Dark Shard 4. The Wrong Train.
I got on the wrong train, and that seems to be where it all started.
The train was disgusting: the walls were dark with vomit, there was a smelly puddle in the corner of the car, and every surface, from the walls to the seats, was covered with a sticky layer of unknown origin. Maybe it’s the dust of the heroine fairies?
I can’t say I was shocked by the situation — you haven’t been to my house yet. On the other hand, at home, I definitely didn’t have a slightly swollen, not very fresh corpse hanging from the ceiling on a pale blue tie.
Unfortunately, he was on the train.
I was in no hurry to approach the only fellow traveler, swaying rhythmically in time with the train’s movement, but nothing else was interesting in the car. Therefore, after a few minutes of looking at the dull outlying areas flying past the window and the gray autumn sky, I still slowly moved through the entire car to the gallows.
My feet stuck to the floor. My chomping footsteps seemed to sing a cheerful but slightly dreary soundtrack to my journey through the stinking carriage. Like a broken hurdy-gurdy or an old children’s merry-go-round, the kind, you know, with half of the horses without heads and the other without the horses themselves. I love these immensely.
Halfway through, I remembered that I hadn’t smoked for almost half an hour. My palms were a little sweaty, and somewhere in the area of the spleen, my unkind neighbor began to swarm — and this was always a bad sign. All my adult life, I was a little sorry that I got not some harmless helminth as a neighbor but a fucking demon, but, unfortunately, I could not do anything about it. It remained only to protect his sensitive sleep by smoking two packs of strong cigarettes a day.
I took a cigarette from the shirt pocket and lit it with the penultimate match. I took a drag. Bittersweet, disgusting, and pleasant. Children, remember that smoking is harmful; sooner or later, you will die from this abomination. In fact, no one gives a fuck about you, but this way, you have a great chance to replenish the collection of unpleasant pictures on packs of tobacco products with your slightly smoked lungs.
On the move, I don’t smoke on principle, so I stood, inhaled the tart smoke, and looked at my fellow traveler. He just made another turn around his axis and stared at me with an unblinking cloudy look. A fat fly settled on the open icteric eye. The hangman winked at me, driving it away with a purple spotted eyelid. I waved my hand back, flicked a hack behind my back, and moved closer.
“Hello, boy. Won’t you help?” squeaked the Hanged Man, lisping a little from behind his tongue sticking out to the side.
“Hello there. What do you need?” — I’m not very polite, sorry. I would look at you if a corpse suspended in a stinking carriage spoke to you.
“Listen, I pulled my tie a little too tight this morning.”
I really wanted to make a witty joke in response, but, unfortunately, I’m not smart (you will see this more than once). Therefore, mirroring the interlocutor, I tilted my head to the side and went almost close to him. I peered into his eyes, and he blinked quickly. Of course, it is uncomfortable, although the demon is sleeping, but try not to feel it when it is so close. However, this makes me even less happy — it’s unpleasant when everyone tries to avoid you. But I’m used to it, don’t worry about me.
I poked the Hanged Man with my finger to spin him around on his axis, and the tight knot of his tie, which had strayed on its side, turned towards me. I tried to untie it with my fingers, but the attempt failed — my fellow traveler apparently hung here too long. The knot became like a stone.
“Maybe you have a knife or something…” there was a hint of hope in its gurgling.
“I have nothing,” I muttered. What should I do with him? I can’t leave him hanging out here alone in a pissed and vomited carriage on a train rushing nowhere, “Okay, wait here, I’ll be back soon. Just don’t go anywhere.”
See how long it took me to come up with this ingenious joke. Not smart, yeah.
In fact, I remembered that in the next car, I saw a cardboard suitcase with leatherette upholstery. This should indeed contain a travel kit for mending leaky underwear — it is unlikely that a wealthy and successful person would travel with such an ugly suitcase. Besides, it was mine.
About five minutes later, I returned to the Hanged Man and quickly cut him off his tie using my excellent, serrated, slightly rusty scissors. I did not catch my fellow traveler — I could not deny myself the pleasure of watching his clumsy fall. Yes, and the sound almost caressed the ear, as if a bag of my unfulfilled hopes and dreams had fallen. I love this familiar sound.
Surprisingly, my new comrade silently endured this humiliation. Hesitantly, sighing, he rose to his knees, leaning on his trembling, unnaturally twisted arms, then heaved himself to his feet. He stooped heavily and tilted his whole body to one side. He reproachfully looked at me from under his brows.
“Thank you, demon,” the Hanged Man began painfully, slowly brushing off his greasy velvet suit. However, the consistency of the mud brought all his attempts to naught. Still, heroin fairies shit very pungent pollen.
“My pleasure,” I waved my hand and sat down on a dirty bench. Honestly, I didn’t care anymore — my faded Levis had seen much better times, and after the journey we had already made, they began to dream about its speedy completion. The fellow traveler, dragging his leg, came up and settled heavily on the bench opposite. We sat in silence, looking at the gray landscape passing by. The evening was approaching, and blinking dim amber bulbs lit up in the car.
It even got a little cozy.
A beautiful fat spider fell on my shoulder. It seemed to me that he knew about his irresistibility — in any case, he was not reflected in the window glass. Squinting at him, I carefully put my hand, and he briskly climbed onto it, confidently moving his furry paws. The Hanged Man was also interested in the new satellite, peered, screwing up his eyes, at the bright spider carcass, then said thoughtfully:
“He will come soon. You see, his friends have already started to pull up.”
“Yes, soon,” I brought the palm with the spider to my nose and began to examine the maroon spots.
“We can chat a little,” obviously, my fellow traveler was expecting some answer, but, without any answer, he continued, “I ended up here by accident. I was driving to the capital and realized I got on the wrong train. It’s a pity, of course, but nothing can be done about it.”
“Yes, there’s nothing you can do about it. The stop valve is not working, I checked. And there is no driver.”
“And these, like them … Conductors, too.”
“Yeah,” I finally took my eyes off the spider and let him down on the bench. Raising his paws in disgust and looking at me with displeasure, he climbed into my jacket pocket, closing the flap behind him tightly.
“Are you from any department? Or is it just an unlucky fool?” — It seems that the Hanged Man did not want to offend me. It’s just that in the situation where we find ourselves, it is difficult to express ourselves more precisely.
“More like a fool. But from the department.”
It was embarrassing for me to talk with a talkative corpse. A lingering conversation began to drag me into its gurgling depths. I silently got up, nodded to my fellow traveler, and slowly walked into the lead car.