The Soul Ride

“Ah, good, you’re finally awake.”

I have never heard this voice before in my life.

“Come on, fella, get those eyes open.”

It’s a struggle. I must have been asleep for a long time; my eyes stick together with thick sleep dust.

“There we go.” He’s old, white-haired, bearded, face lined with wrinkles. Dressed funny, like he’s out of a Western movie. Odd.

“Am I… on a train?” Only now do I notice the rhythmic motion around me, the background chug of engines and wheels and pistons.

“Yes siree.”

“I don’t remember getting on a train.” I pat myself down. My pockets are empty; no wallet, no keys, no phone, no ticket.

“Nobody ever does.”

“What does that mean?”

The man sighs and arranges his face into a well-practised look of sympathy.

“This is always the hardest bit. I hate to break it to you, fella, but you’re on this here train for one reason and one reason only. I’m afraid to say… you’re dead.”

I laugh. He doesn’t.

“You can’t be serious? If this is a joke—”

“No joke, I’m sorry to say. Wish it was.”

“If I’m dead, then why am I on a train?”

“Ever heard of Limbo?”

“What, like Purgatory?”

“Exactly.” He strokes his beard. “Whole train full of souls, riding for millennia.”

“You’re crazy.” I stand and full up the blind that has, until now, hidden the outside world from the inside of the carriage. I sit back down immediately.

“Still think so?” he says, looking out the window. There is nothing but fog out there. No trees, silhouetted in the mist, not distant hills, looming as shadows. There is no world anymore. Somehow, I am certain.

“So… I’m dead? Shit. How’d it happen?”

“I’m afraid that such a thing is one of the afterlife’s great mysteries. Few people ever remember.”

“And I got here how?”

“Again, mystery of the afterlife.”

“You didn’t see me come in? Or appear? Or anything like that?”

“Oh no, I never see anyone arrive. Funny, that.”

“This has to be a mistake.” My legs feel capable of supporting me again. I stand, and move towards the door. “Who can I speak to about this? Is there a conductor?”

“Oh no, there’s no conductor. They’re not needed.” He smiles, warmly. It pisses me off no end. I don’t need sympathetic smiles, I need answers, and to get the hell off this train.

“A driver, then.”

“Likewise. The train drives itself.”

“What about someone at the next station? A guard or whatever.”

“The train never stops.”

“Then how does anyone ever get off? Limbo… Purgatory… whatever the hell this place is… it doesn’t last forever.”

“It didn’t stop to let you on, did it?”

“I don’t know… I don’t remember, remember?” I am shaking, my hands balled into tight, angry fists.

“Let me assure you, as a man who has been here for a very, very long time: the train. Never. Stops.”

I slam the carriage door open and storm out. The train is laid out like an old-style sleeper train; a narrow corridor on one side, a series of small, box-like rooms on the other. Through the windows, I see yet more fog. It is impenetrable, a sea of grey oblivion. It makes my hands stand on end and my mind feel thick, like cold soup left out overnight.

The carriage is not long; looking left and then right, I can see through the windowed doorways that lead to other carriages. They stretch on in a straight line, giving way to more sections of the train, which give way themselves to more… and more… and more. It is like one of those illusions in a hall of mirrors, where the room seems to stretch onwards from infinity to infinity. Whatever tracks this train runs on, they’re deadly straight.

Left or right? It doesn’t seem to matter, but the direction of travel is to the right, so I pick that way. I try to walk with purpose, ignoring the fog to one side, resisting the urge to glance into the other compartments on the other. I am going to find some answers.

I make my way into the next carriage and keep walking. I pass through carriage after carriage, each one identical. There is no sign of a ticket inspector or guard. I keep going, into the next part of the train… and then the next.

“Any luck, fella?” A familiar voice calls as I continue onwards.

“How?” I stagger. I have to grip the sides of the door to keep myself upright. “I’ve been walking for ages.”

“Better to save your legs, I would suggest.” The man pats the seat inside the compartment. “Take a seat. Walking will get you nowhere.”

I do as I am told.

“How do we get out?”

“We wait.” He smiles. “Why not wait together?”

I nod. The train charges onwards, through the infinite fog.