Reincarnated Cthulhu
Chapter 39: The Oxford Express

────── Whoooooosh…

In the distance, a train blasted its horn as it thundered down the tracks.

“Stand back! Stand back!”

A station attendant rang his bell frantically as he rushed about, pushing back curious onlookers who wished to witness the approaching train’s arrival from as close as possible.

Two rings of the bell followed by one blast of the horn—they performed a well-rehearsed duet, as though they had practiced for years.

────── WHOOOOOT!

As the train pulled into the platform, everything changed. The station attendant no longer needed to exert himself.

Passengers standing near the tracks retreated in unison, startled by the horn’s blare. Those who had only heard tales of steam locomotives and never imagined they could be so massive, swift, and deafening stood with mouths agape, uttering exclamations of wonder.

A reverence appeared in the eyes of people who had attended church their entire lives yet never learned true devotion. Overwhelmed by the imposing black iron beast, they gazed upon it with a mixture of fear and awe.

They were what Londoners called “country cousins in the city.”

These were lifetime residents of London, where everything was readily available, now venturing outside the city for the first time. Since weekend excursions of two or three days beyond London’s borders had become fashionable, this scene repeated itself at stations every weekend.

Meanwhile, gentlemen and ladies of the middle class and above, accustomed to railway travel, silently disapproved of the provincial display. They had been waiting patiently with hands clasped behind their backs, far from the tracks, and only now strolled unhurriedly toward the platform following the attendant’s guidance.

The train sorted people even before boarding.

The railway station was a miniature society. Here, people were classified more precisely than at the gates of heaven.

While Saint Peter might simply divide souls between heaven and hell, the railway insisted on three distinct categories even for passengers traveling to the same destination: first class, second class, and third class.

Everyone reaffirmed their station in life within the confines of the narrow platform. In perfect synchrony with the conductor’s signal to stop, ten attendants positioned themselves at ten entrances. Like nuts sorting themselves in a can, passengers naturally gravitated toward their designated places.

Let us observe the first-class queue.

These passengers maintained elegance in everything they did. They walked at the slowest pace humanly possible, as if convinced that the more measured their stride, the more refined they appeared. Despite the sparse crowd, a queue formed nonetheless. Pushing or hurrying was, of course, utterly unthinkable.

The front three carriages were reserved for their exclusive use. Though each carriage contained two compartments easily accommodating eight people each, typically only two or three passengers occupied them.

Next came the second-class queue.

Here gathered a diverse assembly. The variety of appearances and attire provided a certain entertainment. There were frugal businessmen clutching their purses tightly, fallen aristocrats who could not bear to mingle with third-class passengers yet could not afford first class, and occasionally skilled laborers who had come into unexpected fortunes—though most were simply men in suits.

The middle three carriages served their needs. The seating comprised six two-person benches, arranged in pairs facing each other. This arrangement meant sharing with strangers was commonplace. Between the seats stood fixed iron tables—the only barrier separating oneself from others.

At least they enjoyed the comfort of sofas—warm seats adorned with Persian-style coverings.

Finally, there was third class.

They had no seats at all. The rear four carriages were stuffed with passengers beyond any reasonable capacity. They all looked eerily similar—if asked to distinguish between any two, I would hardly have been able to do so. Their tattered clothing, their unwashed faces streaked with grime, and above all, their identical expressions of resigned fatigue made them indistinguishable.

Third-class passengers perpetually eyed one another with suspicion, clutching their meager possessions close to their chests. After standing for hours in such conditions, their shoulders would be noticeably more hunched upon disembarking than when they had boarded.

This made identifying the front and rear of a train remarkably simple. Some unfortunate body part—an arm, a leg, occasionally even a head—always protruded from the third-class carriages at the back. Despite the crush of humanity, one heard nothing from within save labored breathing and hacking coughs for hours on end.

Thus the ten-carriage train became the universal standard that could enter any station in England.

We boarded the fifth carriage—the very middle of second class.

I took the window seat facing forward, and Marie occupied the space beside me. She formed a small loop with her finger and tugged gently at my collar, whispering in a voice barely audible:

“Is it truly appropriate for me to occupy such a fine seat?”

It wasn’t so much a whisper as her ordinary voice pitched lower. Her vocal cords seemed incapable of conveying genuine emotion. If I were to describe it poetically, her voice resembled a flute playing somber, melancholic notes in a minor key.

“Is it truly appropriate for me to occupy such a fine seat?”

When I didn’t immediately respond, busy hanging my walking stick by the window, she repeated herself, assuming I hadn’t heard.

“Would you prefer I send you to stand in third class while I travel comfortably alone in second?”

“But—”

Marie swallowed her words.

“Consider yourself brought along for conversation. You’ve earned that much.”

“But Master, you can scarcely afford it.”

I pressed my lips together. Marie, following my lead, did likewise.

While we silently gazed in opposite directions, passengers continued filing into our compartment. A vulgar couple settled into the seats across from us. They displayed their affection shamelessly in public—I expressed my complete disapproval with a sharp turn of my head and a pronounced frown.

They were unmistakably nouveau riche; though their clothing was immaculate, their gaudy accessories clashed horribly, and their mannerisms betrayed their common origins. Heavens above, just look at how they intertwined their fingers in public!

Behind the couple sat an elderly gentleman of ascetic appearance, alone. His severity matched the depth of the furrows in his brow, a strictness seemingly applied equally to himself and others. Even after taking his seat, he never once glanced out the window—I immediately judged him to be an excessively practical individual.

Opposite the elderly gentleman sat a solitary woman who appeared to have a story worth telling. Doesn’t a woman traveling alone invariably provoke speculation? It was hardly a common sight.

No one occupied the seat directly behind us, but across from it sat two men who reeked of manure. Wealthy livestock farmers, I presumed. The compartment’s atmosphere changed markedly after their arrival—decidedly for the worse.

“Departing now!”

The station attendant’s cry echoed from outside.

“One moment, please! One moment!”

Shortly after the horn blared, a corpulent gentleman hurriedly lumbered into the compartment. He wheezed violently, dabbing his perspiration-beaded forehead until it gleamed. Then he waddled forward and collapsed into the seat directly behind us.

With his arrival, our passenger manifest was complete. The voices of the attendant and conductor faded. The horn sounded once more. A weekend train journey commenced.

The compartment, not yet in motion, fell into that peculiar silence that follows commotion.

Relief at boarding on time, anxiety about sharing close quarters with strangers for hours, concern about whether the locomotive would reach its destination without incident, and the exhilarating sense of freedom that came with leaving London for two days—all these emotions permeated the silent compartment.

Silence, I’ve found, can be the most eloquent of spokesmen.

I turned toward the window with weary eyes.

In the middle of the platform stood Hudson, mouth agape as he bellowed something—his presence at the station today clearly extending beyond a mere commemoration of the train’s inaugural departure. The man possessed truly remarkable lungs.

His voice penetrated the window glass despite the considerable distance. Though renowned for his brilliance in locomotive engineering, perhaps he might have achieved even greater acclaim as an operatic tenor. One profession or the other had certainly been deprived of a natural talent.

“Are you fatigued, sir?” Marie inquired.

“Is it that obvious?”

I removed my gloves and massaged my eyelids. The morning’s walk to the station had been unkind to my troublesome legs, leaving me thoroughly drained. I withdrew my newly purchased flask from my breast pocket and allowed a modest swallow of whiskey to scorch its way down my throat.

The burning sensation instantly revived my dulled senses.

“Your persistent consumption of whiskey when tired is precisely why your exhaustion never abates,” Marie observed.

“I shall manage my own vices, thank you. Your concern is unnecessary.”

Marie, ever vigilant, couldn’t resist the opportunity for commentary. With a grimace, I extracted a folded document from my pocket—the letter of introduction Alice had furnished me with yesterday.

It was addressed to Henry Liddell, Dean of Oxford and her father. This connection was precisely why I had selected Oxford as our destination.

“Why does she command so much of your attention?” Marie asked, noticing the paper in my hand.

“Marie, have you ever encountered a title called ‘Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland’?”

“Is that a novel? Or perhaps a nursery rhyme?”

“What about ‘Through the Looking-Glass’?”

She shook her head.

And therein lay the source of my disquiet.

This woman, now fully grown, was not the world’s most famous Alice. Yet neither was she entirely fictional like Dr. Jekyll or Dr. Frankenstein’s creation.

She existed in a troubling state of contradiction.

Her blonde hair so unlike her parents, her disturbing fondness for blood, those peculiar childhood memories that occasionally surfaced, the numerous wordplays identical to those crafted by Lewis Carroll…

“Never mind,” I said. “It’s of no consequence.”

I refolded the letter and returned it to my pocket. While creasing a letter of introduction might breach etiquette, I doubted Lord Liddell would be so small-minded as to take offense at such trifles.

Arthur had enthusiastically endorsed my investigation into her childhood. Alice unsettled him equally. He had casually suggested, “While you’re taking your respite, perhaps a visit to Oxford might prove illuminating.”

That night, Arthur had initially welcomed her presence.

Arthur harbors an abiding affection for eccentrics. Her apparent precognitive abilities and peculiar demeanor sufficed to win his approval. Yet she persistently avoided him, instead slipping quietly to my side to whisper a most disturbing query:

“What is that person?”

“You refer to Arthur?”

“Is that its name—Arthur?”

“Yes, Count Arthur Frank. London society’s most notorious eccentric. Surely you’ve heard his name before.”

At this, Alice gasped in astonishment:

“You mean to say he’s actually human?”

“What in heaven’s name did you believe him to be?”

Arthur’s expression in response to her answer was the most delightfully bewildered I had witnessed in recent memory.

“A spider,” she replied matter-of-factly. “A spider with countless legs.”

The train’s whistle shrieked as the massive machine lurched into motion.

The heaviest man-made object on earth surged forward by its own mechanical will. Initially, it crept along more slowly than a pedestrian’s stride, but gradually gathered momentum until it outpaced even the swiftest thoroughbred.

Beyond the window unfolded a spectacle uniquely visible from railway carriages.

It was the magical illusion of the landscape fleeing backward—a wondrous sight once exclusively known to horsemen of noble birth, now democratized by the railway for all to behold.

The compartment’s atmosphere softened perceptibly.

With the train’s departure came collective relief. Unlike horses or carriages, trains spared one’s posterior from constant jostling, making the journey infinitely more comfortable. The elderly gentleman, the moment we began moving, struck a match to his tobacco and commenced puffing with rhythmic determination. The acrid rather than sweet aroma suggested it was hardly premium quality.

Marie gazed silently through the window.

Had she truly been alive, what expression might have graced her features? A small curiosity flickered within me, though I had no means of satisfying it now. I inquired casually:

“Is this your first railway journey?”

“No, sir. But it is my first opportunity to appreciate the scenery so luxuriously.”

Indeed. She would have known only third-class travel previously. There, the mere concept of window-gazing would be an unattainable luxury. I briefly regretted not offering her the window seat. Yet suggesting an exchange now would appear ridiculous.

Almost imperceptibly, the train had abandoned London’s outskirts for the tranquility of rural pathways.

Dwelling in London, one easily forgets how pastoral landscapes unfurl just beyond the city’s reach. Even London’s infamous miasma could not pursue us here.

────── WHOOOOOT!

The piercing whistle rent our comfortable silence once more.

Though already traveling at considerable velocity, the train continued to accelerate. Hudson’s confidence suddenly seemed justified. Perhaps this was indeed the swiftest locomotive on earth.

“Too fast… entirely too fast…”

The corpulent gentleman behind me shifted restlessly in his seat. He muttered continuously under his breath, betraying the anxiety of one who might be experiencing rail travel for the first time.

Such apprehension was not uncommon. The public remained unaccustomed to such velocities.

Nevertheless, his concern was not unfounded.

I recalled that America’s fastest locomotive reportedly achieved sixty-five miles per hour, yet this train seemed to exceed even that breathtaking pace. The machine exhibited an almost ravenous greed for speed, refusing to plateau even as it hurtled forward.

“Perilous!”

The portly passenger exclaimed, his voice constricted with fear.

────── THUNK!

The carriage lurched violently, pitching upward before crashing downward.

“What in God’s name—?”

“What’s happening?”

“I’m frightened!”

“Father!”

“Hack“

“Heaven preserve us, it’s true—it was all true!”

“Hold fast! You shan’t come to harm!”

“Stay calm! SMR trains never derail—that’s what they promised!”

Voices erupted from every corner as our compartment plunged into sudden darkness. The sun had blazed directly overhead mere moments ago—this abrupt transition was inexplicable.

“Look outside!” someone cried out.

Every head in the compartment swiveled simultaneously toward the windows.

The pastoral countryside that should have greeted us had vanished entirely. In its place stretched an endless, desolate wasteland. Savage winds whipped up sandstorms that towered like three-story buildings, rising and falling in rhythmic undulation. Only scattered boulders punctuated the barren expanse, standing like grim sentinels across the alien terrain.

Most reality-shattering of all was the sky above.

Twin stars hung suspended in the pitch-black firmament. Like some grotesque parody of sun and moon, their eerie illumination—despite being far from brilliant—revealed with unnatural clarity the contours of even the smallest stones kilometers distant.

“It’s completely dark!”

“Have we entered a tunnel?”

“I can see nothing at all!”

“What nonsense—this is clearly an open expanse! How is this possible?”

“Dear Lord, we’ve crossed over! We’ve truly crossed the threshold!”

“Cough, cough“

“Look carefully—there are stars above us! This is no tunnel—but how? HOW?”

Though witnessing the same phenomenon, each observer described something markedly different.

Some beheld a wasteland bathed in the light of twin stars, while others perceived only impenetrable blackness. I had experienced something similar once before.

This realm exists in the illumination of wisdom. Before such wisdom, even the fundamental forces of light and darkness dare not assert their dominion.

─────THUNK!

The locomotive lurched violently once more. Terrified screams echoed throughout the carriage.

Something alien and dreadful seized my arm—it was Marie. Her eyes darted frantically about the compartment, wide with terror. I met her cold gaze and asked softly:

“Marie, what do you see beyond the glass?”

“Stars, sir. Stars—those horrible twin stars! Oh heavens, what has become of us?”

“Be calm. We remain firmly on the tracks. A derailed train could never maintain such a straight course.”

I soothed her while surveying our predicament.

One of the livestock farmers—the one addressed as “Father”—rose to his feet.

“I shall inquire with the driver about our situation,” he announced. Then, turning to his son: “You remain seated until my return.”

Before he could take a step, the corpulent gentleman behind us shouted frantically:

“For God’s sake, everyone stay seated!”

He immediately contradicted his own directive by heaving his substantial frame upright.

“By what authority do you issue commands?”

The livestock farmer halted before the compartment door, challenging the corpulent gentleman with undisguised contempt. When the latter could produce nothing but stammers in response, the farmer evidently deemed him unworthy of further discourse and turned his back dismissively.

“I shall return promptly with information,” he announced to the compartment at large.

As he proceeded toward the forward carriage, the briefly opened door admitted a billowing cloud of otherworldly sand that swirled throughout our compartment. The solitary woman erupted into violent coughing.

“Cough, cough!“

“Stop! You mustn’t leave!”

The corpulent gentleman shouted his warning only after the door had firmly closed. For all his agitated gesticulations, he operated with the unfortunate timing of a consistently tardy actor.

“Given these extraordinary circumstances, I shall investigate the situation from the rear carriages,” announced the elderly gentleman, rising regally from his seat. “It would be most unfortunate if panic from third class were to spread unchecked—best to establish order immediately.”

He was unmistakably an aristocrat who derived profound satisfaction from assuming command during crises. The corpulent gentleman responded with a high-pitched protest that bordered on the feminine:

“You must heed my instructions! I represent the General Service Bureau!”

“A designation I have never encountered in sixty-three years of life.”

The elderly gentleman’s dismissal was glacier-cold.

“And I assure you, sir, that even were you a direct member of the Royal Family, I would proceed identically. I am not some simpleton who delegates his fate to the questionable competence of strangers. I shall witness our predicament with my own eyes.”

With that declaration, he departed toward the rear carriage.

“Cough, cough!“

Once more, the invading sand. Once more, the pained coughing.

The eight remaining passengers regarded one another with wary assessment.

Each faced the inevitable choice: venture forth to investigate as the others had done, or remain and await their return. Neither option lacked for courage. And I had never been one to practice patience.

“Remain seated,” I instructed Marie.

As I gripped my walking stick and rose to my feet, Marie’s hand fastened firmly around my arm.

“Marie?”

“I’m accompanying you.”

“What? Absolutely not!”

“So you can return half-dead again, as you invariably do?”

“I don’t know what misconception you harbor, but I don’t always—”

The protest died on my lips. There was, regrettably, no defense against her accusation. I did indeed have an unfortunate tendency to return from investigations in a state considerably closer to death than my departures warranted.

“I merely intend to assess the situation briefly.”

“Precisely what you declared on every previous occasion.”

“Why must you be so damnably obstinate?”

“But if you were to vanish, Master—”

Marie’s voice faltered. Her jaw quivered mechanically, like the pendulum of a broken timepiece.

“What would I become—”

“Your hand, if you please.”

I cut her rumination short.

“Now that I’ve risen, this infernal rocking makes proper ambulation impossible. I require your steadying influence.”

Marie stood and took my hand, guiding my unsteady frame with surprising strength. Her assistance rendered movement considerably less treacherous. Most remarkably, amid the violent pitching of the carriage, she remained perfectly stable—as though anchored to the floorboards by some unseen force. Her substantial mass, I presumed, provided this unnatural stability.

“You two must remain as well!” pleaded the corpulent gentleman.

“Why, pray tell, have you been so insistent that no one should venture forth?”

When I snapped the question with ill-disguised irritation, he merely stammered:

“Because… because it’s dangerous.”

“Good heavens, you thundering imbecile—that is precisely why we must go!”

The man, visibly cowed by my rebuke, fell into chastened silence.

I stood at the compartment’s center, suddenly aware of my peculiar position. Having planted myself at the exact midpoint of the train, I faced an unavoidable choice—forward or backward.

With resolute determination, I reached for the compartment door and pulled it open.

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