Locomotive to the Past by George Schultz (iphone ebook reader .TXT) 📕

But, the book itself had been written—sometime around the mid-19th century. How could a 150-year-old book look so new? Our Boy had never actually seen a copy, of the novel. Not till then, anyway—if he was, actually, seeing one now! And if he was not (here we go, again) hallucinating!

There could not have been many copies around, he’d surmised. Yet, there this one was! And in incredibly good shape! A book that was a century-and-a-half old? How could that be? Who—in heaven’s name—would’ve reprinted it, in the last few years? In the last few decades?

The newcomer had gotten so wrapped up in the book, that it took—literally—30 or 40 seconds before he’d realized that the stranger had bade him, in a detached voice, to “Suit yourself”.

The still-dazed-and-confused young man decided that he would “suit” himself. He plunked his suddenly-exhausted body down—onto the waiting seat.

The moment that derriere-met-mohair—that very second—the train lurched forward!

FOUR

Jason seemed to be the only one, in the entire car, who had been noticeably jostled—or even the slightest bit surprised—by the sudden forward thrust! Nobody else appeared to have noticed! None, apparently, had “lost a single step”—in their reading, or knitting, or crocheting.

The locomotive, abruptly, made a very sharp bend—heading south. At a speed—that was way too fast, Jason feared.

Wow! We’ll never negotiate this curve! We’re going too fast! Too damn fast! We’ll CRASH! We’re all gonna CRASH! It’s all over!

But, negotiate the curve, the train did! Very nicely! The locomotive then continued southward! South! South? Jason could not imagine where! Or why!

South? We’re going south? Where . . . in God’s name?

Could the locomotive be headed—toward Toledo? Nashville? Atlanta? Tampa? Mexico City? Hell, Central America? This—this whole adventure (for want of a better word)—was out and out incredible! (How many times had he thought that—exactly that—by now?)

A few moments later, the train curved, once again! Wheeled—semi-sharply—to the left! Heading east, once more. This time, the bend, in the tracks, was not nearly so radical! Far from being so frighteningly sharp! It produced considerably less trepidation, on the part of Our (still-anxious) Hero. Or—maybe—he was simply getting used to it! Adapting to all the travail!

Well, upon further review, that wasn’t quite accurate. In point of fact, there remained all kinds of anxiety—and boodles of apprehension—over the entire surreal episode! The highly-troubling scenario—which was unfolding, before his probably-dreaming, maybe-hallucinating, certainly-disbelieving, delusional-at-best, eyes!

Adding—immensely—to the twisted scene: There was not the slightest bit of emotion—shown by any, of those calm souls, seated around him! That was all right. Well, he guessed that it was all right! It pretty much had to be! He was experiencing enough nervousness—more than enough out and out terror—for the whole, entire, group!

The locomotive was barreling along—at a pretty good speed—by then! Jason couldn’t imagine a train—certainly not one that old—traveling that fast! Especially inside the city—where he seemed to be! Any city!

Of course, that portion—of this part of the mind-numbing experience—was fitting right in! Uniting “nicely”—with everything else, that had come to pass, on this day-to-end-all-days! He found himself wishing—sincerely—that the word “end” had not found its way, into that last troubled thought!

In what seemed to be absolutely no time, the phantom train was, with precise care, pulling in—to some kind of train terminal! Somewhere! He couldn’t tell where! Not from merely looking out of the window! Not from the train! All he could see was a bunch of other older trains! Similar locomotives! How can this be? How can any of this be?

“It must be Detroit,” he thought, probably aloud. Probably too loudly. Still—the way things had been going—it could be Cucamonga! Or Rapid City! Or, hell, even Jakarta—or Rangoon! Or someplace else! Or anyplace else!

Everybody seemed to get up! Well, they did get up! All arose! In almost-precision unison! Drill teams should be that precise! Immediately, the crowd began to file, out of the car. Out—onto the platform. That whole exercise seemed too quick! Way too quick! Like everything else! Didn’t someone—didn’t someone, attached to whatever-in-hell railroad this might be—didn’t they have to set down, one of those little wooden “pedestals”? Would that not slow down the whole disembarking procedure? Apparently not!

He fell in—behind the lady, from across the aisle. The one wearing the oversized hat—with all kinds of strange-looking feathers (augmented by three, huge, blue hatpins, protruding from the rear of it)—and sporting the blue dress, which was festooned, with some kind of bright-yellow palm fronds pattern.

Shakily stepping down, onto the small wooden “pedestal”—then, onto the unbelievably-cold concrete walkway—Jason noted that every car, on the entire train, was emptying. The robot-like people were all walking—matter-of-factly, unemotionally, in almost-lockstep—toward the huge terminal. Virtually in unison! To Our Boy, that was yet another frightening aspect! They’d become legend, by then!

Entering the huge—marble-walled, exceptionally-high-ceilinged—depot, Our Hero had the distinct feeling, that he was, indeed, in Detroit! In the enormous Michigan Central Depot, to be exact! He had to be striding through that historic, huge, facility—located on Michigan Avenue—close by downtown!

He’d accompanied Grandpa Piepczyk—on numerous occasions—when the old man had driven past the massive building. He’d never actually been inside the famous facility. Still, it seemed to have to have been that picturesque terminal—where he had come to a standstill! Simply had to be!

Jason headed across the massive, ornate, lobby—toward the side exit, on the far end. The one which identified itself, as the portal—for those looking to hire a cab.

He was surprised to hear how particularly deliberate the announcements were spoken—over the booming public address system. Obviously, it was due to the marble-walled acoustics. Well, what passed for acoustics. The loud words seemed to, mercilessly, ricochet—off those staunch walls. And reverberate—mightily—all through the sprawling facility.

Before the “dazed and confused” young man ever got to the cab exit, there had been three slowly-delivered messages, spewed forth. Each one ended—with a uniform. clearly-annunciated, slow, deliberate, “at… the… station… master’s… office”. So very slow. So damned deliberate. A minor consideration—but, it added just a slight bit more spookiness, to the earthshaking, surreal, scene! Well, maybe not so slight! Nonetheless,