The Train of Lost Things

by Ammi-Joan Paquette

  Listening intently.

  Marty turned his head, considering her. “Do you—do you hear that?”

  “The horn,” she said slowly, like she was testing him.

  “Of a train,” said Marty.

  “The Train,” she began, and Marty rushed to finish along with her, “of Lost Things.”

  They faced each other, eyes wide, for two or three beats. Then the girl nodded crisply. “I’ve got to catch that train.”

  “Me too.”

  “All right,” she said. “We should do this together. Team?” She held out her hand.

  Marty frowned, then nodded and gave her hand an awkward slap/shake. “Team. I’m Marty Torphil.”

  “Dina Khan. We’re gonna have to go all the way inside the fogbank. It’s got to be in there.”

  “Yep.” Marty was pleased that they were thinking along the same lines.

  Then they both hesitated, evidently each thinking the other might go first. Finally, Dina rolled her eyes. “Come on, we’ll go in together. Safety in numbers and all that.”

  Marty took one step closer to her, so their shoulders almost touched. He realized he was death-gripping his phone, and he stuffed it back in his pocket for safekeeping.

  Together, Marty and Dina marched across the grass toward the great misty unknown.

  * * *

  • • •

  “Hey!” Dina yelled a minute later, ducking and rubbing her head. “What did you do that for?”

  “Do what?” said Marty. The wind was even wilder than before, sending his hair flapping around his head.

  “You smacked me on the head!” Dina’s hood had blown all the way down, and her ponytail was swatting her in the face.

  Marty saw a flash behind her, something whirling end over end in the wind. A notebook? In a second it blew past them, flapping like a bird on the wing. It disappeared into the wall of fog.

  “It wasn’t me,” he said, nudging her with his elbow. “Look!”

  They both ducked as a stuffed dolphin twice the size of his head swam past them through the air, like it was being pulled by a huge magnetic force.

  “Lost things!” said Dina. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the roar of the wind. “Heaps of them! They’re all being pulled to the train.”

  Just like us, Marty thought but didn’t say.

  They were partway up a rounded hill now, and while the fog was pretty thick all around them, the patch covering the hill’s peak looked entirely different. That cloud hovered an arm’s reach away, great and gluey and pulsating. Unlike a normal mist, which seemed to fade around you when you got inside it, this one was extra thick and soupy, like someone had dripped a giant pot of chowder over everything and then walked away.

  Marty and Dina picked up their pace, jogging side by side. They exchanged a sidelong glance when they hit the barrier—and it was a barrier, almost like running through cotton candy—but then they were through, and . . . everything was different because—because—

  The train.

  Was right ahead of them.

  They’d found it.

  7

  TAKE A RISK, SEE WHAT HAPPENS

  For some reason, Marty had been imagining an old-fashioned storybook type of train, a steam engine like the Polar Express or the Hogwarts Express with a big belching smokestack and chug-a-lug wheels. The Train of Lost Things was nothing like that. This engine was round-nosed and silvery and sleek as an eel. Long stripes of fire-engine red swept dramatically down its sides. The windows were dark and shimmering and you couldn’t see a thing through them. Here inside the fogbank, Marty and Dina were cushioned from the worst of the wind, and the train stood out sharp and clear against its muddy background. The mist had thinned into wispy branch-like tendrils that wafted up and down its sides. The great machine was a short run away, poised atop the rounded hill. But—it wasn’t on the hill.

  It was in the air.

  In. The air!

  Well, it was a magical train, after all.

  The engine was humming and groaning, but the train hovered a half body’s height over the hill’s peak. It wasn’t on a track, either, which Marty probably should have expected: Magical trains obviously could travel wherever and however they wished. This train now ruled over the park—over the entire town—from its airy throne.

  It also seemed—could it be?—like the train was waiting for something. Marty didn’t know how he could tell this, but he could.

  Was it waiting for them?

  The train’s headlights cut yellow-white light into the front barrier of fog. And then . . . the lights turned, ever so slowly, swinging around to aim directly at the two of them. Marty held up a hand to shield his eyes from the twin spotlight glare.

  “Come on!” Dina yelled, and only then did Marty realize that she hadn’t stopped when he had. Now she had nearly reached the train.

  The headlights blinked once. It felt almost like encouragement. Like an invitation.

  Marty ran to catch up with Dina. His pulse pounded in his ears. This was too unbelievable! In front of him, the Train of Lost Things hovered, three or four feet off the ground. It was nearly close enough to touch.

  “How are we going to get inside?” Marty called.

  There were maybe a dozen train cars, all joined together by rubbery accordion-style connectors. At each car’s end was a sleek door with a huge grayed-out window, and below each door was a jumping-off step that hung down, like on other trains Marty had seen. But since the whole train was floating, the actual step was at about his chest height. Great puffs of cloudy fog cushioned below the wheels and padded it on all sides, making the train look super mysterious—and also kind of intimidating.

  “We climb up to get to the doors, I guess?” said Dina uncertainly, and Marty thought he knew how she felt. Magical trains were well and good in bedtime stories, but finding one in real life—not to mention climbing aboard one—was something else entirely. What if it didn’t like you?

  What if it did?

  As they hesitated, a porcelain doll careened up from behind them, tumbling feet over curls on a brisk current of air. It headed straight for the window of the car where they stood. Marty’s mom had a couple of those dolls, which had belonged to her grandma, and they were so delicate that she never let anyone touch them (they were “for display only”). The way this was one hurtling, it was going to shatter on impact.

  Marty grabbed to save it. He missed.

  The doll reached the window. And then—it sank through the shimmery glass and was swallowed up inside the car.

  Marty was impressed. This train had game.

  Dina, meanwhile, started marching at the train. She reached the door to the nearest car, grabbed the step with both hands, and did a pretty impressive pull-up. With a huff and a grunt, she hoisted herself to standing. Marty’s stomach twanged uncomfortably—that step was high!—but Dina showed no sign of concern. With one hand clamped onto the holding bar, she grabbed the door handle with the other and yanked hard.

  Nothing. The door was locked tight. Giving a frustrated yell, Dina squatted and jumped back to the ground.

  “Come on!” she shouted over her shoulder, running toward the next door. “We need to find a way in. We’ll have to try all the doors—some of them have to be open!”

  The train burbled, and Marty felt a pulse of unease. He ran in the opposite direction from where Dina was rattling her next door. Shaking her head, she jumped down and kept going, while Marty pulled himself up onto his own step. By now he didn’t expect the door to be unlocked, though he tried it to be sure. Nope.

  There had to be a solution, if only he could find it.

  He considered the door in front of him. There was no visible locking mechanism. (Not that he could have picked a lock, anyway, even if he could see it, but at least it would have been something to try.) The handl
e was sturdy, and the only thing he could have tried bashing it with was his phone; he didn’t need to guess how that would end.

  Marty threw his weight at the handle. It didn’t budge.

  He rammed his shoulder into the door. Not even a tremor.

  The train snorted. Actually snorted. Was it finding this whole process entertaining? Then it burped. The burp turned into a jolt.

  The train inched forward. Just one step, but it was clearly a sign of what was coming next.

  “It’s gonna leave!” Dina shrieked from halfway up the train. “What’ll we do? Why aren’t you doing anything over there?”

  “I’m,” Marty called out over his mounting panic, “trying”—a big gust of steam puffed out from below the train—“to think!”

  The horn bellowed out two short, sharp barks: Toot, toot! It almost sounded like, Let’s go! Or, Come on! Or even, Outbound! Whatever it was, Marty got the distinct sense that this was not a train that waited very long for anything—or anyone.

  They either found a way on, or it was game over.

  “Come on, Train,” Marty whispered. “You drew us here, right? So there must be a way in.”

  He jumped off the stoop and scooted a few steps back. He tilted his head, studying the train cars extra carefully. There had to be some clue here, something he was missing. Part of being a good finder, after all, was being a good looker. And now something nagged at him. He watched as a line of plastic farm animals flew in formation toward the train’s window. In their neat single-file row they melted through the glass, one after the other: cow, pig, goat, moose (moose?), chicken, rooster, sheep, dog, cat.

  Marty looked again at the mysterious, glimmering panes. He wondered.

  The train’s horn shrieked again, three short barks this time. In Marty’s head it sounded like, All aboard! And, Final call! And, Heading out!

  “Hey! Come back here!” Marty yelled to Dina as soon as the noise died away. She didn’t hear him, though. She was too busy hoisting herself up onto the next step, rattling yet another door. The girl just didn’t give up!

  It was no use. The locks held; the doors stayed shut.

  The train bobbled again. This time, it didn’t stop. It was inching forward at a snail’s pace, but it was definitely in motion. The cloud billows cushioned the edges of the floating wheels and moved right along with them.

  They were almost out of time.

  Marty had a hunch, but it looked like this one attempt would be all he had time for. If it didn’t work, his quest was finished.

  The train bellowed again.

  Marty cinched his backpack tighter and tucked in his arms to his sides. He ran straight toward the suspended train step. From the corner of his eye he saw that Dina had turned to stare at him. Then she jumped down from her step and started to run alongside the train in his direction, like maybe she thought he’d lost his mind and was going to intercept his headlong dash.

  He kept his eyes fixed on the door. This would be tricky to pull off. And if it didn’t work—

  No. He couldn’t think that way.

  Marty pushed himself to go even faster. He was nearly there—nearly there—nearly there.

  Marty reached the train. He grabbed the stair with both hands and flung himself up into a leapfrog leap. He shot up. The moment his feet hit the step, he sprang into another jump. With one hand he pushed off against the door handle. The other hand he thrust out in front of him, straight at the silvery-gray surface of the door itself.

  The glass parted like a curtain to let him in.

  Still going a million miles an hour, Marty lost his balance and toppled in an ungraceful jumble of arms over legs over pretzeled-up backbone. He crashed hard against the far wall of the train.

  But he was in.

  He was IN!

  * * *

  • • •

  Marty had made it onto the Train of Lost Things.

  8

  AND WE'RE AIRBORNE!

  As soon as he recovered his wits, Marty remembered Dina. He scrambled to his feet. The train was moving, but still pretty slowly. He spun around to face the door. At that moment, two flattened hands burst through the same glass he’d come through. Dina’s face came next—her eyes bugging out, her mouth a dumbstruck O. Momentum carried her into a handspring right at him. Marty dove out of her way.

  At the last second she tucked herself into a midair somersault and came to land in a crouch. Then she leaped to her feet, flinging her arms out wide like a gymnast expecting a perfect score.

  “WOW!” she yelled. “Was that something? That was SOMETHING.”

  “That was something,” Marty agreed.

  “You had to be moving to get through, right? Like getting to Platform 9¾.”

  Marty grinned. “That’s what I figured. You can’t just jiggle the handle or tap-a-tap-tap and wait to get let in.”

  “You gotta believe,” said Dina with satisfaction. “Makes sense.”

  “I believe,” Marty said softly, and reached a hand to the wall nearest him—mostly to steady himself, but also to touch this mystical machine, this amazing engine that they had somehow managed to find and board. The wall panel was cool under his fingers, but a moment later—

  He yanked his hand back.

  “What?” Dina yelped.

  Marty blinked at his fingers. “The metal got suddenly . . . hot?” He touched the wall again, but it was cool as ever. “Weird.”

  One thing was sure: There was more going on inside this train than mere machinery.

  Dina glanced back the way they’d come. “Look at that!”

  The door they had come in through looked as solid as ever (despite the fact that two very living kids had just sprung through its window like some kind of ghosts). But the windows were something else. Unlike the gleaming gray they appeared from outside, in here they shone clear—and not only clear but extra bright, like they had filters to make the outside view super shiny and crisp.

  Of course the view, right then, was pretty much what you’d expect from a park on a foggy fall night: fields of half-wilted grass, murky trees with their colors cloaked in shades of gray, a chilly blanket thrown over the world.

  Marty found it mesmerizing.

  Dina came to stand next to him, then they both ducked as a large inflated pineapple careened through the door and whooshed over their heads.

  After a pause, Marty asked, “Is the fog going away? It doesn’t look as thick out there as it was.”

  “I don’t know,” said Dina. “It’s been like this since we came in. I think these windows might be . . . special.”

  Windows? The whole train was special.

  But it was true that from in here, the fog was less visible. Almost see-through, actually. Even though you could tell the fog wall was there, it didn’t blot everything over like it had when they were outside. The train slid forward with a gentle rocking sway that felt strangely soothing to Marty. By now they’d nearly reached the yellow lights at the far edge of the park, and he took in for the first time how big the field was.

  And . . . how many objects were coming at them.

  Well, at the train.

  He ducked again, then swung his whole body out of the way as two black-and-white china cats closed in on him. Thankfully, most of the objects were entering through the main carriage windows, not the doorway where they stood looking out.

  “That is a lot of lost things,” Marty said.

  Dina nodded. “But—this isn’t everything that’s getting lost, is it? I mean, people lose stuff constantly.”

  “It’s just from kids,” said Marty.

  “Even kids,” said Dina. “Especially kids. I mean, I’ve had to buy six pencil sharpeners since the start of the school year. Six!”

  Marty crinkled his forehead. “It’s only special stuff, my dad said.” He thought of Dad’s eg
gwhistle, lost so many years ago. Had that, too, gone spiraling across the sky on a night like this one, coming to rest somewhere on this very train? “A ‘heart’s possession.’ That’s what comes to the Train of Lost Things.”

  “Oh,” said Dina. “That makes sense, I guess.”

  It was a lot of stuff. Without even trying, Marty could see a flying Wheaties box (seriously? a Wheaties box?), a golf club, some kind of wooden puppet with strings dangling everywhere, a striped wool scarf, a huge old-fashioned iron key, and three different books. An eyeblink later, every one of those items had been sucked through the windows somewhere on the train. A whole new batch of stuff took its place.

  “It’s coming from other places, too, isn’t it? Other towns and cities. It’s not just from here.”

  “Has to be.”

  Kids all over the world were losing things, Marty realized. Important things (or important to them, at least). Most of those kids would never see their stuff again. Only those few who were lucky enough to find the Train of Lost Things. Kids like him and Dina.

  Marty couldn’t wait to start looking.

  Dina’s voice cut in on his thoughts. “So,” she said conversationally, “why are you here? What heart’s possession did you lose?”

  It came at him out of nowhere, the sudden rush of panic. Her voice was so casual, so friendly, like this was just another question, just another search. Marty’s mouth went dry and his stomach dropped to his toes. He turned his back on her and moved toward the middle of the train car. Maybe she’d think he hadn’t heard? Would let the subject drop?

  After less than an hour together, he already knew this was not the Dina way. “Marty?” she pressed. “You okay? Did I say something?”

  To Marty’s horror, he felt his eyes stinging. He couldn’t do it, could not put into words this search of his and what had brought him to it. So he opened his mouth and said the first thing that popped into his head. “Nothing. I’m fine. But hey, we teamed up to get on the train, right? Well, we’re on. Now don’t you think we should, you know, go our own ways?”