Game over (standard:mystery, 2240 words)
Author: Lev821	Added: Apr 13 2008	Views/Reads: 3808/2212	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Why does a train have to be walled up? and does it relate to an unfinished game of hide and seek?

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

gloom. That was the last he ever saw of him, as two of the boys 
fathers, but not Greg's, and one of their mothers, appeared on the 
embankment, having followed the same path down. Their faces said it 
all. They were not happy. Neil's father had strode towards him hooking 
a thumb behind him. ‘What have I told you about coming down here? Come 
on, home'. The other boys sheepishly emerged from their hiding places 
and reluctantly went back with their parent. 

Neil smiled slightly, looking at Greg's old house. In a way, he thought,
the game of hide and seek was not over, and wouldn't it be strange if 
Greg was still there, still hiding inside the tunnel, 28 years later? 
As the abandoned railway was only approximately one mile away, he 
decided it might be worth going down there, but thought that maybe he 
should be getting back to the house. The thought of going back to his 
wife answered that for him, and he drove along the deserted roads until 
he pulled up alongside a railing that bordered the railway. Two rails 
had always been missing, and like then, it was still the same, meaning 
that the path was still in use, use for other bored children to find 
fascination in exploring the unknown. He got out of the vehicle, a cold 
wind blowing over him, and opened the boot, retrieving a small torch he 
had hardly ever used. He crossed over to the makeshift entrance, and 
looked around him to make sure nobody was watching. Suddenly he felt 
like a child again, engaging in an activity that brought back more 
memories, especially as the surroundings where exactly as he had 
remembered them. As they did when he was eight, branches and leaves 
seemingly tried to hold him back, but he emerged onto the embankment, 
and there it was, the entrance to the tunnel, as oppressive and 
formidable as ever, around twenty metres from where he stood. He slowly 
approached, and stopped when he reached the entrance. The surge of fear 
came back to him, and he was glad nobody could see his reddening face, 
as embarrassment of that coursed through him. He walked in, flicking on 
the torch when the gloom overwhelmed him. Nothing in particular caught 
his attention. It was simply debris and rubble as old as the tunnel 
itself. On the right side wall, there were regularly spaced alcoves, 
each one boarded up, except one further along, its board split and 
splintered, as though wrenched aside, leaving enough room for perhaps a 
small boy to squeeze through. Neil walked across and shone the torch 
inside. The light caught something metallic that did not gleam very 
brightly. He found it a tight squeeze to force himself through, and he 
ended up on his knees, the torch beam wavering. He eventually stood up, 
dusted himself down and corrected the light beam. It came to rest on a 
steam powered locomotive. The torch only picked out a small section of 
what was clearly a beast of a machine. He wandered around to the front 
and picked out the words ‘British Colombia' on a large plate stretched 
across the face. What on earth was this doing here? he thought, and 
realised that it had been walled up. He had never known about a 
parallel tunnel, and realised now that the bricks where the entrance 
would have been were not the same as those of the rest of the tunnel. 
They were newer, even though they were probably more than thirty years 
old. With bushes and weeds being allowed to grow across it, he'd never 
given it a second thought, and even the first thought was a glancing, 
split second observation that barely registered in his mind. He guessed 
that there was probably a wall behind the train as well. He slowly 
walked along the engine's length, and saw that there were carriages 
attached, the door to one up to his left, looking locked and tight, but 
he decided to try anyway, and was surprised to find it open. He 
clambered up and walked inside, turning to close the door, but not 
really knowing why. He was surprised to find it already closed. I don't 
remember closing it, and didn't hear it shut, he thought. For a few 
seconds, he simply aimed the torch beam at the door, then turned and 
walked into the carriage. It was simply a passenger vehicle, albeit 
expensive, as there was a carpet, and expensive looking teak seats and 
tables. This was probably first-class. He progressed through into the 
next carriage, and found it to be similar. The third, and last carriage 
was also similar. This was obviously a train that only the richest of 
the upper-class would have travelled on, he thought, yet, left 
abandoned, not even in a transport museum, shut away to all eyes, save 
for those nosy enough to go exploring. He made his way across to 
another exit, but found that he could not open the door. It would not 
budge. He pulled down the window and went to reach outside but 
something stopped him. His hand touched some sort of obstruction, yet 
the torch told him there was nothing there. It seemed to be some kind 
of force field. He slowly backed away, and stopped when he thought he 
heard something coming from somewhere within the carriage. It sounded 
like breathing. He spun the torch around, and its beam picked out the 
source beneath one of the tables. The little boy scrunched his eyes 
against the light, but Neil kept it steady. Who it was, was obvious to 
Neil, as it took him a few seconds to realise that it was Greg. “Greg,” 
he said, “Greg, you're still here?”. “Neil!” he said, “You've found me. 
How did you get so big?”. Neil said nothing for a while, just kept the 
torch trained on the boy who looked not to have aged at all. He 
clambered out and stood with his hand before him in an attempt to 
shield his eyes from the light, but still it was not taken away. “Game 
over,” Neil said. Greg smiled, his face looking hopeful. “Did I win?” 
he asked, and it was Neil's turn to smile, even though he couldn't 
understand what he was seeing. “Absolutely, you win”. “Yay,” said Greg, 
a fist raised. “That's top”. Neil took the torch away, and sat down at 
another table, his mind racing. Neither he nor Greg knew that this 
train was sealed away because of its dangerous qualities, by those who 
had died with this knowledge, some through age, and some through 
choice. Its occupants, once onboard, could never leave, could never 
age. They were frozen at the age they entered in a kind of stasis, and 
would remain so permanently. In a way, it was perhaps a blessing and a 
curse. They were never to age, and never to die. Yet, they could not 
leave the carriages. The forcefield wrapped around it would keep them 
inside, keep them prisoned. It did not account for the effect that 
being trapped there might have on the mind. Should one be shut away for 
any length of time, then the crushing effect of boredom and inactivity 
on the mind has a warped effect, proving that the removal of a person's 
freedom, is perhaps the worst punishment possible. When liberty 
evaporates, madness abounds, and with the torch on the table, Neil saw 
that on the fringe of the beam, Greg was simply staring at Neil, his 
expression one of wonder, one of intrigue, one of dementia. “How'd you 
get so big?” Greg asked again, but Neil didn't answer, his chaotic mind 
wouldn't give him an response, so he simply smiled a humourless smile, 
and Neil could see that that was good enough for Greg. His question, in 
Greg's mind, was answered. There was silence for a while. Greg simply 
stared at the newcomer, his old friend and new company, stuck on the 
express to nowhere, for all eternity. 


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