The Passenger

By [Karithina]

He was an oily fish, a rich scarlet shade, wearing a pale smock. He was cold so I offered him warmth in a cup. He stared directly into my soul, so I bid him farewell and returned to my dream...

Another train whirred to a stop in front of me, this time it was the one I wanted and so I weaved my way through the crowd and to my seat. I had always loved trains. Where I was born in the countryside they had to take buses just to get to a town large enough for my friends and I to hang out, and it was another bus from there if you wanted to have even a hope of catching a train. Now 27, I have been working as a civil engineer for more than a few years now, and even after working on a few train designs I haven’t tired of their novelty.

I wasn’t taking this train very far, just far enough to get to where I was to catch my first car share of my journey. I had a grand adventure planned of couch surfing, car shares, and the cheapest youth hostels; the cost of the occasional train ride was a luxury I was allowing myself only for this first part of the trip.

Friends had told me multiple tips to stay safe, family had shared their wishes and fears, and everyone seemed fairly certain that a small and frail girl shouldn’t be travelling at all. I disregarded all of their care; I had larger things to worry about than an over-amorous man in an alleyway, or someone offering to carry my luggage for a fee.

When I arrived at my destination I made my way to the car park, near the taxi rank, where I was to be meeting my driver. He waved from the bonnet of an old, yet clean, red VW - in his other hand was a cigarette. He stubbed it out with one shoe and I offered him the small fee to cross from Brno to Wien.

“That’s plenty. We’re going to have to stop over in Dolenice for a little while, a nice village… a bit out of the way of our original plan but I’ll cover the costs if you’re still up for it.”
“Of course,” I grinned “a little detour never hurt anyone; in fact I don’t even have to catch my next ride until midday tomorrow.” The driver returned my smile and I refused help with my bag, and despite the caring yet useless advice from friends I sat in the front seat of the car. The small talk started not even 10 minutes into their journey.

“So, where are you planning on heading after this?”
“Zagreb” I answered shortly, then remembering my manners: I extended it to an explanation “to see some relatives that I haven’t had time to catch up with for a fair amount of years.”
“Well I’ve heard the weather is nice this time of year...” but I thought that perhaps comments on the weather should be outlawed from being considered a fine start to any journey.

When we reached Dolenice it was quite cloudy, the weather lately had been depressing at best even though it was the middle of summer. Nobody was out in the streets; perhaps because of the sense that at any moment on a trip to the corner store the clouds would open to release what was clearly going to be a large amount of water or, I thought, possibly more likely that it because this was a dull-as-fuck old town and even the inhabitants knew.

The engine was shut off shortly after we stopped at the store, and my driver disappeared inside, leaving me in the car as the sky darkened with potential.
I saw an open full-length window a few houses down and across the road, a figure standing in the frame. Genderless at a distance, they wore a white cloth of some kind – perhaps a towel, or a dressing gown… or perhaps even a hospital covering. There was what I could only make out as a white smear over the figure’s face. As the smear moved lower I thought it may have been a pair of binoculars, but soon realized it was a coffee mug.

My driver returned to the car and I looked away for an instant, the figure at the window was gone when I turned back.

“Alright, next stop Zagreb – if the petrol lasts us.” He chuckled, as if being stranded in the countryside were a hilarious joke.

It wasn’t so far to Zagreb as I thought, and I dozed often; before long we had reached the city and parked next to the taxi rank at the train station. My backpack was unloaded and farewells and thanks were exchanged as I headed inside to wait for her train.

The sky was dark by now, and I saw only the occasional late group of travelers leaving the station, to head home or to their hotel from wherever they had travelled from. I found a metal bench and placed my bag beside me, and listened to the sounds of the train station - dulled at this time of night.

There was only one other person in the station: a man a few benches down making the occasional glance my way, with subtlety and a complete lack of it. He finally made his decision after many glances back and forth, and wandered over to me with a worn brown paper bag in hand, crumpled into a familiar curve. For a while he stood a few paces away, as if pondering, and soon took the final steps to slump down next to me on the metal bench.

It began, as it always does, with a greeting - followed by the man asking about my current health and the ‘how’ of my ‘you’. From here the conversation possibility shows its flavour, whether that flavour is pleasant, unpleasant, exciting or droll… and unfortunately the conversation was unpleasantly exciting.

Before the discussion could get any more exciting I heard the sound of footsteps descending the tiled stairs of the station – an officer coming to check this side of the station before the end of his late shift. He saw the me looking awfully uncomfortable (a common occurrence even in the most pleasant conversations), and the wino beside me, and approached us.

“Is everything alright here ma’am?” the officer inquired. Before either of us could answer, the wino excused himself and shuffled up the stairs, possibly find a nice bench to sleep on rather than to hunt from.
I reassured the officer that things were fine, that they had in fact been so the whole time and still were. But after the officer had heard that I was waiting overnight for my train, he would not have any of it: he was too kind of heart you see.

I accepted the offer for a place to stay for the night, and soon we were at the man’s home on the edge of the city center. It was dark and the officer made jokes and asked where I was from to relieve the tension of the night. We eventually reached his home, a tall apartment building with busted lights by the elevator that rattled and clanked up to his floor, the walls and door of each floor passing by in the shaft.

When we reached his room my stomach rumbled and the officer asked me if there was anything I would like to eat.
As warmth spread along my body I replied that: Yes, there certainly was.
Boils sprouted along my arms and fur from my palms. Like a frog in a boiling pot, the officer did not know what was happening until my claws grew, following suit, and the first part to be devoured was his screams.

I smiled, the fulfilled smile of a pleased traveler, and set off to await my next train.

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Words: 1,333

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