The Ghost Train and Other Nightmare Visions

Pitch black smothers all. The cars switch and turn about, their momentum spiteful, evil. A shrivelled figure in a pirate hat laughs and something skeletal pats me on the head. I shut my eyes tight, a barrier against this junction of horrors. This is a seaside ride, but I’m convinced we are going to hell.

**

Rubble in a basement–they have workmen down there digging, so they can bury the evidence, a three hundred page dossier used as bungeroosh. The old public library will be sold to a London oligarch. Graceful arches will soar over his bespoke swimming pool–at one end, a bust of the owner in obsidian, Roman style. Floating in the pool, torn pages from old books. Stubborn as pond weed, his servants cannot rake them out. This place is cursed.

**

They call it a cultural hub, this cramped Victorian villa. A bouncy castle of hot air slowly deflates on an unkempt lawn. A vampire walks the length of the tiled roof, the chastened spirit of a long-dead councillor, eternally assessing the cost of repairs. Inside there is an array of expensive shelves, mostly bare. Tawdry knick-knacks, some knitted, passing as exhibits. Books have been forgotten here, but there are a few sodden ones left out the back in a wheelbarrow, next to the portakabin, if you care to look.  There is a tea room of sorts, or rather a slot machine for coffee and a few stackable chairs. You will have to unstack them yourself, as the eager volunteers have already clocked off.

 

Advertisements
The Ghost Train and Other Nightmare Visions

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s