Night-Train

by Thomas F Monteleone

  “I’ve walked this line a million times,” Frieter was saying as they walked along. He kept up a running monologue of lore about the trains. “Seen everything imaginable, I guess, but I never seen old Train 93.” He laughed his cackling laugh. At one point, the old man noticed the crystal that Carter was carrying and asked him about it. The professor passed it off as a trinket he was planning to take to a pawnshop, and changed the subject.

  Frieter took his small party from the City Hall station south to Wall Street in between the lines for the 4 and 5 trains and the line for the N Train into Brooklyn. He showed them three sections of old track that had been sealed off and were no longer used. One had been a siding where in the early twenties local trains would pull over to allow an express to pass unimpeded. “Are there other sections of the line like this?” asked Lya.

  “Hell, yeah, all along this part of the Lex. Especially down here. This is where some of the original tracks were laid.”

  “Let’s go up toward the Bleecker Street station,” she suggested.

  “Anything you say, Miss,” said Frieter as he turned the party around and started heading north through the darkness.

  Their trek was intermittently punctuated by the roaring clatter of a passing train. Lya was surprised at how fast the cars seemed to move past them as they sped between stations. She was also surprised at their frequency. The tunnels were almost totally dark except for the occasional small blue lights along the girders and the naked bulbs over the gangway passageways. There were harsh shadows and pits of absolute blackness everywhere, and there was an insidious damp chill that was seeping through her clothing down to her bones. They had been underground for almost two hours, and several times, Lya had felt the urge to run from the place. She was getting claustrophobic in the narrow tunnels and found herself longing to be up on the open streets. But she fought off the uncomfortable thoughts, determined to get her story… if there was a story.

  Eventually the gangway ended. “We got to cross the tracks here and pick up another tunnel,” said Frieter. “Checkin’ your map, we’re right here, see? The line for the M train goes off to the right, becoming the J line too. We got to cut left up toward the Spring Street station, okay?”

  Everyone nodded and watched Frieter open a door, which revealed an open tunnel curving off into the darkness. “Spur line,” he said. “Don’t use this one anymore, but watch that third rail just in case.”

  They crossed the tracks, and Lya almost lost her footing on the loose gravel that sloped down to the center trough between the rails. Even though she had worn her jeans and hiking boots, she was having trouble walking in the dim confines. Corvino must have sensed her problem, because he reached out and offered his arm as they cleared the second rail, and she gladly took it. He felt steady and seemed sure of himself, although he had been strangely quiet during most of their underground journey.

  “Now, we go through here to another gangway,” Frieter said as he clanked his Zippo, lighting up another cigarette.

  Just as the lighter snapped closed, Lya tensed. She thought she had heard another sound, masked by the overly loud sound of the Zippo. “Did you hear that?” she asked everyone.

  “What’s that?” asked Michael. Frieter and Carter remained silent. For a moment no one spoke, and the silence of the tunnel seemed to be growing more intense, threatening to engulf them.

  Then the sound came through the darkness.

  It was a muffled but faintly metallic sound, like steel closing gently upon steel. Lya nudged Michael’s arm. “There! Did you hear it?”

  “Sounded like a door being closed …” said Frieter.

  “Is anybody else supposed to be down here?” asked Corvino.

  “Not that I know of,” said the old man.

  “Quiet!” whispered Lane Carter. “Listen …”

  Straining in the darkness, Lya could hear small sounds. Gravel softly crunching, as if under footsteps. Someone was moving up the tunnel from the south. It was a slow, deliberate sound, as if someone was sneaking up on them. Then suddenly it stopped.

  Michael told everyone to remain still, and he moved back along the tracks to investigate. As he moved away, Lya saw him draw his revolver, and she felt her jaw muscles tighten reflexively. He was gone for a couple minutes, and Lya looked nervously at Richard Frieter and Lane Carter. Frieter was leaning against a girder, idly smoking, and Carter was holding the star-stone, studying it. They listened to footsteps approaching again, and Corvino reappeared. When Lya saw him, she exhaled slowly. She hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath.

  “Nothing back there that I could see. Maybe it was an echo from another part of the tunnel. Acoustics might play funny tricks down here.”

  Frieter shrugged and motioned everyone ahead. They walked in silence past the Spring Street station, and the lack of conversation became awkward. Lya knew that everyone was listening for more sounds of footsteps.

  Suddenly Mr. Frieter cleared his throat, startling her. She felt a bit foolish for being so edgy.

  “Back in the old days, they used to have ‘cuts’ in the line, switches that could send a train onto the opposite tracks,” said Frieter. “In case of an accident or a derailment, you see. Now, if you look over here, you can see where one of the old cuts was sealed off and filled in with masonry. That newer section of block is where they done it, see?”

  Lya followed the beam of Frieter’s flashlight, noting the slight difference in color and texture of the wall of the tunnel across the tracks from the gangway. It was a solid wall, but as she looked closely, she saw where the old opening had been. She would never have noticed if it had not been pointed out.

  “Miss Marsden, Lieutenant, look!” Carter’s voice was barely more than a whisper, but there was a strident tone to it.

  Turning back to Lane Carter, Lya saw that the crystalline star that he held had begun to glow with an eerie, greenish-yellow light.

  “What the hell is that?” asked Frieter, taking a step backward. “What the hell is that thing?”

  “Let me see it,” said Michael. He took it carefully from the professor’s grasp and held it cautiously. “It’s not giving off any heat, but where’s that light coming from?”

  “Michael, I think we’d better get out of here,” said Lya. Her eyes were watering and her skin felt suddenly clammy.

  “No, wait!” said Carter. “It’s working, don’t you see?! This thing is real! My God!” Lane Carter took back the star-stone and stared into it, then out into the darkness of the tunnel. “It’s an indicator, Lieutenant. We are close to one of the focal points!”

  “Close to what?” asked Frieter. “Listen, I don’t know what you folks are talkin’ about, but I agree with the young lady. I think we ought to go topside.”

  “No! Lieutenant, tell him that we must go on! We are very close to something. This could be an incredible discovery we are about to turn our backs upon.”

  Before Michael could respond, the professor stepped off the gangway and crossed the tracks, moving closer to the walled-off section of the tunnel. As he approached the area, the star-stone grew even brighter until it was a green, glowing fireball of light, casting eerie shadows upon everything and illuminating Carter’s face like a Halloween mask.

  “Look at this!” cried Carter. “Look at it, will you!”

  “Dr. Carter, be careful,” said Michael, moving down to cross the tracks.

  As he moved closer to the wall, Carter held the stone out in front of him. It was glowing even more powerfully than before, so bright that Lya could barely look at it. Then, like storm clouds gathering in speed-motion photography, a mist began to coalesce from the darkness. It was a shining, yellow-white fog that seemed to be boiling out of the wall of the tunnel, rolling in wave upon wave toward the light of the star-stone.

  “Michael!” cried Lya, and stepped down to the tracks with Frieter following none too quickly.

  What followed was like a vision from a dream. Beyond Carter’s outstretched hand, be
yond the light and the boiling mist, the walls of the tunnel seemed to be dissolving. Not melting or crumbling but dissipating like smoke in a sunlit room. It was impossible, and yet Lya watched it happening.

  “This is it!” yelled Carter, as though hypnotized by the blinding light. “We’ve found it!”

  Michael Corvino stood transfixed by the sight, his face locked in an expression of calm as though he too were in some kind of trance. Lya moved to his side and gripped his arm tightly, but he did not move. She watched as Lane Carter stepped forward, passing through the space where a solid wall had been only moments before. She heard a low, gurgling moan from behind her and realized that it was the old man, Frieter, and she turned. His jaw hung open and his eyes were beginning to glaze over.

  “Michael, help me!” she said loudly, and turned to put an arm around Mr. Frieter, steadying him.

  Lya looked back to Professor Carter and saw that he had walked on ahead, the glow of his stone illuminating the walls of another tunnel. She could feel something in the air all about them, rather like the feeling of standing in a summer rain during an electrical storm. There was a sense of charged particles of immense force straining and crackling just beyond the realm of the senses. But what Lya was witnessing, was feeling, she was sure could not be explained by any physics textbook. There were forces that had not yet been tracked and quantified by modern man, and she knew that she was in their midst at that moment. She had the feeling of standing at the threshold of a great room, an engine room where the machinery that drives the universe was thrumming and surging with powers that were pieces of Space and Time itself. Sensing this, she stepped forward …

  … into the mist and the darkness. She heard Michael calling her name, but she kept her eyes ahead, watching Lane Carter and his beacon of cosmic energy leading the way.

  Ahead of him she could see a large, dark shape taking form from the retreating shadows. It was rectangular and black as the night. It was the missing train.

  Michael and Mr. Frieter must have seen it too, because they were both trotting up quickly behind her.

  “My God!” said Professor Carter. “My God, I … can’t believe it, yet here it is! Here it is!” He reached out to touch the side of the old train, which was shaped like a freight boxcar, high and short in length. Its windows were covered over with a rime of dust and soot, like closed eyes in a death mask. “Feel it! Touch it!” cried Carter. “It is real! It really is here!”

  “This is incredible,” said Michael, moving to Lya’s side and putting his arm around her. “Absolutely incredible.”

  “Listen, mister,” said Frieter, his voice unsteady as he touched Corvino’s sleeve. “I think we ought to get outta here …”

  Ignoring him, Michael stepped farther into the abandoned tunnel, closer to the old subway train. Lya followed closely, feeling the dampness of the tunnel seeping through her jacket as though it were a living thing trying to touch her warm skin. There was an oppressive atmosphere in the tunnel. Lya could sense the age of the place, and she had the feeling of opening the door to an ancient tomb, unlocking forgotten secrets.

  “All these years,” said Carter. “All these years it’s been lying here, waiting for someone to stumble upon it.”

  “Lane, what’s going on?” asked Michael. “I mean really going on. Where are we?”

  Carter looked at him in the almost total darkness, his face glowing from the greenish light of the crystal. His eyes seemed to have sunk deep in his skull and he looked very sinister. “The ancients were right, Lieutenant. There are forces that we have yet to perceive, much less control. This place is like a power station, a collecting point for geodetic energies! It can’t be questioned! Here is the proof!” He held up the star-stone, which continued to pulse with power and light, and he gestured at the hulk of the train with his other hand.

  “Are we going to look inside?” asked Lya, knowing what the answer would be but not sure she wanted to hear it.

  “Are we fools?” asked Carter. “Of course, we shall! Only an utter fool would turn back now.”

  “Then let’s get it over with,” she said.

  Holding the star-stone out ahead like a lamp, Carter moved to the end of the car where a set of steps jutted out, leading up to a sealed door. He mounted them and put his hand on the latch, trying to push it to the left. “It’s stuck,” he said softly. “I’ll need help, Lieutenant.”

  Lya watched Michael as he climbed to the door and heaved at the latch with Carter. It sprang open with a loud metallic clang, which echoed briefly through the darkness. They slid the door to the left, and Carter advanced into the interior shadows with the glowing stone. Moments later, he returned and looked down at them. “They’re still here,” he said softly, his voice reverent as though intoning a prayer. “Look …”

  As Professor Carter disappeared into the car, Michael reached down and helped Lya up. They went cautiously in.

  In the greenish half-light of the stone, the interior of the car was shrouded in shadow, but it was bright enough for them to see the remnants of time’s fine art. Lya’s immediate sensation was that of entering a forgotten tomb, an abused crypt. There were fourteen bodies in the train, all sitting in their seats as though they calmly awaited the resumption of their interrupted journey. Their flesh and all soft tissue had long ago dried out, leaving only desiccated husks stretched mummylike over their bones. As Lya followed Michael and Carter into their midst, she felt like a tourist visiting the catacombs someone else held holy. The passengers sat rigidly, their clothes hanging loosely on their skeletons. Lya stared at the grotesque scene, at first not feeling the full impact of the horror of what she was seeing. The men were dressed in vested suits and high-topped shoes with spats; the women wore balloon-skirted dresses with puffy sleeves on their bony shoulders. The shapes of their skulls were visible through the paper-thin flesh; their jaws hung slackly open, as though caught in the act of a final, silent scream. Eyeless sockets stared back at her, and Lya had the thought that these poor victims had looked into the face of an eternity far more terrible than we usually imagine. What had been their final thoughts? Why had they remained so calmly in their seats? What had happened here almost seventy years ago?

  Michael had walked to the front of the train, to the small controller’s compartment. “Here’s the driver,” he said, almost in a whisper.

  Lya and Carter moved closer to peer into the small, coffinlike enclosure. A skeleton still wearing the dark-blue, high-collared uniform of the early IRT sat slumped over a control lever. A clawlike hand grasped the steel bar lightly. Over his left breast pocket, the name Creedon had been embroidered.

  “That was the name of the motorman mentioned in the old newspaper columns,” said Lya. “Train 93 … we’ve found it. There was no accident, no fire, Michael. They covered this up all those years ago, didn’t they?”

  He nodded slowly.

  Professor Carter backed away and regarded the gallery of corpses. “What happened to all of you?” he said softly, rhetorically. “What secrets you could tell, eh?”

  There was a sound at the far end of the train, and they all turned quickly, Lya grabbing for Michael’s arm. They saw Richard Frieter pulling himself into the car, his eyes fixed upon the seated bodies. “Oh … Oh, Jeeesis … Oh, Jeeesis …” he muttered to himself, moving back and down one step out of the car. It was clear that he wanted no part of the discoveries inside.

  “Professor, I think we should get out of here,” said Lya.

  “Yes, of course, but we will be back. We shall want a record of this. Pictures, analysis, and a proper burial for these unfortunate souls …”

  As they moved toward the rear exit, they heard Mr. Frieter’s voice echo through the tunnel. “Hey! C’mere quick! Look at this!”

  Lya followed Michael from the car, allowing him to help her down to the roadbed, and called out to the old man. “What’s wrong, Mr. Frieter? Where are you?”

  “Up here! By the front, but be careful! Jeesis, I don’t beli
eve this!”

  Michael moved to Frieter’s side and suddenly stopped and stepped back. Both men seemed to be looking down at something beyond the front of the train. “What is it?” asked Lya.

  “I don’t know … it’s impossible, but I’m looking at it. Here, Lya, watch it!”

  She stepped up and discovered that she was standing at the edge of a cliff, a sheer drop-off into absolute darkness. They stood silently staring into an abyss, a bottomless gulf that should not, could not be there. Even Lane Carter gasped as he saw the yawning space beyond them, not at first noticing that the crystalline star he held in his hand had begun to glow even brighter.

  “Lane, this is crazy,” said Michael. “It’s insane.”

  “And yet it is here, isn’t it?” said Carter. “I fear that we are staring into the entrance to another world, another dimension of being … a place where our kind does not normally exist.”

  Mr. Frieter backed away from the edge of the pit, feeling his way along the side of the train. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, and I don’t give a damn either. I think we should be—” He stopped and made a grab for Carter’s arm. “What the hell is that?”

  Turning, Lya saw the mist gathering back toward the entrance to the old tunnel. Like steam boiling out of the walls, it gathered and took on substance and density. It seemed to glow with its own inner light. “Let’s get out of here, Michael. He’s right!”

  As they walked slowly toward the growing mist, the sound came to them.

  At first it was so soft that it was masked by the sound of their own footsteps, but it was growing ever stronger in intensity. A scrabbling sound, a furious scuttling as of thousands of tiny feet. Clawed feet. It sounded like rats scurrying through the hollow walls of an old house, of trapped things fighting to be free from their dark confinement. As if by as common signal, the party stopped to listen to the sound. It was swelling like the susurrations of locusts in summer trees, rising and rising until it seemed as if it must reach a shattering crescendo. But it did not. Louder it came until the sounds of the furious movement were all around them.