A shrill squeal echoes through the graveyard, and my heart sinks; it sees me. It wants me to know I’ve been found. Fuck, oh fuck. This time, I really won’t make it. I am barely able to squeeze these thoughts in between the mind-dulling beat of pain swelling with every step I take. The slice down my thigh is shallow, but it hurts like hell and is making my pace sloppy. I clutch the foul object swathed in cloth in my jacket pocket for dear life. Fear singes my back and legs, pushing me towards the train. I only make it a few feet past the cemetery gates before, in the mix of darkness and pain, I fall to the dirt. Jesus, its steps sound so slow, but, god please, it’s nearly at the fucking gate.
I’m on my feet again when I hear the gate crash open; it unleashes another god-awful shriek. A cry that takes me back to hunts with my father, to the ear-piercing wail of a hog that’s shot just short of the heart, whose death throes rattle the senses until it’s out of its misery. My thoughts barely cut through the ringing in my ears when a voice reaches me through the fog. “You’re going to be worse off than a fucking sow if you don’t get your mind out of the gutter, dip-shit,” he calls from around the corner inside of the train. Pulling myself up took every ounce of willpower, although I might have only actually made it upright on the prospect of wringing that little shit’s neck.
I rise and face that god-awful train. As far as I can see, it’s an endless Frankenstein of train cars, with the old rusty box cars right next to the modern passenger cabins. It adheres to no logic. With advertisements on the sides for products with no obvious function or others in a language that’s never been spoken, I make out two peaks of a dimly lit circus tent peeking over the iron walls of an open-top cargo car. Soft circus music and the laughter of children dance through the air along with the fragrant smell of caramel corn. The train is leading me back, telling me to continue.
Fluorescent yellow light. It’s all I can see, flowing from the train doors as the outskirts of my vision wane and blur into the darkness. The light has nearly enveloped my complete field of view. Shit, I thought I’d died for a moment. That it was some kind of mistake I was in this hellhole and I would be swathed in ivory sheets; taken by cherubs and lost family members to someplace far away from here.
A sour stench wracks my brain and flings me back to the present. The air turns ice cold except for its hot, putrid breath on my neck. My spine shoots electricity through my body while my gut sinks to the floor as I picture that abomination readying its mangled arm to cleave my skull. That’s the most I can take. I muster all the strength I don’t have, plant my feet hard, and jump.
I writhe and twist on the cold, filthy carpet of the cabin. I can’t breathe. Akin to the dreadfully silent moments in a delivery room as an infant chokes on its first breath of the outside air, I gasp on nothing. The moments that feel like days before the babe suddenly catches onto life in the form of a whining cry. My shaky vision shoots back into clarity as I draw a heavy breath.
“FUCK MAN,” Mordas cries from the other end of the cabin, “IT’S COMING INTO THE CABIN.” I try to run, to crawl, but I have nothing left. I let out a weak scream, covered my face, and kicked in the direction of the door. I awaited the sting of its blade, only hoping I’d be killed quickly. But the strike never came; when I stopped screaming, the only thing I heard was Mordas laughing. I look up through the door’s windows to see the abomination peering in, at me, still as a painting. Its body is vaguely human, a hefty man equipped with broad shoulders. Its face is abhorrent, the man’s head was split into two, resting on its broad shoulders. Making way for the emergence of a pig. The pig’s body looks like it was pushed through his trachea, with just its head and two front legs poking through the makeshift maw of the man’s head. The pig is motionless, its gaze piercing through me with mad eyes leaking a chalky pus. It raises its blade to me, taunting me with the crimson blood still dripping from the hefty cleaver. Its taunt only meant to me that I was safe.
I was able to shift my attention to Mordas, now keeled over, crying, in a laughing fit from my reaction. “I… will fucking kill you,” I wheeze. He pauses his laughter and looks at me, blankly. All he does is mimic my reaction to the beast, kicking and screaming. The beast still keeps his gaze on me, unshakably locked onto its lost prize. Mordas is a small man, with a face that has an abundance of crooked features. He resembled the amalgamation of every school bully and sour face. His hair is midnight black and slick with grease. He continued his laughing fit, rolling on the floor in his train attendant uniform: a navy blue suit with matching tie and polished black shoes.
He clears his throat and lies on the floor, staring at the ceiling and soaking up the joy from his thoroughly executed prank. “I thought you were done for, Jonas,” he says with tears of joy drying off his cheeks, “Really dreaming about cherubs and the fucking circus when you’re gonna be turned into pig slop? I’m almost mad you made it.”He kneels close to my heaving body. “By the way, sir, I believe you need a ticket to ride aboard this train.” I reach into my jacket pocket. “Did you like what it was this time? I put in some extra thought as to what I thought you’d like the most. I wish I could have seen your face digging up that grav-“
I ram a piece of broken gate through Mordas’ throat, his face of earnest surprise and shock lets me know he wasn’t watching me close enough. He reaches for his throat, falling, as he hits his head on the refreshment cart behind him. Blood sputtering out of his throat and mouth. The beast watches me, I watch Mordas, and Mordas eventually no longer struggles. I don’t know if this will end this hell, but I had profound peace seeing him lie there in a pool of blood.
“Points for resourcefulness,” I hear on the other side of the cabin door, “I’ll try to pay more attention.
“H… How…?” I couldn’t think of any other word as I saw Mordas, in a clean suit, step over his motionless corpse.
“How is half the fun! I won’t spoil a thing, but you’ve been here long enough that you know surprises are a part of this whole experience!” Mordas looks as if seeing my hopes get crushed was the cherry on top of our already pleasurable reunion. “Speaking of surprises, can I get that ticket now, sir?”
Mentally, I have nothing left to give. I concede what I have. I reach into my jacket pocket and hand over a thin object wrapped in dirty cloth. Mordas accepts with deep satisfaction, knowing that I played his game.
Unwrapping my father’s decomposing finger, he places it into his front pocket with thorough accuracy.”With this ticket, sir, let me escort you to a first-class cabin,” he says with a hideous smile. “I’m sure you will be comfortable.”