Welcome to the world of
                       Michael G Kimber

The Nightwriter

With Sudoku

The man shifted uncomfortably, knowing that something was wrong,  but he didn’t know what it could be.  Something was different; he knew that, and yet the more he looked, the more it seemed to be the same. But something was different; he knew that; but what? Not only different, but wrong, and with that thought the more uncomfortable he felt.
    He turned away and for a few minutes watched the strange images flash by on the other side of the glass.  Some were blurred and meaningless, like abstract paintings at the end of a long day. But occasionally something recognisable, almost tangible went by, staying in his vision just long enough to be recognised, before it too was gone.  A light flashing in some dark space; a notice on a wall; and occasionally, when there was a little more space, an advertising board.
     The tube train roared into a station at breakneck speed, its sound changing as it emerged like a bullet shot from a gun; and the man's ears, relieved of the pressure as it came out of the tight confines of the tunnel, gave way to a satisfying pop.  As the carriages escaped from their old brick straight jacket, into the wide open space of the station, he, and the other passengers relaxed a little. They were all enjoying a feeling of relief, something like the feeling one gets, when, at the end of a long day, a pair of tight shoes is removed.  
     They all lurched as the brakes brought the train to a noisy screeching halt; its carriage doors opening with the usual precise, if rumbling, thud; synchronised and in tune from one end of the train to the other.
    People moved in all directions; some leaving and some boarding. New passengers in their haste not bothering to wait for the ones who were leaving to clear the way, resulting in some bad tempered pushing here and there. This was mostly conducted with barely a word; black looks and sullen acceptance being the form of communication. Almost never a smile.
     On board now,  new travellers  rushed blindly right or left looking for a vacant seat and hoping that they had guessed correctly. When one was spotted, a quick dash ensued in order to reach it before an equally determined passenger coming from the other direction, got there first.
    Those who had alighted were disappeared quickly, peeling off in many directions. Strangers to each other, uncaring about each other, they hurried to continue their journeys as their needs dictated. As usual, a few minutes of confusion and mayhem had gradually given way as the 'random law' took over, proof – some say -  that the theory of random selection really works, for seemingly by chance, but inevitably, people find their way.
     Without warning, the carriage doors closed; abruptly - oblivious of some inevitable last minute boarders who remarkably seem to manoeuvre the noisy guillotines unscathed.
 Everyone was settled once more, both on and off the train, and order is restored. But the man was still feeling ill at ease?
    Once more the train seemed to be hell bent on destruction. With remarkable ease it  reached top speed and the man gasped as it hurtled into the hole in the wall. In a matter of seconds the high pitched whining of the electric motors, and the rattle of  hundreds of  metal wheels running noisily on metal rails, created the familiar sound. Diddle-y dee, diddle-y doo, diddle-y dee diddle-da., thud thud; diddle-y dee; while behind it the station was quiet again.
     The man was very quiet too, and very tense   
     Amidst all the too-ing and fro-ing, and despite the large number of people changes that had occurred, some thing's had remained the same. One was that the man  had not moved, and neither had the man sitting on the seat opposite him. Still the man could not think what it was that troubled him me, but there was something. The man opposite was looking at him. Was that it? He had been looking at him on and off the entire journey, and now the man felt that he had identified the cause of his anxiety.
      Perhaps it was the way he staring, his gaze fixed, determined, and always in his direction. That and the fact that the man thought he was very untidy. By any standard he was scruffy, and probably dirty too.
     The man looked again, trying to guess his age, made difficult by his face being  pretty well covered with a beard, long and unkempt, and just like the hair on his head,  displaying the same lack of care that was evident by the man’s general demeanour.
    He concluded that was younger than himself; was quite fair in hair colour and complexion, though he could not avoid the conclusion that an application of soap and water might improve it by a couple of shades. His clothes were equally unkempt, and it was hard not to see him anything other than a down and out.
    But it was not his appearance or indeed his behaviour that was the problem.  He wasn’t bothering anyone, and all the other passengers were ignoring him, so the man could not understand why he felt so bothered by him. All he knew was that he was.
    The man, knowing that there were four more stops before the end of the line, and that his was the last, prayed silently that before they reached it the strange character opposite would depart. Two stations came and went, but he stayed where he was; still staring, and worse, as they pulled into the last station but one, the scruffy man made no attempt to move
    The Man was feeling frightened, for he was sure that the strangers attention was fixed on him. Why? He did not know.  He was not carrying much cash in his wallet nor did his bag – rather old and worn -  give any indication of holding anything of value.  In fact he knew that he had little more money on him than his bus fare. 'If he is planning a mugging he is going to be disappointed.' was his only thought.
    As they came to the last station the man was sweating; very uncomfortable and finding it hard to breath. His earlier apprehension was now nothing short of fear, for he was certain now that he was to be attacked.
    The train, as always, stopped abruptly and the man decided to force the issue, not moving until his travelling companion had left. He would then be able leave himself keeping close to the few other passengers as they made their way out of the station. 'Much better' he thought,  'that he should be in front of me where I can see him'.  
     But that plan failed when his protagonist also failed to move.  The carriage emptied except for the two men and the man didn’t know what to do. There was no longer any doubt that the the scruffy man had evil intent, and he could  feel the mounting panic. There was no one else around; no one to whom he could appeal for help, and he was  rooted to the spot with fear.  All the other passengers were gone.  There was not another person to be seen in an otherwise deserted station.
    Then there was a noise. Footsteps.  The sound of two men walking at a steady even pace. He wished they would hurry up. He guessed that they were railway staff for they were manually shutting the doors of each carriage as they walked the platform.
    'Must be the driver and the guard'. The man thought, relieved that he was not alone after all, and that salvation was near. But he thought it was very odd, for the hairy man was still opposite, still looking at him, still making no attempt to leave.
     'He must surely have heard them too and must realize that when they appear I will throw myself upon their mercy and seek their protection'.  The man thought desperately. He felt certain now, and somewhat relieved, that whatever his plan had been, the game was up. He could tell by the sound that the underground men  were near, and so, his fears allayed, he waited for them to appear.
     But the younger man still did not move, and continued to stare, and the older man thought he saw the beginning of a smile.
     When finally the footsteps reached the open doors of the carriage the driver and conductor stopped.  They seem surprised and took a step forward.
    “What’s this then?” One of them said, grinning to his companion, “Looks like we’ve got another sleeper.”
    The senior one of the two, short and chubby, took a few more steps and put his hand on the 'sleeper's'  shoulder.
    “Sorry mate,” he said, as he gently shook, “we are at the end of the line; you’ll have to get off here.”
    He continued to shake, a little less gently, but the man made no response.
    'Why can't I tell him?' the man was thinking, unable somehow to find his tongue. 'And why did they just ignore him?' had thought looking at his now smiling travelling companion.
     “Tell him first’ he was trying to say, but for some reason the words would not  come out.    The shabby man continued to watching, while both the driver and his mate seem to ignore him.
     The man sensed the driver shaking him again, more firmly this time. Then he stopped and stood up straight.  “Better send for some help.” he said to his friend.
    “Something wrong then?”
    “Aye there is - I don’t think this chaps asleep; I think he’s dead.”
    As the drivers mate ran off for help 'the man' was shocked. “Of course I’m not dead.’ he  shouted at the top of his voice. But no one heard him. The the driver leaned across and placed his lips on the 'sleeping' man, blowing in to his mouth.  
     Unexpectedly the 'sleeping man' felt a hand taking hold of his own.  It was the man scruffy man opposite who was now smiling broadly, his face is somehow softer.
    “I will take you know,” he said “there’s no need for you to be afraid any more.”
    Together they left the carriage and stepped onto the platform, where they heard the sound of many feet. Three men and a woman rushed by, and in a second the man in the train was surrounded by people doing things.  He could see a mask on his face, and a needle being pushed into his chest, another into his arm.
    The man looked on, knowing, but in a way he could not comprehend, that he was looking at himself. “But it doesn’t seem like me.” he said to his new companion.  “Come on,” his new fellow traveller said, “I think you’ve seen enough of that.”  
     The man looked at him, astonished, for he was different now, and he was young. His long matted grey beard was gone, and was now golden, like his hair, soft and fine, trimmed and neat. His hair was blowing gently in the air conditioned breeze, and his face was shining.
 “But what is happening?” the man asked, his voice miraculously found.  “And why were you staring at me. You frightened me?”
    “I’ve been with you all day,” he answered, smiling, “we don’t always know exactly when we’ll be needed.” he added, “Sorry if I scared you, but you weren’t supposed to be able to see me.”
    “I was scared stiff ... still am ... I thought you were going to mug me.”
    “Sorry, you must be very perceptive, I would have been a bit more careful if I had known.”
    “But where are we going?” the man asked.
    “You're still on the journey you started earlier today, but you’ve simply changed lines and destination. You were on the Northern line, and now you are on EG line.”
    “The EG line; never heard of that one.”  
     “Everlasting Glory.” he smiled.
    "But what has happened to me; where am I going?  It's the strangest sensation I have ever known.  Almost like a dream, and yet I am not asleep.”
    He looked again at the young man beside him.  His short trim beard and his fair hair give him a confident appearance, sportsmanlike, athletic. Somehow he seems to have become younger.  He was taller than the man by about four or five inches, and  walked with a long strides, and yet the older man seemed to have no difficulty keeping up with him. It was light now, bright sunlight in fact, and the man walked side by side with his new companion, showing no sign that he saw anything sinister about him.
     “Why was I so frightened of you?” he asked, but not waiting for an answer he asked  “and anyway, how did we get out of the station? and where did all this parkland come from?
    “You'll soon have all the answers to all your questions.” was the golden man's response.
    "Do you have a name?" The man asked his companion.
    "Not in your sense, no.  But if you want to call me something..." he pauses as if considering  "does Gabriel sound alright?"
    "Yes I think that suits you; and now will you tell me where you are taking me?"
    Gabriel  gives his charge a long smile.
    "I'll try to give it a name you will understand.” he said. “How about heaven?"
     As they walked off together the little group of people in the railway carriage were shaking their heads.


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