Ana Lucia Cayón

November 2020

Midnight Ride
As I entered the train platform, the midnight breeze was just starting to blow. Not a single

soul had I seen since I entered that train station, and if it wasn’t for the bright white lights

on top of me I would’ve assured the place was abandoned. I supposed the old town of

Castle Combe was not much of a night traveller, and I would only be encountering other

businessmen who like me, had just arrived at the small English settlement. A plane ride

from San Francisco all the way across the North Atlantic Ocean is no small thing, and I

could hear my body begging me to get some rest as the jet lag was just starting to settle in.

Luckily, I had previously bought the train ticket to London to avoid delays and was waiting

with eagerness for the vehicle to come rushing through the night.

The screech of wheels against the railways took me out of my thoughts, and I focused on

the light at the end of the tunnel. It was so bright I thought for a moment I was at the doors

of heaven, but as it approached, it revealed the façade of a train. It was old, much older than

any train I had been to. Its once red paint was now a pale crimson colour, with some

scratches on the side as to show it had hit the walls of the tunnel for years. Nevertheless, it

was one of the most elegant pieces of machinery I had ever seen, and its obvious antiquity

added to that sense of luxury. I was more than reluctant to step inside it, as the breeze had

now become a strong wind and my suit was not good at keeping the cold out. One would’ve

doubt if the inside of the train was that of the same train who had just stopped in the

platform. Its inside was made of rosewood, and it seemed freshly polished and in perfect
condition. The windows were crystal clear, the only sign of their existence being the

reflection of the chandeliers that hanged from the ceiling. The seats were made of crimson

velvet, cushioned and perfectly confectioned to make mesmerizing patterns in the edges.

You could imagine I was more than content to rest in such a wonderful place. 

As I sat down in one of the middle wagons I waited for other men to come. I couldn’t

believe how unpunctual some people could be to leave tired men like me waiting in such a

wonderful place, and it was certainly wonderful. Oh! My girlfriend would’ve loved it there,

as she loved luxury more than herself. I knew that if I wanted her to be mine the

engagement ring would be no simple thing. She was the reason of my trip because as soon

as I could get enough money I would propose with the biggest and most expensive ring that

one could imagine. I looked through the window to see if someone would do me company.

It wasn’t until the train doors closed and the vehicle started to move forward that I realized

I would be alone for the next two hours or so. Despite the train’s marvellous aspect, there

was something odd about it, I couldn’t precisely tell what it was and decide to shrug it off.

Wouldn’t be good to unnecessarily scare myself while being on a lonely train. I took out

the book that I had started in the plane ride, Much Ado About Nothing, by the one and only

William Shakespeare. I found it to be precise to shrug off any weirdness out of me. After

turning a couple of pages, I started to feel the exhaustion take over me, and I didn’t hesitate

to surrender. However, before I completely felt asleep I was interrupted by a hard thump,

that seemed to come from the upper wagons. At first, I thought it was just a dream, my

imagination playing naughty games on me. But before I could make another move I heard it

again, loud and clear as if someone was stomping on the rugged floor. Any grogginess I

had before left my body in a matter of seconds and my eyes were wide with curiosity to
know the source of the strange sound. I left my book aside and went to inspect. I

approached the upper wagons, anxious to meet my travelling partner but was left startled to

find them empty. As I went back to my seat I heard it again, but this time it came from the

other side of the train. I hesitated to look, but still decided to approach the stranger. I sped

up my pace and went to the lower wagons. Nothing. I went back to my seat and resumed

my reading to ease my nerves. Being alone made it ten times worse than it should’ve been.

My attention on the book lasted shortly as I heard the heels of a woman approaching my

wagon from behind. It was the same sound I had heard earlier but softer and tender, and it

wasn’t stomping the floor no more. I sat up straight and looked behind me to see a young

woman, a couple years younger than me, coming from behind. Relieved filled me like an

elixir of life as I knew that I was not alone and that I wasn’t delusional either. The woman

was completely covered in white. She wore a slip dress made of some type of fine silk,

covered by a beige jacket that went all the way down to her ankles. Her hands were slipped

into a pair of white gloves and she wore a hand fan of the same colour, which covered the

right side of her face. However, the visible side was the most beautiful thing I have ever

seen. Her skin was pale, nearly as much as the clothing she wore, but her rosy cheeks and

soft lips made a perfect contrast with all of it. She seated in the seats on the left side of the

train, opposite to me. I would try my best to compliment her, make her understand my

intentions. No man would be stupid enough to let such pretty face slip away. Despite my

many attempts she would only make a slight gesture with her face or let a gentle giggle part

her mouth, never revealing the right side of her face. At last, I approached her seat and

touched her hand, maybe some physical interaction would break the ice.
What happened next still give me the chills, and if it wasn’t for my grip of the seat I

would’ve fallen out of it. The woman retired the hand fan and turned to face me, revealing

the hideous features the fan had covered. Her right side was decayed, pale greenish skin

with blisters and openings, her eye socket revealed an empty, hollow hole and her jaw’s

bone came out prominently. She showed me a crooked smile with such evilness not even

the devil himself could have surpassed. I jumped out of my seat and rushed to the nearest

restroom. I could hardly lock the door with my hands shaking so much. I heard her heels

stomping the floor, each time making the whole train tremble. Sweat drenched my clothes

as I went to the far end of the wall, looking directly at the door. The steps grew closer and

closer until I could see her heels through a small aperture in the bottom of the bathroom

door. She stopped, and the most excruciating and agonizing minute of my life went by

before her next move. I just wanted it to stop, I couldn’t handle it anymore. The doorknob

started to turn with a loud rusty sound and then… Swoosh! The door swung open to reveal

such monstrosity again. Her clothes where now ragged and her globes were gone, revealing

large white claws covered in blood. She led out a shrieking scream, like the demons of hell

chanting for my death. It was so unbearable I felt the blood coming out of my ears. She

then rushed to grab my ankle, burying her claws in my skin. Then it all went black. 

I woke up in one of the seats of the London train station. My head felt like it was about to

detach from my body. It ached tremendously. I looked at the hour to see that my meeting

with a client was in less than an hour. Luckily, my clothes weren’t too wrinkled and my

hair could be fixed. I bought myself a coffee on the way to the meeting and rushed. I still

got late and when I got there the client was already waiting for me. Embarrassed, I

apologized for my impunctuality and explained to have had the most horrible nightmare the
night before. “It felt so vivid,” I explained, “like nothing I have ever experienced.”

Surprisingly, my client was reluctant to hear more about it and I told him every detail, until

it ended in the part where the women grabbed my ankle and I fainted. I was expecting a

loud laugh from him for my eccentric imagination but concerned filled his face. Confused, I

asked him, “What’s wrong?” To which he only pointed at my feet. There, in plain daylight

I could see in my ankle the fresh wounds of large claws.