Temporal Line Works
Created | Updated May 30, 2007
Lee Dakin shivered. It was a cold December night 1935. He was dressed in a long overcoat bearing the crest of the East Yorkshire Railway company on the left breast.
After leaving the stench of death behind him in the trenches of Flanders he had returned home to the village of Holme on Spalding Moor. Lee had been born, grown up and attended school here. His home was above one of the Public houses, The Station Inn where his father was the Landlord. After the Great War he could have taken a steamer to anywhere in the word, but he had decided to return here to Yorkshire, this was his home and somewhere to have a feeling of security.
Lee looked down the platform of the railway station squinting into the darkness. In the blackness of the rural night he could not see out of the confines of the station. The three old cast iron lamp posts sat on both platforms. Now electric light shone down from the lamps, the posts however were the original Victorian castings. He could remember quiet clearly the illuminating gas lamps hanging high above him, when he was young he would spend hours watching the trains.
The stations had two platforms, on one sat a wrote iron open face waiting room, this platform was to serve the southern line. The north line platform however was the hosted the main facilities, the Station Masters house, ticket office and main waiting room. On the platform were two benches, three evenly spaced lamp posts and the large station clock which hung down from a scroll work attached to the waiting room wall.
Lee looked down the platform with pride, he had always had a deep interest in the railway. As a boy he would come down to the station after leaving school and watch the many verities of rolling stock which came through the station. Some of his fondest childhood memories were of sitting here talking the names and numbers of the engines. Over time he became friendly with the signal man and station master, both were regulars in his fathers’ pub, which always stood them in good standing with the local landlord. On his many visits to the station he would spend many a happy hour operating the signals or sending the all clear alone the telegraph wire. The station master would also allow him to perform such rudimentary tasks as blow his whistle and wave the green flag to indicate an engines departure. Lee felt so much at home here, at piece with himself even now.
From the end of the main platform he could see the Dakin ancestral seat, The Station Pub, once his fathers but now in the trusted hands of one of his many elder brothers, this was where he most felt at home, insight of the pub and the station house. The station did hold dark memories for him also, ever since he was a boy he knew something strange happened here. He could not tell what exactly, but a shiver still ran up his spine for no reason what so ever.
Was this the real reason he had returned to the village after the War? He had the chance to go anywhere in the world, some of his friends had, he could have gone with anyone of them, yet he came back here. Finally he settled down into his new job that of station master. This gave him the perfect opportunity to carry out what had become an obsession with him.
On one of his many fireside chats with the station master he had been told stories of how many train stations were haunted. This unnerved him somewhat, after all he was only a young boy still open too susceptibility. To this day he could hear the crackle of the fire that night as the storytellers words filtered into his imagination.
To this day in the station Masters house the very same fire crackled, the same wall clocks ticked. It was even the same paint on the window as it had been when he was a lad. The thing that he associated most with that room though was not its functionality or his responsibility, but the words spoken in it on that cold dark night many years before, ‘Train stations are full of lost cases and lost souls , they get on and off here like they would get on and off trains.’ What was the meaning of that? He shivered involuntary, he always did when his memoirs of that night came back to unsettle him.
Over the years of his employment there his attention was focused on the rolling stock which passed through the station and the running of this part of the line. In moments when his mind wasn’t so focused he would keep a lookout for any uninvited visitors, ‘Always keep an open, you never see them square on, only out of the corner of your eye you see them.’ That was what the old man had told him years ago and he heeded the warning. On several occasions a fleeting glance had passed like a passing thought, only registering as he had been told, in the corner of his eye. No matter how quickly he would focus on the spot nothing would appear to be there.
It was after some time that he came to the conclusion that these events always took place in the same place, not necessarily at the same time but always in the same place. Once in his investigations on the platform he would ring the spot in chalk, but now there was no need. He knew exactly where the strange events happened.
On many occasions he had seen a figure either standing there or pass through the area. It was not confined to either gender or age though he couldn’t be sure exactly. When he had spotted what he thought to be a sighting he could not connected them in any, their clothes for instance, past present and strange attire were worn.
On one occasion he had seen something which terrified him so much that his mind had temporally blocked it out from his consciousness.
On a night in spring 1905 he had watched the evening trains come and go, all passenger services were almost over for the night and he looked forward to seeing an array of freight trains thunder through. As the 7.03 disappeared into the distance just its red tail light visible flashing in the darkness Lee decided to stretch his legs. It was a cold night and his knees joints were becoming stiff with the cold. Maybe he should have called it night then, but he didn’t. Something told him to stay a little longer. As he walked up and down the platform he stretched his joints to the limit pushing the blood around his body. He stood under the clock swinging his arms too and fro the finger tips tingling. The clock was ticking its loud tick, tock above him, looking up at it he could see his breath forming clouds of steam in the night air. Again he blew out a lung full of air which obscured his vision for a moment, it was through that cloud that he thought he saw someone move. As the cloud of exhaled breath vaporised into nothingness it appeared that no one was there on the platform with him. Had he imagined it, was he a little open to suggestion after the station masters tale of the spirits that hang around the railway stations of the land. Slowly he walked towards the spot were he thought the man had been standing. Without realising it he was standing on that spot were all his visions had taken place, his sight blurred as he seemed to be taken to another place. He had the feeling of travelling down a tunnel, but no had elapsed. He stood there, nothing had changed at first glance, except he could no longer hear the large station clock ticking.
He knew that all the debarking passengers from the last train had left the station and there were certainly no passengers left on the platform, but he could hear voices, suddenly he froze to the spot. A feeling of uneasiness had overcome him, he looked down at his note book, why he did not know maybe it was for security, maybe he didn’t want to look up. The number of the last engine was still there written in pencil on the page. Then he looked up, to his surprise he saw many people on the platform. Where had they all come from? It was not only strange that the platform was full of what looked like passengers all with luggage, but they were all dressed in their ‘Sunday Beat’. Women in summery dresses carried parasols, men in white blazers or army dress uniform, all looked very Victorian. What came next he tried hard to forget
Mist, where had mist come from on a hot summer’s day, no it wasn’t mist ore of a heat haze making the image shimmer? All shimmered in the haze, all that id apart from the man in black, his outline and feature stayed clear as crystal. Another quires thing was the ladies held parasols in their hands, but he could swear that it was dark. Of course in his world all was dark it was a December night. Was he seeing the night too? Could it be that only the confines of the station had become immersed in this dream like state?
It may have been dream like for the most, one thing he would never forget though was what this strange man was doing. In his hand he carried what appeared to be a black doctor’s bag. At regular intervals he would stop and place the bag on the floor then take out a rolled up poster. Sticking the top edge against the wall of the waiting room he let the remainder fall sticking itself perfectly to the wall.
Lee couldn’t quite see what it said. At regular intervals the man stopped and stuck up a fly poster, only lee seemed to be taking any notice of this so out of place man. All the other passengers on the platform did not give him a second glance.
The man was now only twelve or so feet away from him he was busying himself sticking up another poster. As he turned to continue down the platform he stopped dead in his tracks as though he had sensed a vibration in his very being. Slowly he turned around all the while his eyes darted from right to left looking for something. Suddenly he stopped he had sensed his pray.
Lee started to fell ill at ease with the situation, he tried to move but couldn’t. The strange man in black was walking towards him, his breathing became heavy, the sweat was running down his temples, his mouth dry.
The figure stopped as though he was unsure where his destination was. Silently he rummaged in his bag before taking out another fly poster.
The young Lee couldn’t breath, so much was the fear gripping him. Then he thought his heart was going to stop as the mans cold grey eyes looked deep into his very soul and stretched out his right hand. In it was a rolled up poster, he was offering it to Lee.
He too felt his arm uncontrollably reaching out and taking it from the figure.
Once the transaction was made the cold looking man silently carried on along the platform sticking up his posters.
Lees’ eyes looked down at the rolled up piece of paper in his hand. After casting one last look at the strange figure he unrolled it. The paper was rough, course to the touch though the printing on it was as clear as any he had ever seen, it was immaculate. He would never forget what it portrayed.
On it was a clock face, roman numerals around its edge marked out the hours. On the top of the banner were the words ‘TEMPORAL LINE WORKS’ while at the bottom of the page it read ‘DO NOT ENTER RIFT’
A sense of foreboding came over him, he instinctively knew something was wrong and he should not be there. Lee screwed his eyes up as tight as he could and with all his effort and will power he stepped back.
The familiar sound of the station clock was welcome in his ears opening his eyes again he saw an empty platform much to his relief. Did he want to repeat this strange occurrence? A moment later he found himself being let into the station masters house which was situated at the east end of the platform.
In front of a blazing log fire he sat with a cup of tea in his hand and told the Station Master of what had happened.
For a long time the older man thought, he had heard of this before several years previous when a fireman had explained a similar kind of experience.
Lee went into great detail, “Everything shimmered, it was like walking through a waterfall, but going down a tunnel at the same time, then when I looked up from my note book I could see all those people.”
“What did it feel like?” the Station Master asked as he sat back in a leather arm chair and waited to hear what the young man had to say.
Lee thought, and yes it had a different feeling about the place. As he had stepped into whatever it was a cold night the air had changed into a warm breeze. There was also a smell in the air, it was a summer, warm air and pollen.
Once Lee had finished his account of the experience he warmed his hands on the fire, a distinct chill had come over him.
The Station Master listened with interest. When a similar event has occurred with the fireman he had seen soldiers, rifles in hand as they boarded a troop train. One thing the old stoker had mentioned though was…
“I saw something else,” Lee started to recount again, he didn’t look up as he spoke, his gaze remained deep upon the flickering flames in the hearth.
Good, he was going to tell it unprompted.
“Through the crowd in their summer dresses there was a man. He was dressed differently, he wore long black overcoat, black trousers, black shoes though his collar was white, I seem to remember that.
He looked old and tiered, his face was grey the expression on it was sadness.”
“What was he doing?” asked the older man, he knew where this was leading, he hoped the same conclusion as before, but he wanted to hear it through the mouth of the boy, first hand.
Lee didn’t speak for many moments trying to remember the movements of the dark figure, “He walked toward me.” He paused for a few seconds, he wanted to give an accurate account. How could he be accurate when he had no idea what had happened, “Then he looked at his pocket watch.”
“Was that all?”
“Yes I think so.” Lee said, but in his heart he knew that wasn’t all. He could still see the soulless figure in his minds eye walking toward him. That vision was as clear in his mind as the small of the numerous hanging baskets lining the side of the station house and waiting room. If only he had spoken more of his tale, the station Master knew the history of the station better then most and would have told the young man that never have there been hanging baskets suspended from any of the buildings.
That all happened so long ago yet still the image was clear in his mind. To this day he had never stood on that spot again, quiet often he came within a couple of feet or so of it, but never could summon up the courage to make the step into it.
The fire in the station house living room was burning bright and warm, he knew that he would have to leave the comfort of the house shortly. The last train of the night would be arriving shortly and he had to ensure that the station was empty before locking up for the night not to mention saying goodnight to the signalman. The clock on the mantle chimed ten o’clock. As he normally did he put on his jacket and hat before picking up his tools of the trade, whistle and flags before stepping out into the night.
The night was still clear and cold, stars twinkled in the heavens, no moon to obscure their faint light with its overpowering glare. His breath condensed as he exhaled.
A shrill whistle broke the silence of the night, the late train was approaching, the last one of the day.
Patiently he stood and waited, he heard the flexing of the steel cables being operated from the box then instantly the signal dropped. Tuning Lee looked up to the signal box and gave his old friend Wesley a wave. Wesley obliged him by returning the acknowledgment. By this time Lee hear the engines funnel blowing out smoke as it thundered down the line. The head lamp was now visible in the darkness. Moments later the engine started to break on its final approach.
“Evening.” Bellowed the driver as he slowly past, his voice clearly audible above the clank and roar.
It was a pointless effort to try and reply, the engine had already past so he just raised an arm in greeting.
As the carriages past him by he noticed something reflected in the glass windows. No one was on the platform adjacent to the reflection, but he could see it. The image was that of a man in a suit. The cut of the suit was not a style he had ever seen before. The man looked as though he has an air of authority surrounding him, he was reading a broadsheet news paper. As the train came to a stand still he folded up his paper and tucked it under his arm before bending to pick up his briefcase.
Lee watched the figure in the windows of the carriages. When they finally came to a halt his view was taken away by one of the door windows being lowered as a passengers arm stretched out and opened the door. Quickly he turned his attention to the platform, no one was there, instantly he knew though that the spot the man had occupied was the very spot he had witnessed those terribly frightening images, the suppressed memories from so long ago came flooding back into this minds eye.
He stood in silence as the passengers debarked not moving or saying a word to any of them. Once all was quiet he looked into the reflection of the platform in the carriage window, no figure was there now. As he looked at his own reflection he was aware of someone else on the platform with him, suddenly another reflection appeared in the window behind his own. It was Wesley the signalman.
“Lee.” He could see his friends reflection, but the voice didn’t register until Wesley placed a hand on his shoulder, “Lee, the drivers waiting.”
The station master turned, his pale blank expression looked straight through his friends face. Something then registered itself in his brain. The train, of course. Slowly he waved his green flag and blew a low unenthusiastic blast on his whistle. The cold metal of the Acme thunderer stuck to his dry lips as he removed it.
The engine driver raised steam and slowly the train started to pull away. Lee looked for the reflection again in the windows, but saw nothing.
“Are you alright?” Wesley asked seeing his colleague was in some distress.
Slowly Lee turned to face him, his throat was dry and he found it difficult to speak.
The signal mans eyes darted to the left before returning to the cold features of his friend, had he seen something out of the corner of his eye? “I think you’re wanted.” His eyes pointed in the direction a new arrival on the platform.
Lee could hardly move, a strange force processed him, he knew he had to look. Slowly and shaking his head turned to look down the dimly illuminated platform.
The terrifying sight of the man with the posters stood there watching him. Though it was forty or more years since Lee had seen him last the man had not changed an instant. The clothes he wore where still the same, his face still grey with those deep dark eyes set deep in his skull. Slowly the figure turned towards the waiting room. After only one step he had vanished.
Lee could not move or speak, why had this phantom returned to haunt him now after all this time.
Wesley though took up the chase, a she past the frozen figure of the station master Lee tried to shout out too worn him not to interfere for his own sake. Nothing came from his lips.
As Wesley arrived at the spot where the figure had stood he was hit by a blinding light and a blast of warm air.
It took a moment for his senses to readjust to the new environment. He soon realised the blinding light was nothing more then sunlight and the wall of heat was again the warm rays of sunlight on a summers day.
His first instinct was confusion shortly followed by panic. This second feeling abated itself slightly as he found himself in familiar surroundings. He was still standing on the platform of Holme on Spalding Moor station though it was not the station he knew. The railway line itself had gone, a carpet of lush green grass now sat were stone chippings, sleepers and rails had once lay. The station house and waiting room were still there, but it was obvious they no longer served their original purpose. At the far end of the platform the road still crossed what was the line, the crossing gates appeared to be long gone. Was this the station before the line was put down? No, how could it be, the line was always laid first, so where was he?
A sense of fear came over him as he realised the all was not well. He turned to look at the station clock, knowing the time would give him a reality, something real to cling too. Looking up the clock looked old and rusted, no time showed on its face, the hands were missing.
Something moved to his right. The figure he had followed to this place was taking down posters off of the waiting room walls. How could the posters be fixed to the wall in the first place? He thought to himself, it was covered in ivy. Somehow they were?
It was like a dream, he could see it happening, but it wasn’t possible for it to happen in that way. He tried to snap himself out of it like waking yourself up from a nightmare. He couldn’t though, this was a real a dram as he had ever experienced.
The dark figure took the posters down one by one and put them into his doctor’s bag. Once the last one was down he stopped and sniffed the air.
To Wesley’s dismay the man turned to face him and scowled, had he expected to see someone else there, Lee? Was he waiting for Lee? The man walked towards him with a look of terror on his face.
Mustering all his will power and physical strength he stepped backwards. Once the first pace was taken a rush of cold air hit his face, darkness enveloped him, he was back on the platform, his platform. Finding himself at Lee’s side they both watched as the figure of the man shimmered into view before disappearing.
“What happened?” Lee asked.
“I saw the station, with no line, no trains anymore?” Wesley’s voice was disjointed. He had no idea what had just happened, the only comfort was that Lee seemed to understand what he had just witnessed, “It was summer, the clock had no hands, flowers everywhere?” his voice trailed off.
No hands, of course he remembered it so well the posters of the clocks with no hands.
“He was taking down posters from the walls of the waiting room and putting them in his bag.” Wesley’s voice was almost a whisper now.
The posters were gone, was this an end to it, finally.
“What are temporal line works?” the signalman asked.
“Who knows?” Lee didn’t want to know/
As both men headed into the station house Lee stopped, from the corner of his eye he saw something, something had made his heart skip a beat. At the far end of the platform hanging on one of the cast iron lamp posts he saw something hanging. It was a poster, on it he could just make out the face of a clock with no hands…
After leaving the stench of death behind him in the trenches of Flanders he had returned home to the village of Holme on Spalding Moor. Lee had been born, grown up and attended school here. His home was above one of the Public houses, The Station Inn where his father was the Landlord. After the Great War he could have taken a steamer to anywhere in the word, but he had decided to return here to Yorkshire, this was his home and somewhere to have a feeling of security.
Lee looked down the platform of the railway station squinting into the darkness. In the blackness of the rural night he could not see out of the confines of the station. The three old cast iron lamp posts sat on both platforms. Now electric light shone down from the lamps, the posts however were the original Victorian castings. He could remember quiet clearly the illuminating gas lamps hanging high above him, when he was young he would spend hours watching the trains.
The stations had two platforms, on one sat a wrote iron open face waiting room, this platform was to serve the southern line. The north line platform however was the hosted the main facilities, the Station Masters house, ticket office and main waiting room. On the platform were two benches, three evenly spaced lamp posts and the large station clock which hung down from a scroll work attached to the waiting room wall.
Lee looked down the platform with pride, he had always had a deep interest in the railway. As a boy he would come down to the station after leaving school and watch the many verities of rolling stock which came through the station. Some of his fondest childhood memories were of sitting here talking the names and numbers of the engines. Over time he became friendly with the signal man and station master, both were regulars in his fathers’ pub, which always stood them in good standing with the local landlord. On his many visits to the station he would spend many a happy hour operating the signals or sending the all clear alone the telegraph wire. The station master would also allow him to perform such rudimentary tasks as blow his whistle and wave the green flag to indicate an engines departure. Lee felt so much at home here, at piece with himself even now.
From the end of the main platform he could see the Dakin ancestral seat, The Station Pub, once his fathers but now in the trusted hands of one of his many elder brothers, this was where he most felt at home, insight of the pub and the station house. The station did hold dark memories for him also, ever since he was a boy he knew something strange happened here. He could not tell what exactly, but a shiver still ran up his spine for no reason what so ever.
Was this the real reason he had returned to the village after the War? He had the chance to go anywhere in the world, some of his friends had, he could have gone with anyone of them, yet he came back here. Finally he settled down into his new job that of station master. This gave him the perfect opportunity to carry out what had become an obsession with him.
On one of his many fireside chats with the station master he had been told stories of how many train stations were haunted. This unnerved him somewhat, after all he was only a young boy still open too susceptibility. To this day he could hear the crackle of the fire that night as the storytellers words filtered into his imagination.
To this day in the station Masters house the very same fire crackled, the same wall clocks ticked. It was even the same paint on the window as it had been when he was a lad. The thing that he associated most with that room though was not its functionality or his responsibility, but the words spoken in it on that cold dark night many years before, ‘Train stations are full of lost cases and lost souls , they get on and off here like they would get on and off trains.’ What was the meaning of that? He shivered involuntary, he always did when his memoirs of that night came back to unsettle him.
Over the years of his employment there his attention was focused on the rolling stock which passed through the station and the running of this part of the line. In moments when his mind wasn’t so focused he would keep a lookout for any uninvited visitors, ‘Always keep an open, you never see them square on, only out of the corner of your eye you see them.’ That was what the old man had told him years ago and he heeded the warning. On several occasions a fleeting glance had passed like a passing thought, only registering as he had been told, in the corner of his eye. No matter how quickly he would focus on the spot nothing would appear to be there.
It was after some time that he came to the conclusion that these events always took place in the same place, not necessarily at the same time but always in the same place. Once in his investigations on the platform he would ring the spot in chalk, but now there was no need. He knew exactly where the strange events happened.
On many occasions he had seen a figure either standing there or pass through the area. It was not confined to either gender or age though he couldn’t be sure exactly. When he had spotted what he thought to be a sighting he could not connected them in any, their clothes for instance, past present and strange attire were worn.
On one occasion he had seen something which terrified him so much that his mind had temporally blocked it out from his consciousness.
On a night in spring 1905 he had watched the evening trains come and go, all passenger services were almost over for the night and he looked forward to seeing an array of freight trains thunder through. As the 7.03 disappeared into the distance just its red tail light visible flashing in the darkness Lee decided to stretch his legs. It was a cold night and his knees joints were becoming stiff with the cold. Maybe he should have called it night then, but he didn’t. Something told him to stay a little longer. As he walked up and down the platform he stretched his joints to the limit pushing the blood around his body. He stood under the clock swinging his arms too and fro the finger tips tingling. The clock was ticking its loud tick, tock above him, looking up at it he could see his breath forming clouds of steam in the night air. Again he blew out a lung full of air which obscured his vision for a moment, it was through that cloud that he thought he saw someone move. As the cloud of exhaled breath vaporised into nothingness it appeared that no one was there on the platform with him. Had he imagined it, was he a little open to suggestion after the station masters tale of the spirits that hang around the railway stations of the land. Slowly he walked towards the spot were he thought the man had been standing. Without realising it he was standing on that spot were all his visions had taken place, his sight blurred as he seemed to be taken to another place. He had the feeling of travelling down a tunnel, but no had elapsed. He stood there, nothing had changed at first glance, except he could no longer hear the large station clock ticking.
He knew that all the debarking passengers from the last train had left the station and there were certainly no passengers left on the platform, but he could hear voices, suddenly he froze to the spot. A feeling of uneasiness had overcome him, he looked down at his note book, why he did not know maybe it was for security, maybe he didn’t want to look up. The number of the last engine was still there written in pencil on the page. Then he looked up, to his surprise he saw many people on the platform. Where had they all come from? It was not only strange that the platform was full of what looked like passengers all with luggage, but they were all dressed in their ‘Sunday Beat’. Women in summery dresses carried parasols, men in white blazers or army dress uniform, all looked very Victorian. What came next he tried hard to forget
Mist, where had mist come from on a hot summer’s day, no it wasn’t mist ore of a heat haze making the image shimmer? All shimmered in the haze, all that id apart from the man in black, his outline and feature stayed clear as crystal. Another quires thing was the ladies held parasols in their hands, but he could swear that it was dark. Of course in his world all was dark it was a December night. Was he seeing the night too? Could it be that only the confines of the station had become immersed in this dream like state?
It may have been dream like for the most, one thing he would never forget though was what this strange man was doing. In his hand he carried what appeared to be a black doctor’s bag. At regular intervals he would stop and place the bag on the floor then take out a rolled up poster. Sticking the top edge against the wall of the waiting room he let the remainder fall sticking itself perfectly to the wall.
Lee couldn’t quite see what it said. At regular intervals the man stopped and stuck up a fly poster, only lee seemed to be taking any notice of this so out of place man. All the other passengers on the platform did not give him a second glance.
The man was now only twelve or so feet away from him he was busying himself sticking up another poster. As he turned to continue down the platform he stopped dead in his tracks as though he had sensed a vibration in his very being. Slowly he turned around all the while his eyes darted from right to left looking for something. Suddenly he stopped he had sensed his pray.
Lee started to fell ill at ease with the situation, he tried to move but couldn’t. The strange man in black was walking towards him, his breathing became heavy, the sweat was running down his temples, his mouth dry.
The figure stopped as though he was unsure where his destination was. Silently he rummaged in his bag before taking out another fly poster.
The young Lee couldn’t breath, so much was the fear gripping him. Then he thought his heart was going to stop as the mans cold grey eyes looked deep into his very soul and stretched out his right hand. In it was a rolled up poster, he was offering it to Lee.
He too felt his arm uncontrollably reaching out and taking it from the figure.
Once the transaction was made the cold looking man silently carried on along the platform sticking up his posters.
Lees’ eyes looked down at the rolled up piece of paper in his hand. After casting one last look at the strange figure he unrolled it. The paper was rough, course to the touch though the printing on it was as clear as any he had ever seen, it was immaculate. He would never forget what it portrayed.
On it was a clock face, roman numerals around its edge marked out the hours. On the top of the banner were the words ‘TEMPORAL LINE WORKS’ while at the bottom of the page it read ‘DO NOT ENTER RIFT’
A sense of foreboding came over him, he instinctively knew something was wrong and he should not be there. Lee screwed his eyes up as tight as he could and with all his effort and will power he stepped back.
The familiar sound of the station clock was welcome in his ears opening his eyes again he saw an empty platform much to his relief. Did he want to repeat this strange occurrence? A moment later he found himself being let into the station masters house which was situated at the east end of the platform.
In front of a blazing log fire he sat with a cup of tea in his hand and told the Station Master of what had happened.
For a long time the older man thought, he had heard of this before several years previous when a fireman had explained a similar kind of experience.
Lee went into great detail, “Everything shimmered, it was like walking through a waterfall, but going down a tunnel at the same time, then when I looked up from my note book I could see all those people.”
“What did it feel like?” the Station Master asked as he sat back in a leather arm chair and waited to hear what the young man had to say.
Lee thought, and yes it had a different feeling about the place. As he had stepped into whatever it was a cold night the air had changed into a warm breeze. There was also a smell in the air, it was a summer, warm air and pollen.
Once Lee had finished his account of the experience he warmed his hands on the fire, a distinct chill had come over him.
The Station Master listened with interest. When a similar event has occurred with the fireman he had seen soldiers, rifles in hand as they boarded a troop train. One thing the old stoker had mentioned though was…
“I saw something else,” Lee started to recount again, he didn’t look up as he spoke, his gaze remained deep upon the flickering flames in the hearth.
Good, he was going to tell it unprompted.
“Through the crowd in their summer dresses there was a man. He was dressed differently, he wore long black overcoat, black trousers, black shoes though his collar was white, I seem to remember that.
He looked old and tiered, his face was grey the expression on it was sadness.”
“What was he doing?” asked the older man, he knew where this was leading, he hoped the same conclusion as before, but he wanted to hear it through the mouth of the boy, first hand.
Lee didn’t speak for many moments trying to remember the movements of the dark figure, “He walked toward me.” He paused for a few seconds, he wanted to give an accurate account. How could he be accurate when he had no idea what had happened, “Then he looked at his pocket watch.”
“Was that all?”
“Yes I think so.” Lee said, but in his heart he knew that wasn’t all. He could still see the soulless figure in his minds eye walking toward him. That vision was as clear in his mind as the small of the numerous hanging baskets lining the side of the station house and waiting room. If only he had spoken more of his tale, the station Master knew the history of the station better then most and would have told the young man that never have there been hanging baskets suspended from any of the buildings.
That all happened so long ago yet still the image was clear in his mind. To this day he had never stood on that spot again, quiet often he came within a couple of feet or so of it, but never could summon up the courage to make the step into it.
The fire in the station house living room was burning bright and warm, he knew that he would have to leave the comfort of the house shortly. The last train of the night would be arriving shortly and he had to ensure that the station was empty before locking up for the night not to mention saying goodnight to the signalman. The clock on the mantle chimed ten o’clock. As he normally did he put on his jacket and hat before picking up his tools of the trade, whistle and flags before stepping out into the night.
The night was still clear and cold, stars twinkled in the heavens, no moon to obscure their faint light with its overpowering glare. His breath condensed as he exhaled.
A shrill whistle broke the silence of the night, the late train was approaching, the last one of the day.
Patiently he stood and waited, he heard the flexing of the steel cables being operated from the box then instantly the signal dropped. Tuning Lee looked up to the signal box and gave his old friend Wesley a wave. Wesley obliged him by returning the acknowledgment. By this time Lee hear the engines funnel blowing out smoke as it thundered down the line. The head lamp was now visible in the darkness. Moments later the engine started to break on its final approach.
“Evening.” Bellowed the driver as he slowly past, his voice clearly audible above the clank and roar.
It was a pointless effort to try and reply, the engine had already past so he just raised an arm in greeting.
As the carriages past him by he noticed something reflected in the glass windows. No one was on the platform adjacent to the reflection, but he could see it. The image was that of a man in a suit. The cut of the suit was not a style he had ever seen before. The man looked as though he has an air of authority surrounding him, he was reading a broadsheet news paper. As the train came to a stand still he folded up his paper and tucked it under his arm before bending to pick up his briefcase.
Lee watched the figure in the windows of the carriages. When they finally came to a halt his view was taken away by one of the door windows being lowered as a passengers arm stretched out and opened the door. Quickly he turned his attention to the platform, no one was there, instantly he knew though that the spot the man had occupied was the very spot he had witnessed those terribly frightening images, the suppressed memories from so long ago came flooding back into this minds eye.
He stood in silence as the passengers debarked not moving or saying a word to any of them. Once all was quiet he looked into the reflection of the platform in the carriage window, no figure was there now. As he looked at his own reflection he was aware of someone else on the platform with him, suddenly another reflection appeared in the window behind his own. It was Wesley the signalman.
“Lee.” He could see his friends reflection, but the voice didn’t register until Wesley placed a hand on his shoulder, “Lee, the drivers waiting.”
The station master turned, his pale blank expression looked straight through his friends face. Something then registered itself in his brain. The train, of course. Slowly he waved his green flag and blew a low unenthusiastic blast on his whistle. The cold metal of the Acme thunderer stuck to his dry lips as he removed it.
The engine driver raised steam and slowly the train started to pull away. Lee looked for the reflection again in the windows, but saw nothing.
“Are you alright?” Wesley asked seeing his colleague was in some distress.
Slowly Lee turned to face him, his throat was dry and he found it difficult to speak.
The signal mans eyes darted to the left before returning to the cold features of his friend, had he seen something out of the corner of his eye? “I think you’re wanted.” His eyes pointed in the direction a new arrival on the platform.
Lee could hardly move, a strange force processed him, he knew he had to look. Slowly and shaking his head turned to look down the dimly illuminated platform.
The terrifying sight of the man with the posters stood there watching him. Though it was forty or more years since Lee had seen him last the man had not changed an instant. The clothes he wore where still the same, his face still grey with those deep dark eyes set deep in his skull. Slowly the figure turned towards the waiting room. After only one step he had vanished.
Lee could not move or speak, why had this phantom returned to haunt him now after all this time.
Wesley though took up the chase, a she past the frozen figure of the station master Lee tried to shout out too worn him not to interfere for his own sake. Nothing came from his lips.
As Wesley arrived at the spot where the figure had stood he was hit by a blinding light and a blast of warm air.
It took a moment for his senses to readjust to the new environment. He soon realised the blinding light was nothing more then sunlight and the wall of heat was again the warm rays of sunlight on a summers day.
His first instinct was confusion shortly followed by panic. This second feeling abated itself slightly as he found himself in familiar surroundings. He was still standing on the platform of Holme on Spalding Moor station though it was not the station he knew. The railway line itself had gone, a carpet of lush green grass now sat were stone chippings, sleepers and rails had once lay. The station house and waiting room were still there, but it was obvious they no longer served their original purpose. At the far end of the platform the road still crossed what was the line, the crossing gates appeared to be long gone. Was this the station before the line was put down? No, how could it be, the line was always laid first, so where was he?
A sense of fear came over him as he realised the all was not well. He turned to look at the station clock, knowing the time would give him a reality, something real to cling too. Looking up the clock looked old and rusted, no time showed on its face, the hands were missing.
Something moved to his right. The figure he had followed to this place was taking down posters off of the waiting room walls. How could the posters be fixed to the wall in the first place? He thought to himself, it was covered in ivy. Somehow they were?
It was like a dream, he could see it happening, but it wasn’t possible for it to happen in that way. He tried to snap himself out of it like waking yourself up from a nightmare. He couldn’t though, this was a real a dram as he had ever experienced.
The dark figure took the posters down one by one and put them into his doctor’s bag. Once the last one was down he stopped and sniffed the air.
To Wesley’s dismay the man turned to face him and scowled, had he expected to see someone else there, Lee? Was he waiting for Lee? The man walked towards him with a look of terror on his face.
Mustering all his will power and physical strength he stepped backwards. Once the first pace was taken a rush of cold air hit his face, darkness enveloped him, he was back on the platform, his platform. Finding himself at Lee’s side they both watched as the figure of the man shimmered into view before disappearing.
“What happened?” Lee asked.
“I saw the station, with no line, no trains anymore?” Wesley’s voice was disjointed. He had no idea what had just happened, the only comfort was that Lee seemed to understand what he had just witnessed, “It was summer, the clock had no hands, flowers everywhere?” his voice trailed off.
No hands, of course he remembered it so well the posters of the clocks with no hands.
“He was taking down posters from the walls of the waiting room and putting them in his bag.” Wesley’s voice was almost a whisper now.
The posters were gone, was this an end to it, finally.
“What are temporal line works?” the signalman asked.
“Who knows?” Lee didn’t want to know/
As both men headed into the station house Lee stopped, from the corner of his eye he saw something, something had made his heart skip a beat. At the far end of the platform hanging on one of the cast iron lamp posts he saw something hanging. It was a poster, on it he could just make out the face of a clock with no hands…
