Member-only story
Really, Keaton?
The Immortal Bastard
“This couldn’t be right…” the conductor mumbled his thoughts. He put his left hand on his lips and peeled the thin layer of skin. He always did it when he was nervous, or terrified. Leaning his stocky body against the train lavatory’s door, he triple-checked his notes. Five passengers had been missing from the train. How?
Not in the lavatory,
Not jumped out of the train—because a forced-open door would’ve triggered the alarm,
So where were they?
“Sir, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost...” A young man on his way to the lavatory saw him and looked concerned.
“Sorry, lad. It’s nothing.” How could he explain something like this? Maybe I should recount them. Maybe I made a mistake. He shook his head.
“Sir, can I get through?” The young man pointed to the door he was blocking.
“Oh, sorry again. Please.” The conductor stepped aside from the door, his mind still tangled in the impossibility of it all. He decided to do the counting one more time. It must be a mistake.
People couldn’t just disappear from the train.
