Ghost Train of Treblinka

by Hubert L. Mullins

  “Gone how? What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that one of the nurses came into his room early this morning and he was gone. His life support monitors were off. He dressed first . . . and then he just left.”

  “No one saw him leave?” His face was growing flushed.

  “No. We assume it was sometime late last night, when there’s only two nurses on duty. We have an extra eight patients since you were here. It wouldn’t be hard for anyone to just get up and leave.”

  “Thank you for calling me. I’ll try to get in touch with him,” he said, then hung up. He didn’t know how he would do that since he took Addey’s phone, and the phone had since been destroyed.

  Edmund turned around, and there in front of him was Sophie and Bill, tears in their eyes but he didn’t know from which trauma—the one they’d survived or the one Edmund was experiencing in that moment. Lena was helping the old woman into the back of a small, red car.

  Sophie reached out and put a hand around Edmund’s shoulder. She was shaking.

  “I’m so glad he’s alright,” she told him. Edmund separated and held her at arm’s length.

  “That’s not what’s important right now. I’m so thankful you are both okay.”

  “Not as much as us,” said Bill. “We had it easy—Krakus House’s roof can be seen from a long way out, so we just cut through the woods and found it. But you two . . . c’mon, we want to hear about it.”

  Edmund followed them to the car, unsure how they would all fit inside. Sophie on Bill’s lap, most likely. She turned around and walked backwards, smiling at him. There was a white wrapping on her wrist.

  “Looks like we’re staying in Poland at least one more day.”

  Ozelki – Krakus House

  January 13th, 2019

  Three new people had shown up to Krakus House, making it look like a functional business for the first time since the Americans had arrived. Two of them, girls who looked so similar that they had to be sisters, and a man, maybe even younger than Edmund, with a bookish look who could’ve been writing a travel guide. Large parts of East Poland were without electricity, something that may or may not have been attributed to the train. But it would be eventually. Already the news channels were covering it, and there had been just too many eyewitness testimonies, too much video coverage, to simply explain it away as something normal.

  “And now the world will know,” said Edmund as he watched the small television set from the bar.

  The old woman stepped out of the kitchen—she’d come to shower and change the moment they got back to Krakus House. Her good eye fell across the news coverage, to the grainy video of the train pushing a charter bus right off the road and onto its side. She shook her head, a solemn expression upon her face.

  “No one will notice. This is the wilds, remember? Nobody but us cares about Poland’s troubles. It’s always been this way.”

  “Won’t others be curious?” asked Bill. “I’ve heard that countries like Russia have always meddled in Poland’s affairs.”

  “True,” she said. “But they care more about Poland’s politics than its ghosts.”

  They spent the evening in the common room, on the large sofas that surrounded the far-side hearth. Bill and Sophie had very little story to tell, as she had mentioned outside the Palace. After the train drove the groups apart, Bill grabbed the collar of her shirt and lifted her into the air, heroically carrying her up the hill and away from the train’s fury. It continued on, not turning one way or the other. Edmund found this strange at first, but it made sense if it simply wanted to chase them away from Polvec.

  It was Edmund and Matilda’s story that everyone wanted to hear, but it was relegated to Edmund since the old woman chose to man the oven and bring out large platters of food for all the new guests. Lena, however, sat by his side and listened to the tale.

  “She’s a fighter, she is. Has been for my whole life.”

  He didn’t mention the tidbits of Lena’s history that the old woman had mentioned on the bench, but he was glad he knew it. Growing up here probably wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t ideal either. She’d only seen the world in the little pieces that flitted in and out of the common room. Lena probably longed for companionship her own age, and that sentiment would only grow as the old woman became more dependent on her.

  After the story, the Americans broke into groups so they could make a few much-needed phone calls. It would become serendipitous timing. Bill, with Sophie lending support in the background spent most of the afternoon making calls to Nomad and to his dad back in Lynchburg. The way Bill’s face went pale told him it couldn’t have been a preferable outcome where the rental was concerned. It was in his name, after all, and Nomad hadn’t been happy to rent to such a young person in the first place. Edmund would help out as best he could, but Bill wasn’t in a very talkative, nor friendly mood. And why should he be? Edmund had been the holdup for this entire trip, and although his friend said it was all okay, that generosity—and finances—was starting to wear thin.

  Edmund also made a lot of calls. He sat on his bed with the curtains drawn so he could look out the window, sure that he would see the column of steam trailing the countryside. There wasn’t much of anything out his window, other than the far-off shapes of two helicopters quickly racing across the sky.

  The first calls he made home, to his parents and to his girlfriend, Samantha, and later he would be glad of it once all communication in Poland ceased to exist. His dad was worried, his mom was worried, and his girlfriend was frantic, despite the fact that Edmund was notoriously unfaithful to all of them about checking in. He explained away his flightiness by painting a much darker, much wilder version of Poland, assuring them there was no running water, no electricity, certainly no Wi-Fi, and that food had to be hunted first in order to be eaten. He had no clue how close to the truth all of that would be in just a few hours.

  After he managed to get his mom to wind down a long story about the church’s new pastor, he dialed Addey’s parents back in Warsaw. Their number wasn’t easy to find, but he was able to call nurse Agata from the nursing home and, in a moment of clear medical violation, obtain their home phone number. Edmund never got an answer, it simply rang and rang and rang in an odd, incessant tone that sounded worlds away from American telephones.

  The only other option was posting a message to Addey’s Facebook, telling him that Edmund had his phone (leaving out the past-tense of that situation) and that they were all staying at Krakus House.

  Edmund had an uneasy feeling about the whole thing. Why did he simply get up and walk out? Was he still under the train’s call? That thought sent shivers down his spine because he had no way to prove otherwise. Addey could’ve woken up and promptly started walking toward Treblinka. And at this point, the train may have very well been powerful enough to meet him closer to Warsaw. Edmund just hoped he’d see his friend sooner rather than later.

  Finally, he tried to call Brian Harrick but knew those gents were probably dead, more so than anyone else who’d heard the call. If the Ghost Train had chased Edmund and his friends down the mountain just for being near Polvec, what did it do to those who hopped the fence and went right up to it? He didn’t want to think about it, and the fact that the cell phone went straight to Brian’s voicemail did little to alleviate that concern.

  There was a knock at his door. On the other side of it was Sophie, a look of pure horror on her face. She said, “Come downstairs, you have to see something on the TV.”

  Edmund followed her down, and when he’d left earlier the room was rather lively with the sisters talking animatedly in the corner with the young bookish guy. Now, everyone, including Bill, Lena, and Matilda, were crowded around the bar, watching the tiny set by the kitchen door.

  On the screen there was a reporter, a tall, lithe man with a pencil mustache who looked like he’d just stepped off a 70s gameshow. His jacket was red tweed but the quality of the television made this difficult to see. Behind him, sev
eral military men were moving sawhorses onto a paved two-lane road. Behind that, vehicles were either stalled or turning around and heading the other way. A quick pan of the camera showed no less than four, large tank-like vehicles that Edmund had never seen. Then again, he didn’t know much about the military here. The reporter was speaking Polish, but it didn’t matter—there were at least two translators in the room.

  “That’s the Bialystok junction,” said Lena. “It’s the main artery to Belarus and Lithuania. And they’re blocking it.”

  “But why?” asked Sophie.

  “Why indeed,” said Matilda.

  “Look,” said Lena. The coverage switched from pencil-stache guy to a short, rotund woman with thick glasses and a shawl over her head. She was standing in front of a vehicle’s grill, and when the camera zoomed out, revealed it to be some sort of large, troop transport. The coverage showed a similarly obstructed road with several motorists milling about, looking to armored men with rifles for answers.

  “Ukraine and Romania,” said Matilda. “They are cutting off Poland from the world.”

  “Because of the train?” asked Edmund. “It’s hard to believe that anyone’s government would respond in such a way.”

  Matilda was listening to the reporters, now back in a newsroom with the word POLSTAT 6 on the soundstage desk.

  “They’re saying that official word hasn’t been received yet as to why the country is on lockdown, but they keep using the words radical threat.”

  “Like terrorists?” Bookish Guy asked. He was clearly British by the accent.

  “I don’t know,” Matilda said, turning her focus back. “President Duda is supposed to address the nation in an hour.” She switched off the set and placed the remote on top of it. “That one is full of hot air, so I don’t care to hear it. Lena, a word downstairs?”

  The girl made sure the guests were comfortable, that food was sitting in front of them, then followed Matilda through the kitchen and down a trapdoor. Edmund didn’t realize the place had a basement but it was foolish to assume an establishment as large as Krakus House wouldn’t have a subfloor. The kitchen wasn’t very big, and on the other side of the wall was the makeshift internet café, so it made sense that storage was below.

  “Well that’s just great,” said Bill, his hand running through his hair. The patrons who’d been crowding around the television were moving away now. Edmund knew what troubled Bill the most—the confirmation that Romania was among the routes to be closed off.

  “I’m sorry,” said Edmund. “We should have gone yesterday. It was stupid of me to want Addey’s phone.”

  “Yeah, it was stupid, Ed. Really stupid,” he said, shooting daggers at his friend.

  “C’mon, let’s go play cards,” said Sophie, wanting to diffuse the situation. She tugged at her boyfriend’s arm. Bill just shook her off, not once breaking his stare with Edmund.

  “This trip has been about your stupid quest. You don’t give a damn about any of us, do you?”

  “Of course I do,” he said, the words stinging. He said it again, but weaker. “Of course I do.”

  “Like hell you do. And now we’re stuck here. I don’t get to . . .” His voice trailed off as his eyes flashed to Sophie. Instead, he said, “Did it ever occur to you along the way that you were in over your head? God, Ed, we are beyond the train now. What if the country stays on lockdown? What if we don’t get to go home?”

  “You’re being overdramatic, Bill. Things will settle soon, you’ll see.”

  “You’re a damned fool, Ed. Have you ever heard of a government shutting down a country before?”

  Edmund nodded. “Yeah. A government once shut down this one. Look, I’m sorry, Bill. I really am. And I wish I could take back everything I’ve caused but I can’t. But we’re in this together.”

  “No, pal. You’re on your own,” he said, and then he stormed off. Sophie tried to pull him back but he violently shook her off and headed up to his room.

  “He doesn’t mean any of it,” she said, face flushing with embarrassment.

  “It’s fine. I deserve it. I really am sorry for ruining the trip. And I’m sorry about that.” He pointed to the wrapping on her wrist.

  “This? Don’t be sorry. This is a battle scar, dude. If we get out of this, it’ll be one hell of a story to tell.”

  “I remember when Bill had that kind of attitude.”

  “He still does,” she said, looking off. “But Bill’s starting to grow up, ya know? His dad is pressuring him about school, he has to pick a career or get out of the house. Maybe it’ll be different when we get married. If we get married. It’s a weird time for him.”

  Edmund looked out one of the high windows to catch another helicopter zip by.

  “It’s a weird time for us all.”

  Lena appeared in the kitchen then came out to give the common room a once over. The girls were talking politely with Bookish Guy. To them, the naïve ones who’d not known about a ghost train terrorizing the countryside, this was all simply a hiccup in their backpacking adventure.

  “You two, come downstairs. Babcia wants to show you something.”

  ***

  The basement of Krakus House was a lot warmer than Edmund would have thought, given that these places were usually kept cool intentionally so as not to ruin produce, dairy, and meat. But the proprietor of the house had enough foresight to divide the massive subfloor into two sections—one for goods storage, and one for the War Room.

  There was no other word for it, because as Edmund descended the steps and saw the bank of large, flat-screen monitors, it was as though he’d traveled from the distant past to the near future. A large table dominated the center of the room, and upon it a very detailed map carved from wood, as if someone had constructed it from one, giant tree. Each of the monitors showed security footage, but none were on Krakus House’s property. These feeds were out in the world, showing scenes from parking garages, mountainsides, towns, water towers, and tunnels.

  “What is all this?” Sophie asked.

  Lena was walking backwards as she talked, holding her hands out to the amassed technology. “Welcome to the Order of Opeikun. Here, we monitor the train, and we have been since the sixties, since it started to take more people.”

  “My family was much larger then,” said Matilda, sitting in a chair at a computer terminal that looked silly in contrast. On the screen was a video of the train, moving in slow-motion. “Lena and I are the only ones left to observe.”

  “When’s the last time you saw it on camera?” asked Edmund, looking up to one feed where, in the distance, he saw a trench surrounded by several felled trees.

  “A few minutes ago. It’s currently just south of Malkinia. That’s new.”

  Lena said, “It’s never traveled past the Bug River before. Its range is growing.”

  “Indeed it is,” said Matilda. She stood up, her legs shaky, and walked over to the three-dimensional map on the table. Edmund easily found Krakus House, looking very much like a lighthouse since it stood on a higher point than anything else. The map covered many miles.

  “Do you see this ring?” Lena asked. There was a red circle drawn around the map, encircling as far down as the Treblinka camp, as well as a few miles north of Poniatowo. Edmund nodded.

  “That used to be the train’s limits, up until last January. And our cameras just caught it here.” She pointed to a spot past Poniatowo, about five miles away.

  “It’s also moving much faster,” said Matilda. “When we can see it, it behaves like a normal train. But when we don’t . . . it’s as if it slips into another world, and it’s traveling. It can appear miles away in a heartbeat. Our cameras have confirmed it.”

  “How many cameras do you have out there?” asked Sophie, gazing up at one that was angled to a very uninteresting field.

  Lena said, “They aren’t all ours. Some belong to the university in Warsaw. Some are live feeds from a television channel who set up a nature website. But we have eyes all
over Poland.”

  “And now we have visual confirmation that the beast grows,” Matilda said. She placed a clipboard on the edge of the table and Edmund saw the tally marks. She pointed up to the screen she’d been watching. “This was taken from a bridge outside the village of Glina.” The quality was remarkable on this particular video. It showed a daytime shot of a little dirt path running straight into the distance with hardly any trees or buildings at all. The camera was mounted high, watching the train pass beneath it. Matilda had slowed down the video to count the cars, just as she had by the windowsill last night.

  “Do you know how many cars this train carried when it left Warsaw on its fateful voyage?” she asked.

  Edmund and Sophie just shook their heads.

  “Aside from the engine, the trainset numbered forty-nine. Last night, it carried fifty-six. This morning, it carries sixty-eight.”

  “The more people who join the train, the longer it gets?” Edmund asked, but the answer was obvious.

  “How much bigger could it get?” asked Sophie.

  Matilda shrugged. “I’m sure it’s bigger by now. But who knows? Maybe it will one day stretch from here to your country.”

  Sophie bleated a nervous little laugh, but neither she nor Edmund thought it was very funny.

  “What does it want?” Edmund asked. He’d posed that question before, but every time something new happened, it was like the rulebook changed. Matilda just stared up at the screen, then looked down, searching her long, troubled past.

  “When I was in the cave with him, the Entity I mean, he couldn’t see into my head. He couldn’t hurt me, couldn’t make anyone else do it either. And that scared him. I don’t think he’s as scared now, but I’m still a burden to him. Anyway, when he tried to see into my head, I somehow saw into his instead. And it was awful.”

  “Tell them,” said Lena, putting a hand to the old woman’s sleeve.

  “It feeds on death. The same way we eat oatmeal or sausage or whatever you Americans like. Hotdogs. It is sustained by death. And in that cave, it was growing irritated that there wasn’t enough death feeding it.”