Not Exactly Express

The train slithered into the station in near-silence, pallid and gleaming like a mushroom. I checked the schedule; the next train wasn't due for six minutes. Through the conductor's window, I glimpsed white bone and empty sockets.

The doors creaked open, and the man beside me started forward. "Hold on," I said, grabbing at his sleeve. "I don't think that's the regular run."

The man called to the driver, "You going east?"

A shadowed nod. "We go everywhere, eventually."

"Good enough." He tugged his arm free. I watched the doors close behind him, and the train crept forward into darkness.