Jeremiah slid the gilded door and stuck his head into the corridor. New electricity buzzed yellow in their bulbs.

The train had stopped, the floor stagnant, the dark windows paintings of the world outside.

He had fallen asleep. The remnants of his hastily cooked chicken sandwich had spewed across the velvet seat, having fallen from his lap in his slumber, staining his black trousers, and a ghost of a headache throbbed above his right eyebrow.

Stepping from his compartment, the soles of Jeremiah’s slippers sunk half an inch into the white carpet.

How peculiar, he thought; he was certain it had been ruby when he embarked.

Dark panelling followed the white line, and after shutting his door with a hollow click, Jeremiah followed it right in the hope of finding someone—anyone.

Silence stalked him like a phantom. Every compartment he checked, yet discovered no one.

Perhaps the train had arrived at its last stop, and by the company's fault, no one had come to collect him, leaving him. Jeremiah huffed—utter shambles

He made his way down to the car. Two rows of seats replaced the compartments, the white carpet continuing down the centre. Still, he found no evidence of life. No trunks or luggage or—

A shape shifted in one of the seats—the back of a woman's head. Jeremiah headed toward her.

“Madam,” he breathed, “praise the holy! Might I enqui...” Jeremiah stopped. “Madam?”

The woman didn't stir, did move. Blank, grey eyes stared forward, her brown hair fastened in a tight knot on her head. Skin so pale, Jeremiah could see the blue of her veins stretched over her sharp cheekbones, the collar of her tar-black dress curled right up to her jaw.

“Madam,” Jeremiah tried again, ”are you quite well?”

Without a word, the woman stood, and as Jeremiah stepped back, she walked silently down the aisle.

“Pardon me. Madam? Ma—” He hurried after the woman and just caught the faint slither of her dress as it disappeared through the train's side door. He halted a brief moment of uncertainty before following.

Pure iridescence blinded the world outside like an impassable fog. White surrounded him, and all that was left was the silver gleam of the steam train behind and a single wooden table—so unremarkable in looks, Jeremiah almost missed the slip of paper on its top. Cursive letters bled over the page, and Jeremiah read the words:

‘Mortem Agmen Express,

Every twelve hours or more.

One way.

Next at 0300.’

“Nonsense,” Jeremiah mumbled, and he brushed away the sheet. “Never heard of the like.”

Goosebumps prickled the skin of his arms, and Jeremiah shivered. Cold air brushed his cheek just from sight; a black streak tainted the white.

The woman lept forward, and pain smarted over Jeremiah’s back as nails buried into his shoulders. Breath like ice spat against his ear, and the woman hissed.

“Stay the night,” she whispered. “Wait for the train.”

Sudden static crackled, and Jeremiah tumbled. The woman released him, and white folded around him, wrapping tightly over his body like cloth. His chest heaved, suffocating, and his legs buckled, collapsing beneath him...

...he woke with a start, sprawled on the floor of his compartment.

Boots thumped down the corridor as people walked by, and the sharp tang of steam stung his nose. An ache throbbed throughout his body, his shoulders, and as he stumbled to his feet, he glanced out the window.

Sunlight saturated the cobbled station platform, the sky painting-perfect blue.

Perhaps it had all been a dream? A nightmare?

The compartment door opened, and Jeremiah jumped as a gloved hand extended out.

“Ticket, sir.”

Jeremiah’s fingers shook as he fumbled in his jacket pocket and pulled out the yellow slip. The man studied the ticket, his furrowed eyes passed over Jeremiah’s soiled sandwich, and then handed it back.

“I’m afraid this ticket isn't valid for this train,” he said. “May I escort you off?”

“Please!” Jeremiah implored, “Where is the closest phone box? I believe I’ll fair better in a taxi.”