Hand of Penance

Damian woke to a ticking sound coming from his pocket and a splitting headache. Investigating the noise with his hand he felt cold metal in his pocket and retrieved a fob watch he didn’t recall owning. Looking around him he saw the interior of a train, the fancy kind of train car he could never hope to afford to ride in. The kind he’d sooner hijack, regardless. Everyone but him seemed to be sleeping peacefully, with punched tickets resting at their sides.

This brought his attention to the fact that he had no such a document. He was, it appeared, a stowaway on this craft. Something else felt peculiar to him, a cold chill down his spine. Something was on this train, something that didn’t want him here. Something beyond what he thought possible. He didn’t know how he knew, either, he just did. And he could hear its footfalls. Whatever abomination It was It wanted him gone, It knew he was awake, and It was close behind.

Damian was a pragmatic man, he hadn’t learned about much in his life but he’d learned above all how to survive. So he made his way as far as he could from whatever it was that was following him. As he opened the door of the car and walked out between the cars, he saw It creeping behind him.

It was a ghoulish figure, with flesh barely clinging to Its bones, Its eyes glowed white, and It held a walking stick carved with the head of a raven. The figure appeared almost like a man were it not for Its decaying appearance. It wore a white suit and a short brimmed white hat, like the kind they wear in New York. And It moved slowly. So slowly Damian felt a small calm come over him. There was no way this thing could ever catch up to him at this rate.

Until at once he realized that there was no way to know how long this train would run and this thing might reach him before it stopped. He didn’t know what It would do but he knew he didn’t want to find out. So he resolved to find the conductor and beg him to stop the train to let him off.

Though, as he looked out on the desert sands, he wasn’t quite sure he wanted that either. As far as he looked any direction, there was nothing but more sand and he thought he caught a glimpse of a few ghostly figures looking at him, beckoning. That familiar chill went down his spine and he resolved to head away from the ghoul that haunted him in any case. So forward he stepped into the next car.

With the door closed Damian was enveloped in quiet, and the stinging sand on the wind no longer grated at his skin. He took the watch out of his pocket. It felt almost unnaturally cold in his hand, like the watch was sapping his life away as it ticked. In the train car that was all Damian could hear, the incessant tick, tick, tick of the watch drowning out the silence that would otherwise be peaceful. Damian clicked the face of the watch open and realized upon further inspection that it was not a regular watch, but rather a stopwatch. And it appeared to be counting down. Damian’s eyes widened, sweat beaded down his neck. All he could think was, what is going to happen when this stopwatch winds back to the start? Whatever it was, Damian didn’t want to be anywhere near that… thing when the ticking stopped.

He could feel Its presence lingering behind, it was as though Its cold hand was already on his shoulder. Damian steeled himself and headed onward once again, noting in passing all the sleeping passengers with their tickets beside them, or in hand. Why did he have to be the one to wake up? And why didn’t he have a ticket to this godforsaken train?

Whatever the reason he forged on, with a few passing glances out the windows of the train, noting the barren nature of the desert, nothing but pure white sand as far as he could see. Passing between the cars, he felt the wind sting his skin again, and the biting cold that came with it. He wasn’t sure how long he could endure the desert if he did have to run from that thing, but there was some small hope in his mind, he didn’t know why, that the conductor would know what to do. More likely, the conductor would put him in cuffs and turn him over to the sheriff of whatever town they were headed to. If he made it that far, that is.

Damian entered another train car which seemed no different from the others. He began to wonder just how many cars were on this train, as the incessant ticking carried on. As he walked Damian had time to think back on where he last remembered himself being before he woke up here. The last thing he recalled was a bit of a blur. He was protecting some kid, which felt pretty out of character for a self serving man such as himself. Thinking about it made him feel a sharp pain in his side, he didn’t know what from.

Damian felt the pain in his head worsen. He fell to his knees, gripping his head in a vain attempt to lessen his discomfort, and suddenly his senses vanished. His eyes ripped open again. He had been unconscious, he didn’t know for how long. But he was acutely aware of one thing. It was behind him only a few paces. It appeared to be reaching for the sleeping passengers and then stopping itself. Or something was stopping it. It fixed its eyes on Damian and started to walk forward as slow as ever. Damian’s eyes filled with fear, and he ran for the door to the next car at a full sprint. He burst through the door, jumping to the next car with reckless speed. He slammed the door behind him and glanced into the car, seeing It not far from where he saw It last. He glanced again at the stopwatch. An hour had passed, and it had nearly ticked down. At this pace it would take that thing several minutes to even enter this car. Jesse looked forward and saw a faint glow coming from the next car. He could make out the faint sound of shoveling in front of him as well. He made it.

Damian stepped forward, opened the door to the engine car, and walked in. A sense of peace overwhelmed him. A peace he knew deep in his heart didn’t belong to him. As he approached the Conductor the ticking of the stopwatch felt as though it slowed, tick, tick, tick… and then it stopped. Damian glanced at the watch face and the hands had wound back to their start. The old man was shoveling coal into the roaring furnace. He stopped and spoke after a moment, his voice almost a whisper, “Eventually the river dried up, you know. I made these tracks so long ago and still you call me the Ferryman.”

The man outstretched a trembling finger toward the watch in Damian’s hand and rasped another breath, “you have no ticket to give me. You don’t belong aboard this train, Damian Balcom. Your eternity lies in these sands.”

Damian looked behind him, and forward into the desert. He was acutely aware of the fates that lie before him. The Ferryman—rather, the Conductor—wouldn’t let him take the train to whatever peace these passengers had in store. He didn’t deserve it. He could wander the desert eternally, or he could let that thing take him. It wanted his soul and he resolved not to let It have it. He opened the side door of the engine car and as he exited the train—still roaring across the tracks—his body faded into etherealness, and his ghostly form was left upon the sands, along with the lost souls he had seen before.