Reincarnated Cthulhu
Chapter 43.(39). Oxford Express Train

──────Whooooooo…

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

“Step back! Everyone step back!”

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

Two rings of the bell for every blast of the horn. They performed a well-rehearsed duet, as if they had practiced for years.

──────WHOOOOSH!

When the train entered the platform, everything changed. The station attendant’s efforts became unnecessary.

Passengers standing near the track scattered in alarm at the horn’s blast. Those who had only heard tales of steam locomotives stood slack-jawed in amazement, never having imagined such machines could be so massive, swift, and deafening.

A look of reverence appeared in the eyes of people who had attended cathedral their entire lives without ever feeling truly devout. Overwhelmed by the imposing black iron beast, they gazed with a mixture of fear and awe.

They were what locals called “city bumpkins.”

These were lifelong Londoners, accustomed to a city where everything was readily available, now venturing beyond its boundaries for the first time. Ever since weekend trips of two or three days outside London had become fashionable, scenes like this were commonplace at stations every Saturday and Sunday.

Meanwhile, gentlemen and ladies of the middle class and above, well-accustomed to train travel, silently disapproved of the bumpkins’ undignified behavior. They had waited patiently with hands clasped behind their backs, far from the tracks, only approaching the platform at the attendant’s signal, walking with unhurried dignity.

The train segregated people even before boarding commenced.

The platform was a miniature society. Here, people were divided more meticulously than souls at the gates of heaven.

Lazy Saint Peter might simply separate the heaven-bound from the hell-bound, but the train, despite having a single destination, insisted on sorting passengers into three categories: first class, second class, and third class.

Everyone instinctively found their place within the narrow platform. As the conductor signaled the train’s arrival, ten attendants simultaneously took their positions at ten different entrances. Like sorted items, passengers naturally gravitated toward their designated places.

Consider first the first-class queue.

These passengers exuded elegance in everything they did. They walked as slowly as humanly possible, as if convinced that the smaller their steps, the more refined they appeared. This was why lines formed despite the small number of travelers. Pushing or hurrying was, of course, unthinkable.

The front three carriages were reserved for them. Each carriage contained two compartments spacious enough for eight passengers, yet typically only two or three persons occupied each.

Next came the second-class queue.

A diverse crowd gathered here. The variety of faces and attire made for interesting observation. Frugal businessmen clutched their purses tightly, fallen nobles who couldn’t bear to mingle with third-class folk but couldn’t afford first class, and occasionally, technicians who had somehow come into unexpected wealth—though most were men in suits.

The middle three carriages accommodated these passengers. Each featured six seats arranged as two-person benches, with pairs facing each other. This arrangement meant sharing with strangers was inevitable. A fixed iron table between seats served as the only barrier separating oneself from others.

At least they had proper seating—warm benches covered with Persian-style upholstery.

Finally, there was third class.

These passengers had no seats at all. The rear four carriages crammed in passengers without regard for capacity. Most of them looked remarkably similar—so similar that distinguishing between any two would have been challenging. Their shabby clothes were alike, as were their unwashed faces streaked with grime, and above all, their expressions were identical.

Third-class passengers constantly eyed one another suspiciously, clutching their pockets tightly against their chests. They stood like this for hours, so that by journey’s end, their shoulders hunched a little more than when they had boarded.

This made it remarkably easy to distinguish between the front and rear of the train. From the third-class carriages at the back, passengers were always spilling out—limbs protruding from windows and doors. Despite being crammed with humanity, nothing could be heard from inside but harsh breathing and coughing for hours on end.

This ten-carriage configuration had become the universal standard for trains entering any station in England.

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

I paused before the center seat, specifically the one facing the front of the train. Marie stared at me with uncertainty.

“You take the window seat,” I said.

“Are you certain, sir?”

“I imagine you’ve never had the chance to ride a train and gaze out the window before.”

Marie gratefully took the inside seat. She likely wore an expression of excitement, though it was difficult to discern given the disfigurement of her face. She peered out the window and spoke in a lowered voice.

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

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

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

“But—”

Marie swallowed her words.

“Consider that I brought you along for conversation. You’ve earned this privilege.”

“But master, you haven’t the money to spare.”

I remained silent. We seemed to have had this conversation before, but I couldn’t recall my previous response. I was certain that I would have offered a fitting retort, and it frustrated me that I couldn’t remember it.

While we sat in silence, looking elsewhere, another set of passengers entered our compartment. Across from us sat a young married couple. They appeared newly wed, displaying the fresh bloom of love in the way their hands discreetly touched—exactly what one would expect of people their age.

They had the unmistakable appearance of the suddenly wealthy—their attire was impeccable but their accessories clashed dreadfully. Their mannerisms barely differed from common folk, though they were visibly making an effort to appear refined.

After them entered an elderly gentleman. He exhibited symptoms of anxiety, his distrust of others seemingly as deep as the wrinkles etched into his face. He immediately claimed the corner seat, his paranoia evident in the suspicious glances he cast at every fellow passenger.

The unfortunate lady seated opposite this nervous old man appeared to be that rare specimen—a woman traveling alone. She perched on the very edge of her seat, positioned to flee into the corridor at a moment’s notice. What circumstances, I wondered, could drive a woman to travel unaccompanied and in such evident terror?

No one occupied the seat directly behind us, but across from it sat two men who reeked of manure. They appeared to be prosperous livestock farmers, and the compartment’s atmosphere changed noticeably—for the worse—after their arrival.

“Departing now!” came the station attendant’s cry from outside.

“Wait! Just a moment, please!”

Shortly after the horn’s blast, a corpulent gentleman hurriedly bundled himself into our compartment. He drew ragged breaths, mopping his glistening brow where beads of perspiration had gathered. Then, waddling forward, he collapsed heavily into the seat directly behind ours.

With that, our full complement of passengers was aboard. The voices of attendant and conductor mingled with the horn’s call on this weekend journey.

The compartment, not yet in motion, was enveloped in that peculiar silence that follows a flurry of activity.

Everyone seemed more anxious now that they had successfully boarded. Trains in this era inspired awe, and since awe invariably accompanies fear, their unease was natural. No one was immune to the fear of speed.

Had they known they were aboard England’s fastest, yet untested, locomotive, their apprehension would have been considerably greater.

I gazed out the window with weary eyes.

In the middle of the platform stood Hudson, shouting something unintelligible, his tie noticeably askew. That was typical of him. In some respects, he possessed the qualities of genius, yet in others, he displayed a curious sloppiness.

He truly possessed the extraordinary qualities befitting one called the second Railway King.

“Are you tired?” Marie asked.

“Yes, dreadfully tired,” I replied.

“That’s because you walked so far. Why not rest your eyes during our journey?”

I carelessly removed one glove and rubbed at my eyes. Perhaps I lacked proper exercise, but though I had merely walked from home to the station that morning, my mind felt more exhausted than my legs. I withdrew a newly purchased flask from within my coat and let a sip of whiskey slide down my throat.

The burning sensation jolted me back to alertness.

“Your fatigue persists precisely because you insist on drinking whiskey whenever you’re tired,” Marie observed.

I blinked at her.

“Haven’t you made that remark before?”

“Whenever the opportunity has presented itself.”

“No, that’s not what I meant—”

The train’s horn blared, cutting off my words. Steam hissed from the locomotive’s chimney as the engine’s power transferred to the massive wheels below.

The iron behemoth—surely the heaviest object on land—began to surge forward under its own power. At first, it crept along more slowly than a walking man, but gradually it gathered momentum until it outpaced even the swiftest horse.

Beyond the window unfolded a spectacle unique to railway travel.

The landscape rushing past in a blur—a fantastical vision once exclusive to horse-riding nobility, now democratized by the railway age and available to anyone with the price of a ticket.

The tension in our compartment hadn’t fully dissipated.

My fellow travelers glanced about nervously or clasped their hands in silent prayer to deities they might not even believe in. It seemed as though they might collectively burst into applause should we reach our destination safely. The elderly gentleman, hands trembling violently, had fumbled a cigarette to the floor the moment we departed and made no effort to retrieve it.

Marie gazed silently through the window.

What expression might she have worn if she were still alive? A flicker of curiosity arose in me, though there was no way to know now. I inquired casually:

“Is this your first journey by train?”

“No. But it’s my first time enjoying the view so leisurely.”

That couldn’t be right.

This wasn’t her first train journey in my company. We had traveled together before, in second class, with her looking out the window just as she did now. Try as I might, I couldn’t recall when that had been.

Before long, we had left the city behind and were speeding through the tranquil countryside.

Though I knew perfectly well that such pastoral scenes awaited beyond London’s boundaries, my situation was lamentable—unable to escape the city’s complications and daily demands. At last, we had outrun London’s dismal atmosphere and foul stench.

──────WHOOOOSH!

The train’s whistle pierced the peaceful atmosphere with its commanding blast.

A sudden, inexplicable thought seized me.

“Too fast,” I muttered. “We’re moving too fast.”

I spoke to myself like a madman. Though I couldn’t understand my own unease, my heart rate increased in perfect synchrony with the train’s acceleration. It was as though my heart had somehow become connected to the steam engine itself.

─────CRASH!

The train lurched violently, pitching everyone forward then back.

“No.”

“Damn it all!”

“Oh God, no!”

“Father, don’t leave me!”

“Hack-cough!“

“Dear Lord, it was true—it was all true!”

“Stay here. Right here.”

“Darling, remain calm. We can survive this.”

The compartment plunged into absolute darkness.

Without a word, every head turned toward the windows.

Beyond the glass lay not the pastoral countryside but a vast black void, across which twin stars of malevolent light gleamed with cold indifference, as if mocking the very notion of our existence.

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