adjusted, took a long, tired breath.

 

"You should have gotten out." He whispered.

 

The dark closed in, Eliza held her backpack to her chest. She found herself humming, just to hear some reality.