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Description

  To his family, friends and neighbours, Simon Miller seemed a perfectly normal boy. He had two perfectly normal parents who lived in a perfectly normal house in a perfectly normal middle-class suburb. Only Simon’s love of trains, which at times bordered on obsessive, challenged this normality; but this trait was not especially strange and his parents put it down to perfectly normal youthful enthusiasm.

  To prepare him for what would hopefully be a perfectly normal education, Simon’s parents sent him to a perfectly normal kindergarten where he made plenty of perfectly normal friends. On a more disconcerting note, this otherwise wholesome environment reinforced his love of trains. A cardboard train hung on one wall, and every child in Simon’s group was given a carriage to decorate. The toy chest held a wooden train set which Simon quickly commandeered. Many of the books on the shelves contained pictures of trains, stories of trains, and even train protagonists. Simon came to view himself less as a normal human child and more as a living, breathing train. He made chugging noises when he walked, pumped his arms like pistons, and whistled to express surprise. His parents became a little concerned, but on noting many four year olds had equally bizarre fixations, kept telling themselves it was perfectly normal.

  When Simon turned five his parents put on a bigger party than usual; he was days away from starting school and they thought this was worth celebrating. His friends from kindergarten came, along with relatives and neighbours, many of whom were older than him and brought their own acquaintances. These people brought him gifts as well, many of them train-related, and took part in train-themed games which they happily let Simon win. But all these delights were just the beginning. Simon was told of a one o’clock train which would arrive that afternoon and more people mentioned it as the festivities went on.

  As one o’clock approached everyone moved to the back yard except for Simon’s parents who retired to the kitchen instead. A short time later they emerged carrying the promised train on an enormous wooden platter. It was actually a birthday cake, though it was so cleverly sculpted it looked more realistic than most of the toy trains Simon had seen. Yet like some of the remarkable trains he had formerly only encountered in books it had an almost human face, with two large round unblinking eyes and a seemingly irrepressible smile.

  All eyes were on Simon as he stepped forward and blew out the candles that were planted in the train’s flared funnel. His mother handed him a knife – which seemed more like a small sword to him – and told him to cut the cake. Simon paled at her words. He could not harm such a masterpiece. His mother repeated her order more sternly. Simon looked down at the knife then turned back to the smiling train, which seemed completely unaware of its imminent demise. He stared at it, begging it to speak, to offer him forgiveness for the horror being asked of him – but the train kept smiling blissfully. The knife trembled in Simon’s grasp and one of the onlookers laughed. Then his mother seized his hand, drew it back and forced it down. The sharp blade sank into the train whose smile never faltered as Simon’s own eyes filled with tears. When his mother finally released him he broke down completely and ran to his room, tormented by the mocking laughter of people he had thought were friends.

  The party outside went on for a while but the atmosphere was somewhat muted; and when all the guests had left, Simon’s family barely spoke over a far less celebratory dinner. Simon went to bed early, giving no more thought to his gifts or the terrible fate of the one o’clock train. His parents had done so much for him and he had failed to meet their expectations. Now he only felt ashamed.

  Simon drew no comfort from the trains around his room. It seemed that they were mocking him. Surprisingly the only toy that made him feel any better was Thelonious Shemp, a bizarre stuffed animal whose species, age and origin had never been entirely clear. Thelonious had belonged to one of Simon’s great uncles, and when Simon had recurrent nightmares his parents had put this strange toy in his room and told him it would scare monsters away. Simon’s nightmares ceased at once, though he sometimes had trouble sleeping under Thelonious’ hypnotic gaze. Tonight he could not ignore it and stayed very much awake as the surrounding suburb slept. Then, to further his amazement, Thelonious winked and hopped down to the floor. He gestured to the wardrobe and its doors opened silently, revealing an antique lift which Simon had not seen before.

  “Get up and get dressed,” said Thelonious. “You were cruelly wronged today, but together we can set things right.”

  Simon hesitated for a moment. He had been told to stay away from strangers, and Thelonious certainly seemed strange; but he was still part of the family and family had to be obeyed. Simon got up and changed into a fresh set of clothes. “Well done,” said Thelonious, and handed Simon a leash connected to a small red train. “Here’s another birthday gift. You’ll find more waiting underground.”

  Simon stepped into the lift. Thelonious followed and its cage-like iron doors slid shut. Before Simon could cry out Thelonious pulled a lever and with a screech of old machinery the lift started its descent. Its speed increased so rapidly that in moments it was virtually falling and Simon was sure he would die when it stopped. He shut his eyes and willed it not to; but eventually he wished it would. As if in response the lift screeched to a halt. Its doors opened onto an underground platform and Thelonious ushered him out. “You’ve done very well,” he said. “Now meet the real one o’clock train!”

  A whistling shriek came from the tunnel at the platform’s farthest end and a blast of foul air followed. Then a monstrous train emerged, spewing clouds of noxious smoke and pulling boxcars packed with frightful creatures. Yet none were quite as ghastly as the visage of the train itself. It looked a little like a skull sculpted from decaying flesh, and it seemed to mask the countenance of an even more repulsive being.

  “Don’t be afraid,” said Thelonious. “Remember what your parents did? They made you destroy a train that never meant you any harm, and then they shared its vital essence with bad people who laughed at you. But this train and its passengers are waiting to exact revenge. You should feel honoured, child. This is the greatest gift of all.”

  Simon trembled. “I don’t want it.”

  “You do,” said Thelonious. “Now don’t delay things any longer. This train is ready to depart. All it needs is your command. You never made your birthday wish – and here on this platform such wishes come true.”

  Simon managed a faint nod. Thelonious might have been lying but there was nothing left to lose. An older, wiser soul might have wished for world peace or an end to all suffering, but Simon’s lingering anger and shame gave way to a cold calculation. “I wish I controlled you all.”

  A fouler wind swept through the tunnel and the platform shuddered underfoot. Thelonious’ smile remained but his eyes contained no joy. “What have you done?” he weakly said.

  “You’ll soon find out,” said Simon. He left his small toy train behind and climbed into the waiting one. It started at his first command, and since then he has driven it around the infinite loop of his own private underground. It has never stopped for fuel, he has never stopped to rest, and although many years have passed he has not aged a single day. Simon harbours no regrets and his journey may well last forever; but in the world he left behind, two perfectly normal parents lament their child’s disappearance and wonder how things went so wrong.

Description

  To his family, friends and neighbours, Simon Miller seemed a perfectly normal boy. He had two perfectly normal parents who lived in a perfectly normal house in a perfectly normal middle-class suburb. Only Simon’s love of trains, which at times bordered on obsessive, challenged this normality; but this trait was not especially strange and his parents put it down to perfectly normal youthful enthusiasm.

  To prepare him for what would hopefully be a perfectly normal education, Simon’s parents sent him to a perfectly normal kindergarten where he made plenty of perfectly normal friends. On a more disconcerting note, this otherwise wholesome environment reinforced his love of trains. A cardboard train hung on one wall, and every child in Simon’s group was given a carriage to decorate. The toy chest held a wooden train set which Simon quickly commandeered. Many of the books on the shelves contained pictures of trains, stories of trains, and even train protagonists. Simon came to view himself less as a normal human child and more as a living, breathing train. He made chugging noises when he walked, pumped his arms like pistons, and whistled to express surprise. His parents became a little concerned, but on noting many four year olds had equally bizarre fixations, kept telling themselves it was perfectly normal.

  When Simon turned five his parents put on a bigger party than usual; he was days away from starting school and they thought this was worth celebrating. His friends from kindergarten came, along with relatives and neighbours, many of whom were older than him and brought their own acquaintances. These people brought him gifts as well, many of them train-related, and took part in train-themed games which they happily let Simon win. But all these delights were just the beginning. Simon was told of a one o’clock train which would arrive that afternoon and more people mentioned it as the festivities went on.

  As one o’clock approached everyone moved to the back yard except for Simon’s parents who retired to the kitchen instead. A short time later they emerged carrying the promised train on an enormous wooden platter. It was actually a birthday cake, though it was so cleverly sculpted it looked more realistic than most of the toy trains Simon had seen. Yet like some of the remarkable trains he had formerly only encountered in books it had an almost human face, with two large round unblinking eyes and a seemingly irrepressible smile.

  All eyes were on Simon as he stepped forward and blew out the candles that were planted in the train’s flared funnel. His mother handed him a knife – which seemed more like a small sword to him – and told him to cut the cake. Simon paled at her words. He could not harm such a masterpiece. His mother repeated her order more sternly. Simon looked down at the knife then turned back to the smiling train, which seemed completely unaware of its imminent demise. He stared at it, begging it to speak, to offer him forgiveness for the horror being asked of him – but the train kept smiling blissfully. The knife trembled in Simon’s grasp and one of the onlookers laughed. Then his mother seized his hand, drew it back and forced it down. The sharp blade sank into the train whose smile never faltered as Simon’s own eyes filled with tears. When his mother finally released him he broke down completely and ran to his room, tormented by the mocking laughter of people he had thought were friends.

  The party outside went on for a while but the atmosphere was somewhat muted; and when all the guests had left, Simon’s family barely spoke over a far less celebratory dinner. Simon went to bed early, giving no more thought to his gifts or the terrible fate of the one o’clock train. His parents had done so much for him and he had failed to meet their expectations. Now he only felt ashamed.

  Simon drew no comfort from the trains around his room. It seemed that they were mocking him. Surprisingly the only toy that made him feel any better was Thelonious Shemp, a bizarre stuffed animal whose species, age and origin had never been entirely clear. Thelonious had belonged to one of Simon’s great uncles, and when Simon had recurrent nightmares his parents had put this strange toy in his room and told him it would scare monsters away. Simon’s nightmares ceased at once, though he sometimes had trouble sleeping under Thelonious’ hypnotic gaze. Tonight he could not ignore it and stayed very much awake as the surrounding suburb slept. Then, to further his amazement, Thelonious winked and hopped down to the floor. He gestured to the wardrobe and its doors opened silently, revealing an antique lift which Simon had not seen before.

  “Get up and get dressed,” said Thelonious. “You were cruelly wronged today, but together we can set things right.”

  Simon hesitated for a moment. He had been told to stay away from strangers, and Thelonious certainly seemed strange; but he was still part of the family and family had to be obeyed. Simon got up and changed into a fresh set of clothes. “Well done,” said Thelonious, and handed Simon a leash connected to a small red train. “Here’s another birthday gift. You’ll find more waiting underground.”

  Simon stepped into the lift. Thelonious followed and its cage-like iron doors slid shut. Before Simon could cry out Thelonious pulled a lever and with a screech of old machinery the lift started its descent. Its speed increased so rapidly that in moments it was virtually falling and Simon was sure he would die when it stopped. He shut his eyes and willed it not to; but eventually he wished it would. As if in response the lift screeched to a halt. Its doors opened onto an underground platform and Thelonious ushered him out. “You’ve done very well,” he said. “Now meet the real one o’clock train!”

  A whistling shriek came from the tunnel at the platform’s farthest end and a blast of foul air followed. Then a monstrous train emerged, spewing clouds of noxious smoke and pulling boxcars packed with frightful creatures. Yet none were quite as ghastly as the visage of the train itself. It looked a little like a skull sculpted from decaying flesh, and it seemed to mask the countenance of an even more repulsive being.

  “Don’t be afraid,” said Thelonious. “Remember what your parents did? They made you destroy a train that never meant you any harm, and then they shared its vital essence with bad people who laughed at you. But this train and its passengers are waiting to exact revenge. You should feel honoured, child. This is the greatest gift of all.”

  Simon trembled. “I don’t want it.”

  “You do,” said Thelonious. “Now don’t delay things any longer. This train is ready to depart. All it needs is your command. You never made your birthday wish – and here on this platform such wishes come true.”

  Simon managed a faint nod. Thelonious might have been lying but there was nothing left to lose. An older, wiser soul might have wished for world peace or an end to all suffering, but Simon’s lingering anger and shame gave way to a cold calculation. “I wish I controlled you all.”

  A fouler wind swept through the tunnel and the platform shuddered underfoot. Thelonious’ smile remained but his eyes contained no joy. “What have you done?” he weakly said.

  “You’ll soon find out,” said Simon. He left his small toy train behind and climbed into the waiting one. It started at his first command, and since then he has driven it around the infinite loop of his own private underground. It has never stopped for fuel, he has never stopped to rest, and although many years have passed he has not aged a single day. Simon harbours no regrets and his journey may well last forever; but in the world he left behind, two perfectly normal parents lament their child’s disappearance and wonder how things went so wrong.