The Waiting Room
Created | Updated Oct 25, 2006
Dear Readers,
As promised here is the first of a new set of Ghost stories, enjoy...
The Waiting Room
The sensation was one of falling, normally the cause of rapid eye movement whilst in the depths of sleep. That was the exact feeling he was experiencing now, yet he could swear that this was no dream.
All around was blackness, he could see his hand in front of his face, that meant a light source must be present somewhere, although all around black. No points of brightness, was he in a small room or a black hole? He was still falling though.
With a bump he landed, what a strange thing. He had been falling, but not down, but up. Now he had hit solid ground?
Opening his eyes, his senses told him that he was lying down, he must still be in bed. As the dim light filtered through his adjusting eyes they focused. The floor was hard, not his bed then, that was obvious.
So where?
As he exhaled his breath blew fluff covered hair across the stone floor. Slowly sitting up he looked around the room. The place smelt old and musty. The pungent aroma of old paper mixed with some kind of polish. Leather padded benches lined three sides of the walls, on the fourth wall was a window with the word ‘Tickets’ etched into the glass in white letters.
It dawned on him, he was in a waiting room or ticket office, something along those lines anyway. Where though, and how had he come to be there?
Getting to his feet he brushed the grey dust off his trouser legs and took a look around. Framed on each wall hung countless timetables, maybe they could give some kind of clue to where he was. The blind on the ticket office was pulled down, maybe the station wasn’t open as yet? He crossed over to the nearest time table and ran his eyes up and down the various columns. Strange, the columns were littered with station names and train times, but he could not read them. It was as though the focus of his eyes had failed to work. Normally his vision was all but perfect so why could he not read the board? He paced his eyes over the back of his hand, he could see that perfectly well. He tried the board once more. As he looked he realised that it wasn’t his eyes that were the cause of the problem, but the print itself. The figures on the board were coming in and out of focus before his eyes had chance to read them.
This is ridiculous, what was going on?
As far as he could see there was only one explanation, he was dreaming. All he had to do was wake himself from his slumber then once again fall back to sleep. He sat down on one of the benches and prepared himself to wake. Anytime now, he had done this before, anytime now.
It did not happen, he remained sat on the bench. Then something caught his eye, a light had come on from behind the blind covering the ticket office window. Now he could get some answers to the questions running around inside his head. Had he been out the previous night? Was this place and lack of memory the result of a night on the town?
Once at the window he tried to find the slightest crack between frame and blind desperate to see through into the other room. His nose traced the edge of the frame, no gap was visible.
This only added to his frustration, “Hello?” he called hoping that the staff member would hear his cries for help, “Is there anybody in there?”
Putting an ear to the glass he heard nothing. If someone was in the room they were making no sound, as quiet as a ghost he thought. The prospect of this old station being haunted made him cringe. He didn’t know where he was or why he was here, and now all he had for company was a ghost. The sense of bewilderment he had experienced up to that point was rapidly turning into shear panic. He had to get out of this room, it was freaking him out.
Running to the door he wrapped both hands around the knob then turned and pulled. Nothing moved. Not only would the door not open, but the doorknob would not turn. Was it there just for show? If that was the case how did he get in. More questions flooded into his mind, if this was a train station where were the trains, he hadn’t heard any? Maybe they hadn’t started running yet. A large clock hung on the wall above the door, he could hear the melancholy tick, tick of the mechanism.
He stepped back away from the door allowing himself a better view of the clock face. He could see the Roman numerals around the outer edge and in the centre the words, Railway Company Clocks’. It was not surprising that the words were clearly visible to him, there were no hands on the clock to obscure the text.
The clock ticked on.
For a moment he didn’t know which way to turn or what to do. Was he going mad? It must be a dream, no, not a dream, a nightmare. Taking a large intake of breath and gnashing hid teeth together he was on the brink of a violent outburst. The door would be his first point of angst. As his mouth opened to let out a scream of anger mixed with frustration the blind on the ticket office window opened.
He heard the noise of it being rolled up, it couldn’t be anything else. Quickly he turned his head to look who had entered.
Behind the glass was a middle aged man wearing the uniform of a railway official, he couldn’t make out whether the accreditation on the arm denoted him as a guard or ticket office clerk, but then that didn’t matter to him.
“Right, who’s next?” said the man from behind the glass.
For someone who had so many questions revolving around in his head he found it difficult to utter a word, the only thing to emerge was, “I, I, I, what, where?” His shoulders dropped, he felt defeated. Composure was needed, he took a deep breath before trying again, “Could you tell me, where the hell…”
The ticket man interrupted with such ease that he must to quite used to being asked that question, “…are you?” the little man said with a smile.
The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. His rage disappeared even though he tried to maintain the level of anger he was feeling, the situation was now defused.
“Where to sir?”
Where to? What sort of a question was that? Where to? He didn’t know where he was.
“What?” he answered, confusion in his voice.
“Where to, up or down the line Sir, there’s only two ways.”
Must be a branch line or something, it wasn’t a city station. He knew from his days of going on holiday when he was a child that the old country stations hadn’t changed for many years. This must be such a place, as he looked around the waiting room he could see no sign of a telephone or electrical arrivals and departure boards.
“Where am I?” he asked. Desperation was entering his voice once again
“Ah well there’s a question.” Beamed the railway employee.
Oh no, not one of those was he? A bloody yokel who cannot answer a simple question. He’ll probably end up saying the next train is a week on Thursday or something as ridiculous, “We are in the middle of nowhere really.”
“Why bother building a station here then?”
“Ah well, that’s a good point. The station is very important.”
He looked down at the dusty cold floor then after letting out a sigh looked back over toward the window, “Wh…” his voice trailed off as he saw that the blind had again been pulled back down, the position was closed.
“What you were going to ask?” a voice said in his left ear.
A shiver ran down his neck. Quickly he turned to see the uniformed man standing behind him.
“Well yes.” He felt very uneasy now, something strange was happening here.
The station is half way between four places.”
“Four?”
“Oh yes.” Smiled the ticket clerk.
“But where, where the hell am I?” his face was turning red with incredulity.
“Careful, mind your blood pressure!” the remark left the new arrival shell shocked. He watched the uniformed man walk across the room and sit on one of the benches.
“How did you know I suffered from high blood pressure?” the question hung in the air like the seeds from a dandelion clock waiting for the wind to blow them along.
“Tell me Morris, if could have your time again, would you do anything different?”
That was a strange question a railway employee to be asking him. Hold on, “How did you know my name was Morris?” his eyes were staring of terror, his skin drained of all colour.
“Don’t you know?”
The only explanation that came to mind, it was a dream.
“Oh, it’s no dream.” The man sat on the bench said, was he reading Morris’s mind, did he know what he was thinking?
“So what would you change?” Up to that point the ticket clerk had been sitting forward, his palms together. After that question he sat back resting his left arm on the back of the chair and crossed his legs.
Playing along, Morris thought of his life so far, of course he had been guilty of things he’d rather forget, but nothing major. For all his sins though he had tried to repay them all by his charity work that had taken over his life in recent years, “Not much I don’t think.”
“No, what about your divorce? Your children suffered greatly.”
“Well,” he said in an off handed manner, “these things happen. It’s character building.” He knew that they were torn apart by the divorce though he’d tried to put it out of his mind.
“Crying yourself to sleep every night isn’t character building.”
“No, no you’re right.” Morris felt a twinge of guilt, it wasn’t the sort of thing any child should have to endure.
“Then there was the promotion fiasco.” Smiled the seated man,” you blackened your rival’s name to get the job.”
Morris had heard enough of the allegations cast upon him, not only that but he was found to be wholly innocent of the mud slinging in that case. In any case his one rival for the job, Higgson went to the right school, drank in the right clubs and played golf at the right club. He hadn’t a chance of over-coming the old boy network, so he needed to gain the advantage.
“You will find that none of those events where down to me.” He was too confident, pride comes before a fall. “Nothing was ever proved.”
Morris enjoyed the small victory and took a seat opposite the railway employee, crossing his legs and resting his arm on the back of the bench, he waited for the man to speak again.
“Have you not realised were you are yet?”
“No, but I want out.” Morris replied with anger growing in his voice.
“It won’t be long.”
Morris sat in quiet reflection for several moments. He could not tell how long, as the clock had no hands, how could he?”
Several things still troubled him, how did this man know so much about him, where was he? He hadn’t established that fact as yet. None of his questions had been answered, and why did the railway clerk look strangely familiar. Was he someone from his own neighbourhood or an old school friend? Whoever he was though the things he had said where right. He had done some things he should be more then ashamed of.
The ticket master smiled to himself and looked up, “On the whole we haven’t lived a bad life, have we?”
“We?” Morris looked up quickly.
The railway man was no longer in the room. The blind on the ticket office window was once again open. Standing behind it was the ticket clerk brandishing in his hand a ticket.
The door to the platform was now wide open, through it Morris could see the open doors of a carriage, “Your ticket.” Said the man from behind the glass.
Morris was about to make reference to the open door, but didn’t. Instead he crossed the waiting room and took the ticket off the clerk, “You said ‘we’. We haven’t lead a bad life.”
“You didn’t recognise me did you?”
“Recognise you?”
“Nobody ever recognises themselves.”
Morris couldn’t speak, shock paralysed the muscles in his jaw. He looked at the ticket in his hand, it was a single.
‘Destination, down.’
His mind started to operate at a speed unknown to him up to that point. Did ‘down’ mean what his greatest fear was, “Am I dead?” he asked with a frail whimper.
“I told you that this line was in the middle of four destinations. We are between life and death, while we are also between heaven and hell.”
“Does this mean I am going to, hell?” his voice finally broke into a cry. “You said I’d not lived a bad life, so why send me down?”
“Well its like this. To get into heaven you have to be in the right golf club or drink with the right people, it’s a closed shop nowadays. They like to keep the riffraff out. In life or the after life, it’s all bent.”
Morris looked down at the ticket. So that was it, the end. “Would you board the train, it’s ready to leave.”
FINI
As promised here is the first of a new set of Ghost stories, enjoy...
The Waiting Room
The sensation was one of falling, normally the cause of rapid eye movement whilst in the depths of sleep. That was the exact feeling he was experiencing now, yet he could swear that this was no dream.
All around was blackness, he could see his hand in front of his face, that meant a light source must be present somewhere, although all around black. No points of brightness, was he in a small room or a black hole? He was still falling though.
With a bump he landed, what a strange thing. He had been falling, but not down, but up. Now he had hit solid ground?
Opening his eyes, his senses told him that he was lying down, he must still be in bed. As the dim light filtered through his adjusting eyes they focused. The floor was hard, not his bed then, that was obvious.
So where?
As he exhaled his breath blew fluff covered hair across the stone floor. Slowly sitting up he looked around the room. The place smelt old and musty. The pungent aroma of old paper mixed with some kind of polish. Leather padded benches lined three sides of the walls, on the fourth wall was a window with the word ‘Tickets’ etched into the glass in white letters.
It dawned on him, he was in a waiting room or ticket office, something along those lines anyway. Where though, and how had he come to be there?
Getting to his feet he brushed the grey dust off his trouser legs and took a look around. Framed on each wall hung countless timetables, maybe they could give some kind of clue to where he was. The blind on the ticket office was pulled down, maybe the station wasn’t open as yet? He crossed over to the nearest time table and ran his eyes up and down the various columns. Strange, the columns were littered with station names and train times, but he could not read them. It was as though the focus of his eyes had failed to work. Normally his vision was all but perfect so why could he not read the board? He paced his eyes over the back of his hand, he could see that perfectly well. He tried the board once more. As he looked he realised that it wasn’t his eyes that were the cause of the problem, but the print itself. The figures on the board were coming in and out of focus before his eyes had chance to read them.
This is ridiculous, what was going on?
As far as he could see there was only one explanation, he was dreaming. All he had to do was wake himself from his slumber then once again fall back to sleep. He sat down on one of the benches and prepared himself to wake. Anytime now, he had done this before, anytime now.
It did not happen, he remained sat on the bench. Then something caught his eye, a light had come on from behind the blind covering the ticket office window. Now he could get some answers to the questions running around inside his head. Had he been out the previous night? Was this place and lack of memory the result of a night on the town?
Once at the window he tried to find the slightest crack between frame and blind desperate to see through into the other room. His nose traced the edge of the frame, no gap was visible.
This only added to his frustration, “Hello?” he called hoping that the staff member would hear his cries for help, “Is there anybody in there?”
Putting an ear to the glass he heard nothing. If someone was in the room they were making no sound, as quiet as a ghost he thought. The prospect of this old station being haunted made him cringe. He didn’t know where he was or why he was here, and now all he had for company was a ghost. The sense of bewilderment he had experienced up to that point was rapidly turning into shear panic. He had to get out of this room, it was freaking him out.
Running to the door he wrapped both hands around the knob then turned and pulled. Nothing moved. Not only would the door not open, but the doorknob would not turn. Was it there just for show? If that was the case how did he get in. More questions flooded into his mind, if this was a train station where were the trains, he hadn’t heard any? Maybe they hadn’t started running yet. A large clock hung on the wall above the door, he could hear the melancholy tick, tick of the mechanism.
He stepped back away from the door allowing himself a better view of the clock face. He could see the Roman numerals around the outer edge and in the centre the words, Railway Company Clocks’. It was not surprising that the words were clearly visible to him, there were no hands on the clock to obscure the text.
The clock ticked on.
For a moment he didn’t know which way to turn or what to do. Was he going mad? It must be a dream, no, not a dream, a nightmare. Taking a large intake of breath and gnashing hid teeth together he was on the brink of a violent outburst. The door would be his first point of angst. As his mouth opened to let out a scream of anger mixed with frustration the blind on the ticket office window opened.
He heard the noise of it being rolled up, it couldn’t be anything else. Quickly he turned his head to look who had entered.
Behind the glass was a middle aged man wearing the uniform of a railway official, he couldn’t make out whether the accreditation on the arm denoted him as a guard or ticket office clerk, but then that didn’t matter to him.
“Right, who’s next?” said the man from behind the glass.
For someone who had so many questions revolving around in his head he found it difficult to utter a word, the only thing to emerge was, “I, I, I, what, where?” His shoulders dropped, he felt defeated. Composure was needed, he took a deep breath before trying again, “Could you tell me, where the hell…”
The ticket man interrupted with such ease that he must to quite used to being asked that question, “…are you?” the little man said with a smile.
The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. His rage disappeared even though he tried to maintain the level of anger he was feeling, the situation was now defused.
“Where to sir?”
Where to? What sort of a question was that? Where to? He didn’t know where he was.
“What?” he answered, confusion in his voice.
“Where to, up or down the line Sir, there’s only two ways.”
Must be a branch line or something, it wasn’t a city station. He knew from his days of going on holiday when he was a child that the old country stations hadn’t changed for many years. This must be such a place, as he looked around the waiting room he could see no sign of a telephone or electrical arrivals and departure boards.
“Where am I?” he asked. Desperation was entering his voice once again
“Ah well there’s a question.” Beamed the railway employee.
Oh no, not one of those was he? A bloody yokel who cannot answer a simple question. He’ll probably end up saying the next train is a week on Thursday or something as ridiculous, “We are in the middle of nowhere really.”
“Why bother building a station here then?”
“Ah well, that’s a good point. The station is very important.”
He looked down at the dusty cold floor then after letting out a sigh looked back over toward the window, “Wh…” his voice trailed off as he saw that the blind had again been pulled back down, the position was closed.
“What you were going to ask?” a voice said in his left ear.
A shiver ran down his neck. Quickly he turned to see the uniformed man standing behind him.
“Well yes.” He felt very uneasy now, something strange was happening here.
The station is half way between four places.”
“Four?”
“Oh yes.” Smiled the ticket clerk.
“But where, where the hell am I?” his face was turning red with incredulity.
“Careful, mind your blood pressure!” the remark left the new arrival shell shocked. He watched the uniformed man walk across the room and sit on one of the benches.
“How did you know I suffered from high blood pressure?” the question hung in the air like the seeds from a dandelion clock waiting for the wind to blow them along.
“Tell me Morris, if could have your time again, would you do anything different?”
That was a strange question a railway employee to be asking him. Hold on, “How did you know my name was Morris?” his eyes were staring of terror, his skin drained of all colour.
“Don’t you know?”
The only explanation that came to mind, it was a dream.
“Oh, it’s no dream.” The man sat on the bench said, was he reading Morris’s mind, did he know what he was thinking?
“So what would you change?” Up to that point the ticket clerk had been sitting forward, his palms together. After that question he sat back resting his left arm on the back of the chair and crossed his legs.
Playing along, Morris thought of his life so far, of course he had been guilty of things he’d rather forget, but nothing major. For all his sins though he had tried to repay them all by his charity work that had taken over his life in recent years, “Not much I don’t think.”
“No, what about your divorce? Your children suffered greatly.”
“Well,” he said in an off handed manner, “these things happen. It’s character building.” He knew that they were torn apart by the divorce though he’d tried to put it out of his mind.
“Crying yourself to sleep every night isn’t character building.”
“No, no you’re right.” Morris felt a twinge of guilt, it wasn’t the sort of thing any child should have to endure.
“Then there was the promotion fiasco.” Smiled the seated man,” you blackened your rival’s name to get the job.”
Morris had heard enough of the allegations cast upon him, not only that but he was found to be wholly innocent of the mud slinging in that case. In any case his one rival for the job, Higgson went to the right school, drank in the right clubs and played golf at the right club. He hadn’t a chance of over-coming the old boy network, so he needed to gain the advantage.
“You will find that none of those events where down to me.” He was too confident, pride comes before a fall. “Nothing was ever proved.”
Morris enjoyed the small victory and took a seat opposite the railway employee, crossing his legs and resting his arm on the back of the bench, he waited for the man to speak again.
“Have you not realised were you are yet?”
“No, but I want out.” Morris replied with anger growing in his voice.
“It won’t be long.”
Morris sat in quiet reflection for several moments. He could not tell how long, as the clock had no hands, how could he?”
Several things still troubled him, how did this man know so much about him, where was he? He hadn’t established that fact as yet. None of his questions had been answered, and why did the railway clerk look strangely familiar. Was he someone from his own neighbourhood or an old school friend? Whoever he was though the things he had said where right. He had done some things he should be more then ashamed of.
The ticket master smiled to himself and looked up, “On the whole we haven’t lived a bad life, have we?”
“We?” Morris looked up quickly.
The railway man was no longer in the room. The blind on the ticket office window was once again open. Standing behind it was the ticket clerk brandishing in his hand a ticket.
The door to the platform was now wide open, through it Morris could see the open doors of a carriage, “Your ticket.” Said the man from behind the glass.
Morris was about to make reference to the open door, but didn’t. Instead he crossed the waiting room and took the ticket off the clerk, “You said ‘we’. We haven’t lead a bad life.”
“You didn’t recognise me did you?”
“Recognise you?”
“Nobody ever recognises themselves.”
Morris couldn’t speak, shock paralysed the muscles in his jaw. He looked at the ticket in his hand, it was a single.
‘Destination, down.’
His mind started to operate at a speed unknown to him up to that point. Did ‘down’ mean what his greatest fear was, “Am I dead?” he asked with a frail whimper.
“I told you that this line was in the middle of four destinations. We are between life and death, while we are also between heaven and hell.”
“Does this mean I am going to, hell?” his voice finally broke into a cry. “You said I’d not lived a bad life, so why send me down?”
“Well its like this. To get into heaven you have to be in the right golf club or drink with the right people, it’s a closed shop nowadays. They like to keep the riffraff out. In life or the after life, it’s all bent.”
Morris looked down at the ticket. So that was it, the end. “Would you board the train, it’s ready to leave.”
FINI
