The Demon Train (Book #1 in the Rachel Payne Horror Series)

by Emily Ford

CHAPTER FOUR

  The sun has set and the train approaches the California border. Rachel brings the invitation with her into the dining car. As she enters the car, she’s pleasantly surprised to find an elegant setup for a candlelit tea party. The overhead lights are off and the candles on the tables cast a soft warm glow, their gentle scent of vanilla floating through the air.

  Six other passengers are already seated in different booths. Brett, the stressed businessman, sits alone at a table rapping his fingers on the table while peering out the window into the darkness. At the other tables, there is Richard and Susan, Ben, the scruffy black leather biker man, and Margaret.

  Preferring not to sit alone, Rachel walks to Brett’s table.

  “Mind if I sit here?” she asks with a smile.

  “Go ahead. I probably won’t stay for this anyway,” he says grumpily.

  “Oh, why not?” The middle-aged woman at the table across the aisle from them asks warmly. It’s Margaret.

  Brett snorts. “This looks too much like a story time at the campfire setup. Not what I was expecting. In fact, this whole trip isn’t what I expected,” he complains, his voice increasing in volume.

  Don walks into the train car just as Brett begins complaining.

  “Hey, uh, Don? Yeah, can you tell me what this is all about? Because if this is just some gay story time thing or whatever, I’d rather spend the evening with a bottle of Scotch in my room.”

  Don smiles politely. “It’s a tradition on the train, when we get close to California we invite passengers together for a meeting of sorts. It’s our way of thanking you for traveling with us.”

  “Oh, that’s lovely!” Margaret says.

  “That’s what I thought,” Brett huffs, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m not staying for this.” He scoots out of the bench seat and stands, giving Don a disgusted look. “Thanks, but no thanks,” he says with a smirk. He heads to the train car door that Don had closed and tries to open it, but it is stuck. Pulling and pushing it only increases his frustration. “What the hell! Now the doors don’t even work.” He spins around and shoots Don another nasty look. “Hey stretch?” he points at the door. “We’ve got a problem here, this door won’t open and I want out.”

  A puzzled look crosses Don’s face and he walks to the door to try to open it. His efforts are unsuccessful as well.

  “Yeah, I already tried that. Why don’t you call someone in charge so they can try to open it?”

  “Yes Sir, I’ll get someone. Sorry about this,” Don says calmly. He heads to the other end of the train car and attempts to open that door. It won’t open either.

  Brett sees that the other door won’t open and his anger ignites. “What the hell, man!” Why doesn’t anything work around here?”

  The other passengers are visibly disconcerted by Brett’s blatant disrespect and rising temper.

  Ben speaks up. “Hey, the kid is trying his best to help, just be patient and give him a chance, will you?”

  Brett shoots him a dirty look. “Yeah, I can handle this kid and this cheap lousy train,” he says, giving the door a kick.

  “Oh, now you’re kicking the door? Do you realize you’re making an ass out of yourself?” Ben says sarcastically.

  “Oh, excuse me,” Brett says. “What’s your name?”

  “Ben,” he says wryly.

  “Well, Ben, why don’t you just mind your own business?”

  Ben stands up from his table, chest puffed out. At nearly six and a half feet tall, the black Mixed Martial Arts T-Shirt he’s wearing along with his impressively large and muscular physique suggest to everyone that he’s no one to mess with.

  Brett reconsiders challenging Ben and instead diverts his attention back to Don as he gives up trying to open the other door.

  “Sorry about this folks, I’ll put a call into the other stewards they’ll help us with the doors.” He pulls out his cell phone and makes the call. “Hello, this is Don. Yes, I’m in the first class dining car and we can’t seem to get either of our doors open. Could you give me a hand? Great, thank you.” He hangs up and gives the passengers a big smile. “Not to worry, we’ll get these doors open.”

  “Well hallelujah,” Brett mocks with a smirk.

  Ben and the others exchange looks but keep their comments to themselves.

  “In the meantime folks, why don’t we all have some tea, how does that sound?” Don suggests.

  “I think that sounds wonderful!” Margaret exclaims.

  Each table is already set with tea cups, utensils, cream and sugar. Don brings around a large silver pot and pours tea for everyone, beginning with Margaret and making his way around to the burly biker, Ben, Richard and Susan, Brett, and then to Rachel.

  “Thank you,” Rachel says.

  “My pleasure, Rachel,” Don answers politely. As he walks away from her table his comment strikes her as odd. She wasn’t aware that she had told Don what her name is. And her name wasn’t on the boarding ticket she gave to him when he showed her to her room. At least, she didn’t think it was.

  She watches Don set the teapot down and check the watch on his wrist. He turns around and gazes at all the passengers, all beginning to sip their tea and make small talk. Then he gazes out the windows and seems to stare at something. She follows Don’s gaze out the window and sees a glowing cross that must set hundreds of yards back from the train’s path. There it stands in the black of the moonless night, its white light crisp in the darkness.

  Brett plops back down at their table, breaking Rachel’s gaze. She takes a sip of the tea and watches him tug at his neck tie in frustration.

  “Have some tea, while you wait,” she suggests gently. “It’s really good.”

  Her suggestion seems to calm him a little, and he looks down at the full cup waiting for him. “I don’t really drink tea,” he grumbles.

  She chuckles. “But you came to a tea party?”

  “I didn’t know it was going to be a lame tea party,” he says, picking up the tea. He takes a sip and surprisingly takes another one. “That’s not bad,” he admits.

  “See, that wasn’t so hard was it?” The woman across from them says. “Hello, everyone, I’m Margaret!” she says.

  Continuing the introductions, Rachel looks at everyone and smiles. “I’m Rachel,” she says, although she’s met most everyone already.

  Brett’s introduction is curt. “Brett,” he says annoyed.

  “Nice to meet you. Are you traveling alone, or…?” Margaret inquires nosily.

  The other passengers introduce themselves.

  “I’m Ben,” the big Mixed Martial Arts fighter says.

  “We are Richard and Susan,” says Richard of the husband-wife pair.

  “I’m Wayne,” states the lone burly biker.

  “So, how is your trip going, Rachel?” Ben asks her. “Are you taking the train all the way to the end?”

  “Yes, to San Francisco.”

  “Are you on business, or a vacation?”

  “Nosey much?” Brett chimes in.

  Ben throws him a cranky look.

  “I’m moving, actually. I have family there.”

  “That sounds awesome,” Ben says.

  “How about you? Are you headed to San Francisco?”

  “Yes, I’m going to visit some people,” Ben answers. “This train ride is kind of boring,” he complains.

  “We’re headed to see our daughter and her family,” Susan chimes in. “Our daughter married a doctor. Now there is an honorable occupation for sure!”

  Brett rolls his eyes and looks at both of the train car doors, both still closed. “Hey Donny boy, any word on the doors?”

  Don has been listening quietly to the chatter among the passengers. He straightens and clears his throat to answer Brett.

  “They should be opening soon. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

  “Yeah, Amtrak is going to be sorry by the time I get through with
them. This is a fire hazard, you can’t have non-working doors anywhere on a passenger train, let alone both ends of a train car getting stuck!”

  “I’m sure it’s a simple mechanical issue,” Don says quietly.

  “Can you at least turn the lights on? This candle light is too dim,” Brett says.

  “I like the candles!” Margaret says. “They smell like vanilla. Are they vanilla?”

  “Yes ma’am,” Don answers.

  “It’s making me claustrophobic, lady,” Brett says.

  “How can you be claustrophobic? This train car is huge,” Ben says.

  “Okay, let’s just calm down everyone,” Richard says, trying to de-escalate the tension between the two hot headed men.

  Don clears his throat and steps out of the corner from which he’s been watching them. “How about a story? To go with the tea. It’ll be like… a campfire story,” he says, shooting Brett a quick deliberate look.

  “Oh, that would be lovely!” Margaret exclaims.

  “Yes, Don, that would be great,” Richard says.

  “Do you tell stories on all the trips? A tradition, like you said?”

  “Yes Susan. And this is an especially good story,” Don says with a crooked smile.

  “Get ready to die from boredom,” Brett says sarcastically.

  “This is the story about a group of strangers, traveling together on the same train,” Don starts.

  Brett dramatically throws his head down on the table and groans. “I knew it,” he groans.

  “Would you knock it off already?” Ben’s voice booms. “I like story time. Please continue, Don.”

  Don nods. “This group of seven strangers was on a long journey. And each of them had secrets. Secrets that would change their lives forever.”

  “Woo, this is going to be fun!” Margaret chirps. “What kind of secrets?”

  Don begins to slowly walk up and down the aisle as he spins the tale. “In no particular order, the first passenger was a drug addict. The second was a thief. The third was a murderer. The fourth had an overinflated ego. The fifth was a rapist. The sixth also a murderer. And the last passenger was a liar.”

  “Wow, this sounds like a wholesome family story,” Brett remarks.

  “Shut up already!” Ben complains.

  “This sounds exciting!” Margaret squeaks.

  “Each passenger’s secret had a horrible effect on those around them, but the passengers weren’t aware of this, because they couldn’t see themselves for what they really were. So, caused all kinds of mayhem and barely even noticed. But given their lack of moral values, if they had noticed, they probably wouldn’t have cared anyway.”

  “Sorry to interrupt, but is it just me or is it getting cold in here?” Margaret says as she shivers and rubs her arms to warm up.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Susan says, touching Margaret’s arm. “I think it’s chilly too.” Richard puts his arm around his wife in an effort to warm her up.

  Ignoring their protests, Don slowly paces the aisle and continues his story. “The first passenger, the drug addict, didn’t think his nasty little habit was hurting anyone else, not even himself. He was a big, strong, rugged man. Kind of like our Ben here,” Don says, stopping at Ben’s table. “How is the tea, Ben?”

  Ben nods, having missed the comparison the steward just made between him and a drug addict. “It would be better with some Jack! But it’s not that bad.”

  Don pats him on the shoulder and smiles. “Good.” He begins pacing again. “See, the drugs were destroying the man’s body, and his brain. He wasn’t fun to be around. He had terrible mood swings, and he became violent. Sometimes he would lose control and attack people close to him. He would throw a person across the room just for looking at him funny. He even tossed someone down the stairs, and it killed them.”

  Ben is in mid-sip when he finally hears what Don is really saying. He lowers his tea cup back down to the table, and begins suspiciously looking around at the other passengers. They’re watching Don, but Ben is becoming edgy. His heart begins racing and he feels uncontrollably anxious, afraid that his secret has been discovered.

  Don stops at Ben’s table again. “That poor woman. She had no idea that she was going to die, just because passenger number one was addicted to drugs.”

  Rachel watches Ben squirm in his seat. The mood in the room has darkened since Don began his storytelling. In the pit of her stomach, Rachel feels that something is off about the situation. She glances around at the other passengers, but none of them seem concerned by the effect the story is having on Ben. They’re busy watching Don and drinking their tea.

  “Now. The second passenger in the story was a thief,” Don continues his story and the pacing. “And this thief just thought she’d scrape a little bit of money here and there from the church’s weekly offerings.”

  Margaret chokes on her tea.

  “Oh, goodness, are you all right?” Susan says, getting up to pat Margaret on the back.

  Margaret coughs until her lungs are clear and catches her breath. “Yes, I’m fine, it just went down the wrong pipe,” she says hoarsely, clearing her throat. “Excuse me.” Her face has become flushed and for the first time since the story began she avoids eye contact with the others and stares into her tea.

  Don, having paused the story while watching Margaret’s ordeal, waits patiently for the excitement to subside, a cold detachment possessing his eyes.

  Rachel sees Don’s cold expression and finds herself wondering where the polite, professional young steward has gone. The personality he now shows is starkly different. He’s intense, seems older, and tells his story in a predatory tone. He doesn’t act or sound like a courteous young man in his 20’s. There’s nothing innocent about him anymore.

  “Okay son, you can continue with you story, she’s okay,” Richard says.

  “So passenger number two is stealing from the church. A little here, a little there. She’s feeding her bank account while draining the Pastor’s. Eventually, the church loses so much money that it’s forced to shut down. The now destitute Pastor struggles to support his wife and three children. He ends up renting a small apartment in a government housing unit, and one unfortunate evening, he and his entire family are the victims of a robbery that turns into a homicide. The family is slaughtered at their own tiny little dinner table. All because passenger number two couldn’t stop her addiction to… was it… Fabergé eggs?”

  Don has paused by Margaret’s side, and she sits still as stone, peering into her nearly empty cup of tea.

  “What a horrible woman,” Susan says.

  Don looks at her. “Was she that horrible?”

  Susan nods emphatically. “Well yes, of course! She’s the reason those poor people died!”

  “Honey, she didn’t know what her actions would do, it’s not the woman’s fault,” Richard says.

  Brett moans. “My God, Is this some sort of half-baked ‘the-moral-of-the-story-is’ kind of thing? When are these doors going to open?”

  “Man, why don’t you stop whining like a little girl?” Ben utters, agitated.

  “Why don’t you make me?” Brett challenges.

  Both men rise angrily from their seats, yelling at each other. The objections of the other passengers turn into heated squabbles. Wayne gets up to restrain Ben, Richard and Susan stand to try to make everyone calm down. Margaret squabbles from her seat but doesn’t get up, and Rachel puts herself between Brett and Ben, and tries to talk Brett down from his escalating rage.

  Amidst the arguing and bickering, Rachel glances at young Don’s face and is startled to see that he seems pleased with the scene and isn’t trying to intervene. Instead, he watches everyone bicker and threaten, and his eyes fall on her, smiling at her as it’s all supposed to be fun. Ben’s voice booms in anger, the others bicker back and forth and Brett shouts threats and obscenities. The train car is filled with hateful words and threats of violence, b
ut young Don’s face is serene, almost happy, and he is watching Rachel.

  “Everybody shut up,” Wayne finally yells. “Stop it… stop it and shut the hell up!”

  The room falls silent and there is a collective gasp when the group sees that Wayne is holding a handgun and is nervously backing away from them. His face is shiny from sweat and is red even in the dim light of the candles.

  “Why does he have a gun?” Margaret exclaims.

  “What the hell are you doing?” A preemptively violent Ben yells.

  Wayne is horribly agitated, his gun hand shaking violently. He swings the gun around, aiming it at the shocked passengers’ faces staring at him in disbelief.

  “Passenger number three,” Don says calmly from behind the group. “The murderer.” Don slowly wades through the shocked passengers as they stare at a frenzied Wayne waving his gun at them.

  Rachel notes the lack of surprise on Don’s face as he slides past her towards Wayne. “Be careful,” she whispers to him. Her comment makes him blink as if he can’t understand why she would say such a thing. He recovers quickly from the momentary blindside and shifts his gaze onto Wayne.

  Don walks straight up to Wayne. “Don’t be rude,” he chastises. “Give me the gun.” He casually holds out his hand, and to the amazement of the rest of the passengers, Wayne hands it over to him without protest, his face blank, his movements robotic as if he’s on auto-pilot. “Thank you,” Don says. He turns and wades back through the sea of baffled passengers and opens a cabinet on the far side of the train car. “We’ll just keep this in here,” he says, placing the gun into the cabinet and closing the door.

  Before the door closed, Rachel catches a glimpse of dozens of salt shakers and several cylindrical containers of salt, like the one that had been in her sleeping cabin. She looks at Don curiously, but he ignores her non-verbal inquisition.

  “Um, does anyone else have a problem with crazy guy here bringing a gun on the train?” Brett says.

  “I think we all have a problem with that,” Ben says. “Hey man,” he says, talking to Don. “Can’t you get the rest of the crew in here to help us? Get these doors open? I mean, why aren’t they open yet? I don’t even hear them working on them.”

  “You heard him call the crew, didn’t you?” Richard pipes in. “He’s done everything he can, we just have to be patient now.”

  “I’m going to call someone,” Brett says, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. “Donny boy, what’s the number to someone not in this room – the conductor, whoever we need to be talking to? I want these doors open and I want this psycho restrained.” Brett looks at his phone and tries to dial. A disgusted look crosses his face. “Wait a minute. Damn it, I don’t even have signal. Does anyone else have signal?”

  Several of the others take out their cells and check for signal.

  “Nope,” Ben says.

  “Neither of us do,” says Richard.

  Rachel looks at hers. “No,” she says quietly. She looks up at Don. “Does your phone have signal?” she asks him.

  Don doesn’t answer her, because Richard answers for him.

  “If ours don’t have signal, I’m sure his won’t either.”

  “Then how were you able to call the crew?” Brett asks Don, squinting pointedly at him.

  Don shrugs. “We must be in a bad area. I’m sure they’ll be open soon. Why don’t we all remain calm. Please, sit down, and have some more tea.”

  “What about captain insane man there? I ain’t sitting down when he was about to shoot us!” Ben protests.

  Wayne remains plastered against the train car wall opposite of Don and appears to be confused and frightened.

  “What were you thinking, son? Why did you bring that gun on the train?” Richard says attempting to reach out to the visibly shaking Wayne.

  “Any why did you bring it to a tea party?” Rachel dares to ask.

  After some hesitation, Wayne finds his voice, albeit a shaky one. “This was supposed to be something else… I thought I was meeting… someone else,” he says. He pulls out a crumpled notecard from his jeans pocket, it appears to be similar to the one Rachel found in her sleeping cabin. Wayne holds the crumpled card out for someone to take, and Richard is the one to check it out.

  He straightens the notecard and clears his throat. “This says ‘I know what you did. First class dining car, 8:00pm.’ That’s all it says,” Richard says.

  “Well, that’s not what ours said,” Susan says, and pulls out their notecard from her purse. “Ours says ‘Couples retreat. First class dining car. 8:00pm.’ Well that’s strange,” she mutters to herself.

  “Yeah, well mine said ‘Business meeting,’” Brett says crankily. “So what? Apparently Donny boy just put whatever he thought would get us together on the notecards so he could lock us in and try to scare us with some cheap campfire stories. Does that sound about right, Donny? Is this asshole part of the plan too?” He points at Wayne.

  Before Don can answer, Margaret asks Rachel what hers says. “Rachel, what does your card say dear?”

  “Mine said tea party,” she says in a small voice, a little embarrassed that hers seemed silly compared to the others.

  Don picks up the large silver tea kettle and starts refilling the cups. “Please, if everyone will just relax and sit down, we’ll have you all out of here soon. Let’s not spoil Rachel’s tea party,” he teases as he refills her cup.

  “Are you going to give us some real answers, or are you just going to screw with us all night?” Brett says, plopping back down at the table with Rachel.

  “Passenger number three, the murderer,” Don continues his story while pouring tea. The passengers relent and take their seats, with the exception of Wayne, who hasn’t moved from his deer-in-headlight position. “Now, this was a special man, because he knew exactly what he did. He knew that he wanted to kill his girlfriend for cheating on him, so he stalked her until she was alone one day, and beat her to a pulp with a tire iron. Now, tire irons are a bit, hmmm, thin? So it takes some doing to turn a human body into a squishy piece of tenderized meat.”

  Margaret and Susan audibly gasp, their mouths falling open in disgust.

  “Dear God,” Richard says, removing his glasses and wiping them with his shirt.

  “Uh, hello everyone? Am I the only one that thinks we should be trying to get out of here instead of getting back to story time?” Brett objects.

  “Shut up, dude!” Ben yells.

  Don continues. “Then, passenger number three set fire to his girlfriend’s leftovers and fled the coup.” Don finishes filling the last cup of tea and his eyes fall upon Wayne. “See, he never felt guilty about it. He felt justified. The only reason he ran was because he didn’t want to get caught. And, he’s been running ever since.”

  The other passengers finally pick up on what Don is implying about Wayne. They look back and forth between the two nervously, unsure of what to do or say.

  Don turns and walks back to the other end of the train car, setting the tea pot back down. “How long has it been, about a month?” he throws the question out without directing it to anyone specific.

  “How do you know this? You a cop?” Wayne says through gritted teeth. His fear and confusion are quickly morphing into rage.

  “Wait… are you saying that this guy murdered his girlfriend?” Brett nearly chokes, pointing at Wayne.

  “Dear God!” Susan gasps.

  “What the hell is this?” Brett and the others struggle to understand what is going on. “Are you a cop, Donny boy? Is this some sort of sting operation to catch this guy?”

  Don shakes his head and chuckles. “I’m not a cop, Brett,” he says.

  “Are you a bounty hunter or something?” Ben chips in.

  Don considers the question and appears to like it. “Yes, I’m a bounty hunter, or something.”

  “Well you better arrest him before he tries to kill us all!” Richard yells, standing
up and pulling Susan up with him. They along with Margaret scurry away from Wayne and hide behind Don.

  “Yeah, you better get this guy, do something!” Brett orders Don.

  “You’ll never get me, I ain’t never goin’ to prison!” Wayne yells. “Never!” He leans over and withdraws a small pistol that he had strapped to his ankle beneath his pants leg. He cocks the gun and aims it at Don.

  “Oh my God!” the passengers scream and scurry. Rachel and Brett stand up at the same time, both facing Wayne, but Brett grabs Rachel by the shoulders and drags her backwards towards him, positioning her in front of him like a shield. Unable to break Brett’s iron grip on her shoulders, Rachel is the closest passenger to Wayne. They all stare at him in fear, hearts racing, terrified of what he’ll do next.

  “Somebody get the other gun and shoot him!” Margaret yells from behind Don.

  “What do you say, Wayne,” Don says calmly. “Time to stop running?”

  “You shut up!” Wayne yells.

  “Aren’t you tired of it? Constantly trying to evade the authorities. Always on the run. That must be exhausting, right?” Don casually asks. He is slowly making his way towards Wayne, observing the reactions of the other passengers as he passes them. He stops next to Brett, a smirk forming on his face as Brett cowers behind his human shield. “So much for chivalry,” Don comments to Rachel.

  “Stay back!” Wayne yells.

  “Wayne. Be sensible. It’s over. Now, you can do one of two things. You can either shoot me. Or you can shoot yourself.”

  The comment shocks the already rattled passengers. “What kind of police talk is that?” Richard says from his frightened huddle.

  Wayne’s face contorts with confusion and anger. “What? You mean I gotta shoot someone?”

  Don nods. “Yes, Wayne. You have to shoot someone. Who’s it going to be? Me? One of them?” he says, pointing to the frightened passengers. “Or yourself?” Don stands at the end of the gun barrel.

  “Someone stop this! Don, what are you doing?” Margaret pleads.

  Don’s demeanor goes from cool to cruel. “Do it!” he hisses.

  Angry tears fall from Wayne’s bloodshot, beady eyes, his face is a mess of anger, fear, and confusion.

  “Do it now!” Don screams, his voice deep, loud, and chilling.

  “No!” Rachel screams. She tears out of Brett’s grip and charges towards the showdown. “Don’t shoot anyone Wayne!”

  Wayne brings the barrel of the gun to his temple and pulls the trigger. The sound is deafening and the passengers jump, some covering their eyes and turning away. Wayne’s body falls heavily onto the train car floor.

  Rachel jerks to a halt and watches the body hit the floor, then directly looks down at the blood spatter covering her shirt.

  Don stares at the body for a moment, then smiles to himself. “That was the right choice, Wayne,” he says. He starts clapping. “Good job, Wayne!” he yells victoriously. Turning around, he sees Rachel and the other passengers staring at him, horrified. He chuckles and slows his clapping. “What? Would you rather he had shot me?”

  “Good God!” Richard nearly chokes on his own mortification.

  Rachel stands frozen, unable to move as she tries to process the situation. She can smell the faint metallic odor of Wayne’s blood on her shirt.

  Don pulls out a white handkerchief from his pocket and steps towards her. He brings the handkerchief to her face. “You’ve got some… here, just let me wipe that off for you,” he says, wiping the spots of Wayne’s blood off her face. “There, all better!” He then wipes the blood off his own face and walks towards the head of the train car.

  The huddled passengers scatter as he approaches, dodging him and retreating back to their seats. He removes the red fedora on his head and tosses it onto the closest table. “I never really liked that hat,” he says casually. He briskly fluffs his hair with his fingers.

  Breathing heavily from fear and excitement, Ben tries to comprehend the situation. “Who the hell are you, man? Are you a cop, or… what?”

  “Passenger number four, the walking ego,” Don proceeds with his story.

  “Wait, wait, what the hell!” Brett yells. “We want answers here, Donny boy! What the hell just happened! Why won’t you give us some straight answers?”

  Don’s story is interrupted not by Brett’s objection, but by something passing on the outside of the train. Rachel is the only one to notice that something has caught Don’s gaze, and she follows it with her own eyes. It’s a glowing white cross, many yards away from the train’s path. Its light is still crisp in the moonless night. Rachel thinks to herself, could there be two crosses, or did they pass the same one twice? Lost in her thoughts, she looks back at Don, who is glaring at her with a darkened expression.

  “We need to get some help in here,” Richard says.

  “Let’s all try to get these doors open,” Ben says. He and the others scurry to the door and try to pry it open.

  “Sit down,” Don orders firmly. They don’t comply and continue to fumble at the door. “Sit down!” he commands them in the thunderous tone he used on Wayne to get him to shoot himself.

  The candle flames flicker hard as if hit by a sudden violent gust of wind. The train car darkens and rumbles, the tea cups and silverware on the tables rattling as the vibration of Don’s unnatural voice rips through the train car.

  Terrified and now able to sense a sinister edge to Don, the passengers obediently scurry back to their seats. All but Rachel.

  Rachel watches the others scramble to comply with the dark-willed train steward. Their actions, the flickering of the candles, and the rattling of the silverware convinces her that Don is not only hiding something bad, but that there is something evil in the train car.

  “Rachel, you should sit!” Margaret whispers sharply.

  Glaring at Rachel, Don continues his story. “Passenger number four’s ego lead him to think that he was the best at everything, that he deserved everything he wanted. That everyone else was beneath him. His attitude got him pretty far in life, in his career, and with women. But what he didn’t know was that because he stomped on people, used people, and destroyed people, he sent dozens of them to therapy, drugs and other addictions, and even some suicides. That’s pretty selfish, don’t you think?” He directs the question to Brett.

  Brett snorts. “You’re asking me? How the hell should I know?”

  “Maybe he’s talking about you,” Ben says.

  “This is bullshit!” Brett grumbles. “What the hell are you trying to pull here, Donny boy?”

  “What do you mean, Brett?” Don feigns ignorance.

  “I’m no dummy, you’re obviously telling this story because you’re a cop and you’ve pulled all of our criminal histories, and this is some sort of big sting. Am I right? Well, I haven’t done jack shit to anyone, thank you very much. I just want to get the hell out of here.”

  “I wouldn’t talk to him like that, Brett,” Richard whispers. “I don’t think he’s a cop.”

  Don looks at Richard and Susan and a goofy grin covers his face. “Passengers five and six were a double team of doom.” He laughs giddily and skips down the aisle, twirling around when he reaches Wayne’s body. “I enjoy this part of the story. Five and six, a terrible twosome of a team. One of them raped a poor, innocent girl, and the other murdered her so no one would find out.” He clasps his hands together and lets out a heavy sigh. “They were quite the couple! A real Bonnie and Clyde type.”

  Richard and Susan look at each other silently. Both them appear to have just aged twenty years in two seconds.

  Noticing the odd looks on the husband and wife’s faces, Margaret nearly chokes. “Wait, are you suggesting that… those two did those things?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything,” Don says coldly. “That’s how the story goes. Five and six, who boy,” he says with a laugh.

  “I want out of here,” Margaret says with a
sniff as she begins tearing up. “I just want out of here!”

  “This is such bull shit!” Brett yells.

  “Did I mention that in the story about the seven passengers, only one of them lived?”

  The passengers fall silent.

  “See, they all had to choose who lived. Only one of them was allowed to walk away. So they had to weigh each other’s offenses to see who deserved to live, and who didn’t.”

  “I don’t like were this is going,” Susan cries.

  Rachel braves the question everyone wants to know. “Don? Exactly… who are you?”

  “Yeah, is Don even your real name?” Ben risks his question.

  Don’s gaze is caught by something outside the train again, and Rachel sees the glowing white cross in the distance. It’s in the exact spot as the other two times, and she realizes it has to be the same one the train keeps passing. How that’s possible, she has no idea, as the train has been moving steady and straight ahead. Whatever is causing a repeat of scenery must be something… supernatural. And for some reason, passing the cross, now at increasing frequency, is irritating Don.

  Rachel thinks about the route of the train and recalls that just across the California border it is scheduled to go past Donner Lake.

  “Don. Donner?” she says out loud, testing her theory.

  Don smiles. “You always were a smart one,” he says. “I admire that.”

  Afraid but determined to intervene, Rachel continues testing her theory on exactly who… or what… Don is. She slowly steps towards the darkly mysterious steward.

  “Wait, you two know each other?” Brett says, become paranoid.

  “I think I might know him,” Rachel says to Brett. Looking at Don, and the amused smile spreading across his face, she continues. “I know you,” she says.

  “How do you know him? Are you working together?” Margaret asks. The passengers, now suspicious of Rachel, become even more restless and manic.

  “No, Margaret,” Rachel reassures her.

  “Then how do you know him?” Ben says.

  “He’s the seventh passenger in the story,” Rachel says.

  Don’s smile gets bigger and he laughs.

  “What do you mean? I thought it was just a story?” Margaret says.

  “He’s the liar,” Rachel continues. She stops a few feet away from Don and examines his face. “Aren’t you? The liar. The deceiver. Guys, I think this man is possessed,” she says to everyone.

  “Oh, stop, you’re flattering me,” Don says sheepishly.

  “Possessed? You’re crazy!” Brett grumbles.

  “Is the boy whose body you took still in there, or are you just in disguise?” Rachel asks him.

  Don closes the distance between himself and Rachel and leans in to whisper in her ear. “If I told you that, you’d never sleep again.”

  A brutal wave of nausea and dizziness hits Rachel and she stumbles backwards, catching herself before she falls. Now confirmed by her own inquisition, the presence of the possessing demon makes her physically ill. Overwhelmed by dizziness and nausea, Rachel bumps into the bench seat holding an aggravated Brett.

  “Hey, watch it! I knew there had to be someone else in on this,” he says accusing Rachel.

  “Rachel, how do you know him?” Richard demands. “I want answers, I think we all deserve some answers for what we’re going through!”

  “Yeah, what’s really going on? Stop playing with us,” Ben yells at Rachel angrily. “If you know something, you better say it right now!”

  Don steps towards Rachel, delighted to see that his proximity intensifies her discomfort. “How do you know me, Rachel? You stink of jasmine, by the way,” he says, his face contorting as he inhales her scent.

  Rachel groans as a sharp pain shoots through her abdomen. She doubles over and grabs her stomach. “I don’t know how I know what you are… but you’re not right… you’re something really bad… something evil,” she says through clenched teeth.

  In a flash, Don’s face morphs from human to demonic. His eyes become black slits and his mouth opens wider than humanly possible to reveal razor-like teeth with a long forked tongue resting in his mouth. The creature face screams, the sound is a combination of a lion’s roar and the piercing screech of a predatory bird.

  The passengers scream in terror.

  Don’s face flashes back to its human form and he suppresses the raging beast hiding within him. He laughs. “There’s no fooling you, is there?” He leers at Rachel. He turns his attention to the squirming passengers. They’re scrambling out of their seats and tripping over each other as they run towards the other end of the train car, next to Wayne’s body. Holding his hands out as if dumbfounded, Don chuckles. “Was it something I said?”

  “What sort of… monster are you?” Margaret wails, peeking over Richard’s shoulder.

  “Oh, come on, Margaret. You know who I am too. You all do.”

  “We don’t know you! You’re insane!” Ben yells, he too huddling with the others.

  “I talk to all of you, every day. All day. Don’t you remember?”

  “What the hell do you mean?” Brett argues. “I’ve never even met you! I don’t know who you are! I don’t know what’s going on here!”

  Don winks at Rachel as he passes her, strolling to the huddled mass of frenzied passengers. A shudder passes through her.

  “We talk about things like taking one more hit of ‘roids, Ben. And fire his ass, Brett, that guy Larry is worthless and deserves to be humiliated.” Don points at Margaret. “Remember Margaret, when I talked you into hiding that large donation the Smith family made to the church? You got some amazing new porcelain figurines for your collection with that one.”

  “Dear God,” Margaret cries.

  Irritated by the mention of the name, Don snorts. “Not God, darling. Not quite,” he says his voice strained.

  “And it was thirty years ago, Richard and Susan. What you did then doesn’t even matter now, it’s been so long. Remember that conversation?” He walks up to Richard and sneers in his face. “We talk about that every day. Richard.”

  “What about her! She can’t be innocent!” Susan screams, trying to divert Don’s attention from her husband onto Rachel.

  “Yeah, what is she, a goody two-shoes? Hey, why don’t you make yourself useful and get us the hell out of here, if you’re so good,” Brett barks at Rachel.

  Feigning surprise, Don gasps and covers his mouth. He turns around and looks at Rachel. “My goodness, Rachel! They’re all turning against you! How could they do that?” He walks towards her.

  Rachel fights the overwhelming sickness and pain inflicting her and straightens up. “I hear you talk to me too,” she says to Don. “But I don’t listen to you.” She looks past Don at the group of passengers. “You can’t listen to him. Don’t listen to him, don’t do anything he says.”

  “You and I talk a lot too, don’t we?” He says with a smile.

  Rachel swallows hard, the nausea intensifying. “Yes.”

  “We talk about things like, how you’re not good enough, you don’t deserve good things.” Don is just inches away, looking down at her with a wry smile. His hot breath smells strongly of sulfur. “You caused your husband to cheat on you, I mean, that was all your fault. You weren’t pretty enough. You weren’t a good wife. Oh, and the fact that you were barren, that drove him into the arms of another woman, didn’t it? As barren as the Rachel in the Bible. Your parents did have good foresight,” he jokes.

  Rachel meets his gaze and stares defiantly. “I’m not listening to you.”

  Another wry smile, and he sighs heavily. “I know. But I’m going to keep talking, until you do,” he says, nudging her chin up with his hand. “I’ll never give up on you. Unlike your husband,” he says in a judgmental tone. “Whew, that guy was a real… train wreck.”

  “What are you going to do now? What do you want from us? When is this nightmare going to
be over?” Richard pleads.

  “Yeah, what do we have to do to make this stop?” Ben begs.

  Don and Rachel both see the glowing white cross in the distance out the window. The train is passing it for the fourth time.

  Rachel hears a low growl rumble out of him. She can sense his haste. “You’re running out of time,” she says.

  Don snaps his gaze back on her.

  “Aren’t you?”

  He snarls like an animal and ignores her question, turning his attention back to the huddled group of passengers.

  “When you hear on the news about a mother that drives herself and her children off a bridge into a lake. Or when a teenager dies in a car crash because they were sending a text message. Or, some freak accident claims the lives of young, innocent people. Those are all because of me.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Ben mutters.

  Don laughs. “Definitely not, Ben! Definitely not. See, you all know me. You know me from such events as 9/11. The Oklahoma City bombing. Guys like Charles Manson. School shootings. Those are all a hoot. But do you want to know what the secret is?”

  “I don’t want to hear this,” Susan cries into her hands.

  “No, you’ll like this, Susan, I promise. You see, the secret is, I didn’t do any of those things. You people did. And all it took was some… influencing. Some talking, that’s all. Because in the end, you people choose to do things that make your precious Creator above blush. So, I’m the innocent one here.” He holds his hands up in a not-guilty pose.

  “He’s lying,” Rachel calls to the group. “Don’t listen to him. All you have to do is stop listening to him.”

  The glowing white cross passes by the window again. Rachel watches Don’s face as it darkens.

  “I have an idea. Why don’t we flip this story around, and make it more interesting. You people choose one person in here to die. Then the rest of you get to live, and move on with your lives. What do you say?” He smiles cheerfully.

  “What kind of proposition is that?” Richard says.

  “It’s the proposition that will open these doors, and set all of you… well, all but one of you… free,” Don says.

  “What if we don’t play along?” Ben challenges.

  “If you don’t play along, all of you will die. It’s that simple.” He takes out both of Wayne’s handguns from his own red jacket pocket and points them at the passengers.

  “How the hell did you get those?” Brett yells, stunned.”

  “That gun was locked up!” Richard remarks.

  “How indeed,” Don gloats. “Choose who lives, or all of you die.”

  “Don’t listen to him!” Rachel yells. “This is what evil does, it lies. It tries to talk you into doing something that you shouldn’t do. Don’t do what he says!”

  “Who died and made you an expert on evil? He’s got two guns!” Brett says sharply.

  “We have no choice! We have to do what he says, or we’ll all die here!” Margaret whines.

  “You don’t have to do anything he says! He’s running out of time, there’s something else going on and he’s in a hurry. Let his time run out, don’t listen!” Rachel pleads.

  “I’m not taking any chances! I don’t want to get shot!” Susan screams.

  “Yeah, me neither! I’m not dying here!” Brett yells. “We have to choose one person, then the rest of us will be safe!”

  “No! Stop listening to him!” Rachel warns. “You have to believe me!”

  “I think it should be you!” Brett screams, pointing at Rachel. “You’ve been buddy-buddy with him this whole time. I think you’re in this together, look how you’re over there with him, and we’re over here! You’re the one that said you know him!”

  “Yeah! She’s in on it!” Ben says. “We should choose her!”

  “Do I sense a vote coming on here?” Don says with mock surprise. He raises his hand. “All those in favor of Rachel being the sacrificial lamb?”

  Brett, Ben, Susan, and Richard raise their hands. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to die!” Margaret cries between sniffs, and is the last to raise her hand.

  “Wayne, anything?” Don jokingly gives dead Wayne a vote. “You know, I think one of his arms is slightly elevated, so that counts. Okay then, it’s unanimous.” Don turns and walks to Rachel.

  Shaking her head, Rachel fills with dread, but not for herself. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she chastises the passengers.

  Don stops a few feet away from her and tilts his head. He tosses both guns onto the floor in front of him and sighs. “They really should have listened to you,” he says matter-of-factly. He slowly raises his hand and holds it in front of him. He glances over his shoulder and smiles, then looks back at Rachel, winks, and revels in the expression on her face as he snaps his fingers.

  “No!” Rachel screams.

  Five heads burst like exploding produce. Blood, bone fragments, and brain matter spray half the train car, soaking the back of Don’s uniform. Only a few drops of blood reach Rachel, as Don’s tall body acts as a shield preventing most of the squishy body tissue from reaching her.

  The headless bodies knock into each other as they fold unnaturally and crumple to the floor.

  Rachel falls into the bench seat beside her, overcome by the devastating shock of witnessing the abhorrent destruction of five human lives.

  Don proudly surveys the bloody mess behind him. He lets out a whoop, and claps loudly. He pulls a clean handkerchief from his pocket and wipes blood and chunks of flesh from behind his head. Laughing, he sits down at the table with Rachel.

  “Wow. That was fun! I was starting to worry I really would run out of time.”

  Rachel meets his predatory gaze, fighting the urge to vomit. “Why did you have to kill them?”

  He shrugs. “I think you know why. But the real question here is, and I have to ask… where is God during all of this?”

  Rachel chuckles nervously, barely feeling tears roll down her numb face. “Seriously? That’s your question?”

  Don smiles. “It’s standard procedure, just humor me. Where is he?”

  “Whatever you are… you will never win,” Rachel says. “Never.”

  The demonic face from before flashes across young Don’s face. He pounds the table with his fist, sending the cups and silverware flying onto the floor. “I will. I will win. It’s inevitable. Every single day, you people get easier and easier to convince. More of you listen to me now than ever before. It’s going to happen fast.”

  Rachel leers at him. “You know, sometimes I almost feel bad for you. Because you always have to lose. That’s how you were made.”

  “Tsk, tsk, little lamb.” He tries to blot the fresh blood spots on her face with the handkerchief and smiles as she pulls away. “You know, the murderers, the rapists, the really ugly, bad souls… they’re all wolves. I enjoy getting ahold of them. They’re usually pretty easy, and, you know me, I like easy. But you…the little lambs,” he bares his demon teeth at her. “You I love. Because there’s nothing more satisfying than bringing one of you little lambs down to my level.”

  He snarls as the sixth glowing white cross passes by the window. “We’re almost there,” he says flatly. “Damn. And I was having so much fun.”

  “We’re almost where?”

  “To the lake. Donner Lake. I’m sure you’ve heard of it?”

  “Donner… that’s where you got your name. Don,” she says.

  “The Donners. Now, they were a fun bunch. It’s amazing how a little bit of hunger and cold can… hasten…the whole process.”

  “Process?”

  “My process. Anyway. The hour is nigh.” He leans back in the bench seat and cocks his head to the side, a spry smile crossing his lips.

  Rachel’s body starts feeling heavy and warm. It’s becoming hard for her to breathe, and her thoughts become clouded and scattered. “What’s happening,” she mumbles, barely able to keep her head up.<
br />
  “How was the tea, Rachel?” Don says sadistically.

  She glances down at the tea cups on the other tables. They are bubbling over with maggots, their white slimy bodies falling from the cups and crawling onto the tables. She can’t react to the sickening sight of maggots because her vision is blurring and the room starts spinning, completely disorienting her. She grasps at the table to steady herself. “What’s happening…?”

  Through her blurred vision, she sees Don lean over the table and grab her head before it falls onto the table.

  His words are more like a serpent’s hiss than those of a human. “Listen to me now Rachel. The next time we meet the stakes will be higher. There will be death everywhere. You can’t say no to me forever.”

  A searing heat and deadening heaviness in her limbs overtakes her and she loses consciousness. The last memory she has before fading out is the bone chilling growl emanating from deep within the creature’s core.