Runaway Train

Act I - Scene 1

Just what had Johnny gotten himself into now?

He stared past his own reflection at the fast moving surroundings outside of the train car, trying to ignore the sense of uneasiness that hung on his shoulders. There was no one else in the car with him—not even anyone coming around for tickets. His foot tapped steadily. Though the interior of the train was nice enough—an old-fashioned sort of elegance, with classy red curtains and comfortable seats—it was missing, well, life.

Some things, he'd figured out through observation (for example, the train company's initials were "RT," as the two letters marked the pads of paper at each seat), but others, he'd need someone to tell him. Where exactly they were going, for instance. Strangely, there were no kinds of brochures saying such. They probably wouldn't need them if everyone onboard had paid to get on and knew where they were meant to be going, though, Johnny reasoned. A twinge of guilt stirred in him. "Oh, what are you doing here, Johnny?" he asked himself. He ran his fingers through his hair, now peering into his own anxious eyes in the window. He searched his own face, as if for the answer. "Boy, this was a mistake..." Of course he'd fouled up like this. He'd done the same with everything else. And now he'd be getting in the way of the people working here. Well, if there even were any.

Turning away from the window, he breathed a sigh, looking at the compartments above him. If there was no one else here, would he starve? Waste away? He shivered. He'd seen enough of the news about the POWs to be very afraid of that fate. He can't have escaped the war just to go like this, he can't have.

Johnny stood suddenly, his anxiety moving him. Well, sitting around isn't doing anything about it. No one's coming around to help, you gotta do it yourself. Come on now! He glanced out from between the seats, deciding which way to go. Finally he started off to the right, walking along the corridor with jolting steps. An off kind of clicking sounded from one of his legs, but he pressed on. After all, he'd only just put it on a couple hours ago before he left home. Likely longer than a couple at this point... maybe... I ought to-

Something quiet sounded from the other end of the car, nearly silent but unmistakable all the same. Though try as they might to silence it, the rumble of the train on its non-existent tracks couldn't stop it. It played clear as day past the train car door and to Johnny's ears: jazz music.

He whipped around, eyes fixed on the door at the far end of the car. Hope lit up his eyes. Music. That had to mean people. It had to. Right? The troubles with his prosthetic forgotten, Johnny's pace quickened as he rushed to the door. Opening it just a crack, he peeked into the other car, his head sticking through the door like a nervous gopher popped out of its hole.

What was waiting for him was like nothing he had ever seen before. Crowding in a swarm around whatever the source of the music was were demonic little creatures, black and white, looking almost like shadows. It was like watching one of those seedy Fleischer pictures, portrayals of the denizens of hell brought to life. Oddest of all were the little suits and dresses they all wore over their strange forms. He'd have almost called them charming, if it weren't for everything else.

Not much more than a surprised gasp left him, not even a peep. However, it seemed he needn't say anything more to catch one of the things' attention. Its head swiveled to see him, looking somewhat like a cat who'd just fixated on some new bird. Its red eyes stared, burning a hole in Johnny's very soul. Then its mouth opened. Long yellowing teeth were revealed by an angry grimace. It was then that Johnny realized he had better get moving.

He slammed the door shut, a small squeak escaping him as he realized how loud it was. A louder squeak, more of a yell, followed as he felt clawing at the door that he held pressed to the frame. One arm wasn't nearly good enough to accomplish such a thing, though. A clawed finger slipped through the crack, and another, and another. Terror mounting, he broke away from the door, dashing away as far as he could. Suddenly, a bolt of black soared past his head, nearly missing him and screeching all the way. It landed in front of him, the little thing hissing in anger. It slashed at Johnny's prosthetic ankles, narrowly missing as Johnny moved them. It was like he was playing some terrifying version of jump-rope. Suddenly, another one of the demons jumped at him, but a quick swerve away saved him in time.