Concrete

When I was a young boy, I used to see pleasure.
I felt my feet crunch over the autumn leaves, now brown and carpeting the floor of the alleyway, mouthing those words to myself. The wind whistled from behind me; the alley was flanked on both sides by small trees that curved to form a canopy cutting out all but the most determined beams of moonlight. It was still early in the season, and most of the leaves remained on the branches. Inside this tunnel, the fallen leaves hissed and crackled in the breeze, echoing over my shoulder. I walked on, slowly and deliberately, the wind catching the back of my hair and throwing a few strands over my face.

When I was a young boy, I used to see pleasure.
Underneath the carpet beneath my feet, cracked and torn fragments of tarmac shyly peeped out, ripped apart by the roots of the trees, occasionally causing me to stumble when I wasn't paying attention or when I dared to drag my feet through a drift of foliage. The path, although not entirely visible in the gloom, wound on clearly in front of me, wriggling left and right before disappearing around a corner where it continued on still, descending downhill. To my right, I passed a single street light, the head poking out of the roof of the branches. The cover at the base had been ripped off exposing the wires and it fizzed and hummed even as I passed it. The main body of it was covered in small graffiti ' little jottings and signatures in black marker and the odd blob of a spray can. I smiled to myself, catching a daubing of my own, just visible below some later work ' a reference to a long since forgotten name. I glanced up, and caught a glimpse of the head of the light flickering and swaying, and faintly a soft click-clacking of the wires inside being driven against the hollow steel tube, as it flexed in the wind. Moths moved busily around it. I turned up the collars of my coat, ran a hand through my hair removing the loose flecks from my face and continued on.

I felt my chest tighten. It was difficult to breathe. The wind rushing through seemed to create a vacuum, sucking out all of the air. I found myself stopping again to catch a breath, near a point where a tree had been felled, leaving a gap from the branches. I looked up. The night streamed in, stars blinking and a lone aircraft drifting silently overhead. I sat down on an upturned shopping trolley and cupped my chin in my hands.
I flexed my hands in my gloves. It was a warm breeze and a warm autumn night even though the sky was clear; the ground seemed to be holding onto the heat that had been generated during a humid day ending in one of those hazy sunsets that seems to go on for hours until someone presses a switch and the light disappears. I didn't have my watch on, but I guessed it was around two or three. The early birds had not risen yet and there was no sign of a dawn. It was the hour when everything seemed to be asleep, even the creatures that traditionally are supposed to come out at night seemed to have given up. I liked this hour; I usually took my walks around this hour, back home, wandering down the river or a quick stroll over the desolate fields. It was an hour when you felt you could walk anywhere safely. I pondered this as I wandered down the dark alleyway; had it been a few hours earlier I would not have dared come down here alone. But in the dead hours, when even the muggers, junkies, drunks, winos, wasters, addicts and rapists were probably asleep, I felt safe. I felt like the last person alive, the last animal alive, last anything alive. I wrapped my coat around me tightly and I was aware that I was feeling a damp sweat on my back and under my arms, although I was still shivering. The wind swirled on behind me.

I wandered on, caught up in a dim memory, realising how tall the trees had grown and how much the path had deteriorated over the years. I walked at a snail's pace now, taking care to place one foot in front of the other as slowly and deliberately as possible. I was alone ' at least, I thought I was alone, creeping doubts still lingered, despite my fantasy of being the only creature alive on two legs ' but I was taking care to make as little sound as I could. The leaves crumpled noiselessly beneath my feet, drowned out by the pure sound of that wind, seemingly enveloping all noise surrounding me ' my breath, my footsteps, even my heartbeats, catching it and whirling it away from me. The street light was behind me now; its comforting light flicking away to nothing as my eyes struggled to alter in the dim gloom ahead of me. I was aware of the path turning a corner and starting to drop. The wind had started to die down as I turned the corner and descended, making the black seem even more impenetrable, stuffy, almost like an immovable dark smoke that wrapped and smothered everything. I took a glove off and held my hand in front of me ' it seemed to hover as a pale light, against the black of my coat camouflaged to the dark of the now, seemingly still, night. I walked on.
I walked at a brisk pace now. The path seemed to twist and turn and every now and then I would catch my foot on the edges of the path, or the roots that still tunnelled and pushed up through the tarmac. Now that I could not see the stars, and the streetlight was far behind me and out of sight, I felt uncomfortable and a strange chill ' not the brisk shiver of a cold wind against me but a more underlying feeling of unease. The leaves beneath my shoes now rustled under me as I walked on, faster.

I came to the end of the path. It turned left sharply and opened out to the end of a cul-de-sac filled with small apartment blocks; silence and a thousand blank windows stared out over a large lit car park. To the right of the path was a small mud track. It descended to an arch of trees, from which a blast of cool air met my face. I clambered down carefully. At the foot of the path was a disused railway line, a single track railway with the lines still in place. Dimly, on the other side of the rail, a wall, about nine or ten feet high, the blurred shapes of years of graffiti overlapping and overlapping left and right for miles. On top of the wall, a high wire mesh fence, completely rusted, guarding nothing, tangles of bramble-like barbed wire snaking across the top, perhaps twenty feet high on top of the wall. The track had been disused for years; maybe thirty years or more, but I always took care when walking this path just in case a train was coming. I felt more comfortable now, seeing the stars above me and just out of sight behind me, covered by the lines of the trees I had walked through, the moon was riding high.

I trod out onto the railway line, the stones echoing noisily beneath my feet. The rails shot from left to right, or right to left as straight as a pair of arrows into the gloom either side of me, out of sight. Taking care to step over the rail and put my two feet on one sleeper at a time, I started to walk on, turning right, away from the alleyway. I squinted at the graffiti running down the wall next to the track. To my right, a steep embankment covered in thorny bramble and topped with small scrub plants climbed away into the dark ' I could just catch the silhouette of a long factory roof in places, a mechanically straight zigzag, black against the sparkled night sky.

Before long, the single line became two. The wall to my left ended, continuing further away from me, and a second line emerged to connect with the line I was strolling down, just in front of me. This second line used to be the main entrance for all freight delivery; on the other side of the graffiti covered wall was now flat wasteland, but it was once filled with buildings and factories, chimneys and stacks, and at this point, any freight trains running down this line would branch off to make their deliveries. The entrance to this was held by a massive pair of gates, rusty brown with flecks of their original green and topped with a brown crown of barbed wire. The rails ran up to the gate and continued parallel alongside the wasted area, between the wall and the edges of what were once many warehouses, flat slabs of concrete and the occasional single, upstanding, defiant wall, and sprouting explosions of small weeds from between cracks in the old foundations, driven into a strange lean by the constant wind that lashed this exposed area.

I walked up to the gate, and clutched at it, placing my gloved fingers through the rusting holes of the mesh. In the distance, maybe a hundred yards away, I could see what looked like a railway carriage, just sitting in a siding that branched off from the rail that took you through the gate. A long tube dotted with oval windows and divided in two down the middle and along its length ' a dull green at the bottom, shining in the moonlight, and a grim beige around the windows to the dark, studded roof above it. It seemed quite sad and peaceful, I thought, rather than haunting and ominous. Next to it, the rail continued on until it rejoined the mainline through another huge gate a few miles away. I leaned back on the gates, still clutching the wire. They seemed to give for an inch but were firmly sealed by bolts on the floor that had long since rusted and welded themselves into the concrete holes they were supposed to slip in and out. Around the middle of the gate, where the two halves met, a rusty chain coiled, tagged by a lump of ochre coloured metal which was once a padlock, the key presumably long since forgotten and completely useless now anyway. I looked up ' the top of the gate was topped by small iron spikes, like spear-heads. Between those, and the size of the holes in the mesh, I knew there was no way of climbing over it. But I wanted to have a closer look at that carriage, seemingly left there at random. I shook the gates and they echoed loudly and angrily, complaining at the treatment. I sighed, as the rattling died down until it only echoed inside my head, and let out a breath of smoke from the cold air.

I looked to my right. Quite close to the gate, there was a gap between the gatepost and where the wall resumed. The gap had been filled by a loose wire mesh, nothing like as rigid as the main fence, and it too was rusted and brittle. I walked over to it, and eyed it dubiously. It was indeed thin, and rather than being pliant like copper it seemed fragile, even as I brushed a finger against it, flakes of rust falling away. I undid my long coat and took a step back, tentatively, conscious of the fact that if I got this wrong, I was probably going to go right through it and out the other side in a tangled heap. Taking a step forward, I thrust my leg outwards against the small piece of fence, holding my hands out just in case, so that I might grab something, anything, on the way down. It gave slightly and several links snapped but it held my weight. Squatting on the ground, somewhat relieved and chuckling to myself, I grabbed and tugged at it, loosening it all the time until it completely came free in my hands, tearing the old links from their fastenings. I looked around. I hadn't made too much noise and besides, there was no one around, much less awake. I knew the place was largely unguarded already ' there was an occasional guard at one of the main entrances on the far side to stop car thieves and joy-riders breaking in, but the entire area was so badly lit it was impossible to police any intruder who found their way in. Throwing it aside, I lifted the skirts of my coat and gingerly ducked through the gap.

The expanse was enormous. Behind the fence, it had seemed a huge and unknown world, but now on this side it was a huge and known world. A vast, broken ocean of concrete and occasional piles of debris stretching as far as I could see in all directions. Only the distant twinkling of the lights of the town far to my right gave any indication that this area was even inhabited. I had one cursory look towards the far fence, but I could not see it ' the dull powdery white of the building foundations and floors merged into the starry night, which were met and joined in the middle by an impenetrable darkness. Even in the moonlight, I could not be spotted, which now glared down at me like a searchlight. Fear of discovery was not my chief concern by now. For some reason I could not explain in my head, those walls that I had seen before, some only two or three bricks high and a few feet long, but some taller than me, 'L' shapes to signify where they were once the corners of buildings, casting their own long shadows. I feared them. I could clearly see them and I could see there was no possibility of someone, some phantom, lurking behind one of these ruins, but they frightened me. The fact that they were there, when everything else had been completely flattened, as though the very ocean had crashed down and then receded away carrying away the debris to leave these upright stumps. They seemed to me to be like guards, in a strange way. They made me feel unwelcome, as though I was trespassing twice ' in the eyes of the council and in the eyes of their law. I turned away from them chastising myself for being ridiculous, letting my imagination run away, and pulling up the collars of my coat I started to walk down the line running under the gate towards the railway carriage. Suddenly, this carriage had changed from a curiosity to a sanctuary.

I walked on, carefully along the sleepers as I had done before. I felt a strange excitement now that I was closer to it, as if I was being drawn to investigate this thing, this old and broken down, abandoned carriage, but part of me was hurrying to get out of the view of those impossibly daunting lumps of rubble. As I drew closer to it, I could just about make out the old white symbol of British Rail still emblazoned on the side with a sad pride. As I walked, occasionally looking down at the floor, I became aware of what looked like some sort of writing or scrawling written on the top of the rails. I squinted to read it but it seemed unintelligible to me. The carriage drew closer. The wind was still strong. Now, as I was no longer facing into the breeze, it tore across my path, shifting my hair across my face and making the skirts of my coat flap furiously with every blast. In the alley, filled with fallen leaves and the trees, it had whirled and bucked and writhed with a furious noise, the noise of all that it touched and rattled. Now, in the open, it blasted parallel, uncompromising, silently gliding over the remains of the buildings with nothing to stop it, whistling in my ears and leaving them with a dull ache.
Eventually, I got to within a few yards of the back of the carriage. The interior door, that connected it to whatever carriage would have been behind, it was still in place and closed. All around it, the windows seem to have long since been smashed; what glass was left seemed to be covered in growth, even the jagged edges of the breaks were blunted by time. At every wheel, an iron wedge had been placed to stop it rolling or being towed away. I darted alongside it to get away from the wind that now whistled above me through the broken windows and underneath the train around my legs. The moonlight still glared brightly against me, creating a long shadow of almost my height that now followed me along the length of the carriage. I reached an open door at the far end of the car, near another tall scrub, whose clinging branches seemed to be trying to enter, and the rusted rungs of the steps leading to it. Gripping the handrail next to the door firmly, and testing the weight of the steps, I gingerly and carefully climbed inside.

Immediately, my heart skipped a beat and I froze. The carriage stank, but not with the dank smell of time and the rotting of the fabric. I looked down the aisle into the compartment. The ceiling was hanging down in strings of material and all the seats, old fashioned bench seats rather than the modern individual chairs were rotted to their rusted springs. Fungus seemed to be growing in the corners and towards the back of the carriage I heard the scuffling of what I presumed to be rats. The smell was the ripe smell of something fresh, something more alive, or something that had been alive recently. It hit me as the wind smashed me in the face as it whistled through the broken windows. The train wobbled slightly with every blast from the elements.

In the centre of the aisle and towards the farthest end from me there lay a pile of rags. I had just made up my mind that this had been a foolish idea ' 'ok, train explored, now get the fuck out of here before you catch something' ' when I heard a murmur. My heart, which had been skipping beats, now seemed to freeze with me, and the cold shiver down my spine became an acute icicle. I immediately thought I had been caught by the security guard - or worse. I spun around, trying to find out where the sound had come from. Considering the cacophony of noise emanating from the wind as it blasted through the train, it could only have been nearby. I looked back to the door from where I had come from, expecting to see the grasping hands of a drug addict or the incriminating torchlight of a fluorescent jacketed guard and leaned out carefully. I hadn't heard footsteps on the loose stones outside, and the murmur had been brief. A few seconds ticked by in what seemed like minutes. Surely, if I had been spotted, I would have been caught by whatever was hunting me by now. My brain seemed to be working in double-time, at speeds I did not know I could achieve. I'm safe? Still only the howl of the wind. No murmur. No stones moving under footsteps. Then what was it? I knew it could only have been a human noise, but I told myself otherwise. Rats. The creaking of the train in the wind. Yes, definitely the train carriage. I had felt a wobble as I heard the sound, as a blast of the wind had rocked the carriage gently. Safe then. Thank fuck. My legs shook and felt as though they could buckle at any moment, and I felt the first euphoria of adrenaline, as I took a deep sigh of relief and great gulps of the clean air from outside the train. Feeling myself close to collapse, giddy and dizzy in equal measure, I swung back into the carriage and leaned on the headrests of the seats closest to the door. I looked down at the floor. One corner of the rags had been flipped away, and a filthy and what seemed like a rotten, bearded man's head lay there. A black protruding tongue swept languidly over the lips and the eyes blinked once.

My legs moved even before my brain had given the command to run. Almost before I knew where I was going, my legs had already decided for me. I spun around on my heel and before I had even decided how to get out safely, I was moving clumsily towards the exit, smashing into an old toilet door, then a wall, then tripping over a piece of carpet and slamming into another wall. The back wall. The door I had entered now faced me. Finally, as the rest of me caught up with my lower body, I flung myself out of the door, not paying any heed to the steps or the distance or the uncertain nature of the ground. The grasping plant that I had carefully negotiated earlier, grabbed at my coat. I flung my elbows out towards it in blind panic; the motion tipped me sideways as I fell and rather than landing flat on my feet, I landed on my feet but at a strange angle. My body crashed down, my hands connecting with the stones, but then seemed to spring sideways and I dived to the floor, landing on my shoulder. The loose stones gave and cushioned the blow, but I still felt a wrench of pain from my shoulder joint and my collar bone. I felt the sharp edges of them brush against my face as my coat also seemed to envelope me and try to trap me. I had also managed to punch myself in the lower ribs as I fell. I felt winded. I could hear coughing and hacking coming from the train. I let out a breath and a strangled cry escaped my lips. At least he isn't dead, I thought, and scrabbled away, first on all fours and then onto my legs, by now well behind the rest of me, not able to keep up. I stumbled towards the nearest shelter as I could see it ' over the concrete slabs of the old buildings towards a particularly substantial piece of standing rubble, running desperately into the wind, cursing it under my breath. I darted behind the bricks, another 'L' shaped corner with what seemed to be one half of an old door frame on one side, and leant against the side away from the train, taking deep breaths, not able to bring myself to look around and see if I was being followed.

I stood as still as the stone behind me. I could not stay here for the rest of the rapidly approaching morning. Even as I stood there panting, I was aware that the smoky breath from the cold air was being carried over my shoulder behind me by the force of the wind. Worse still, because it was blowing right into my face, I could not really hear anything ' I certainly could not hear anything approaching, as well as I would have had the breeze been calmer. I looked down and became aware of my shadow as well, and moved myself slightly to stand in the shadows of the wall I leant against. Finally, to make myself as small as possible, I slid down the wall until I sat against it, resting the back of my head casting my eyes skywards, my legs out in front of me, bent at the knees. I had torn a hole in my jeans and on the shoulder I had landed on, the seams of the arm of the coat had come away, revealing the lining. I cursed my inquisitiveness and closed my eyes. The carriage stood silent, less than thirty yards away.

I opened them wide again after only a few seconds, or so I had thought was only a few seconds. I heard the click of a stone that has been kicked by footsteps. It seemed close. I froze and wondered what to do ' fight or flee. My legs were physically shaking, so fleeing seemed improbable, but my shoulder was also stiff to move and painful, so fighting seemed pointless. I was struggling to my feet, when I felt a hand with a grip of a vice grab me under both armpits. I cried out in pain at my damaged shoulder and struggled to my feet, not daring to turn around. I closed my eyes as I felt the hands help me up, hoping it would be the security guard I had feared all along, who had heard the commotion and chased away whatever the hell was under those rags. The hands seemed unnaturally strong. In the wind, I caught that smell again, that ripe smell. Reluctantly, I opened my eyes again and held my hands out in gesture of compliance. Standing in front of me was a very old, very filthy man.

His beard was black and brown, but with flecks of what you suspected was the true colour ' grey. Around the lips, both his beard and his moustache seemed to be yellowing. His nose was broad and flattened, high cheek-boned and with a squint around his temples. His brow seemed to be covered in frown lines. Crowning his head, the briefest of horse-shoe hairstyles, but for the most part he was bald. Behind him, the back of his head hung with lank locks of the same black and grey hair. His scalp was filthy with patches of red skin that looked both itchy and painful.

He was wearing a shirt with a plaid pattern and a long overcoat of a rusty brown; immediately, all I could think about was that rusty fence and wishing it had not given way and that I had just given up on it and walked on. I could have been halfway home by now, or at least close enough to a taxi rank. He wore a pair of brown trousers that seemed to have been covered in a wax that left them shiny and they were rolled up at the calves to reveal a pair of wretched looking socks and a pair of heavy duty, worn boots. The steel toe-caps gleamed out from the faded outer material.

His eyes were the most fascinating thing about him though. He stood there for a while just staring at me, as I stood frozen and then started to relax, even putting my hands in my pockets to check that my wallet and phone were still there. His eyes were of an indistinguishable colour, since he looked at me with a squint, but there was a definite twinkle I could see that comforted me. He did not look particularly evil and he did not feel evil either. He stood, still staring, with a thoughtful look; the look of a man deciding on his first question. I longed to hear his voice. If his voice was as gentle as his eyes, I knew I was safe. In the back of my mind, I was constantly fighting this fear and wondering whether to try to escape or to hang onto as much of my personal property as I could until the sun rose in an hour or so, when we would surely be spotted by someone. Anyone. All through this I stared back and did not dare to speak. Finally, I looked away and looked down at the ground, back to his boots. The wind continued to beat silently against us.

'You fucking woke me.'�
When his voice finally hit my ears, it was hard like granite, throaty as if he was carrying phlegm inside his neck. He put venom behind the word 'woke', spat it out almost, and it put me back on my guard. It was not a pleasant voice. I stayed staring at the ground.
'Look at me when I'm talking to you. I won't bite sonny.'�
The first part of this had been just as harsh, but in the second part, his voice had softened slightly. It didn't make me feel any more comfortable. Indeed, my unease only grew. I looked up at him.
'I'm sorry'�, I mumbled into the wind.
'What?'� He put a hand behind his ear and leaned into me, drawing it close to my face. I could not tell if he was being mocking or genuine. His ear was red raw around the outside of the lobe and black as soot inside. I also got a look at his mouth that was filled with red gums and a few blackened shapes that may have been individual teeth or pairs of teeth moulded together.
'I'm sorry'�, I said more loudly, lifting my head and looking to the stars as I said it. I looked back at the ground.
He mumbled something to himself and stepped back, turning away from me. Looking at him side on, his figure still seemed quite upright but he was slouching as he mumbled something unintelligible. He waved a hand at me dismissively and probably, although I couldn't be sure, said something along the lines of 'Forget it.'
He looked me in the eye again, a sideways glance, resting his weight on one foot. I looked back at him, relaxing again at his softening words.
'What are yer doing here anyway?'� He shook his head and seemed almost distressed, or certainly distracted, shuffling on the spot. He looked me up and down and gestured to my coat.
'Look at yer, look at yer'� everything. What are yer doing here?'�
'I'm just'� I dunno'�'� I faintly smiled and shrugged, but gave a gasp of pain at this and held my shoulder with a wince.
'Got no business being here'�, he continued, seeming to ignore what I said, and pacing now. 'What are yer doing here?'� He stopped pacing to look me in the eye again and raised his voice. 'C'mon, why are you here?'� A brief thought flashed in my mind about striking him and making a run for it ' if I caught him around the head or made one of his filthy legs give way, I could be halfway to the fence before he gets back up - but something stopped me. Not only the pain in my shoulder but something else. He was now staring at me, seemingly waiting for an answer this time.
'I really don't know'�, I lied. 'I'm a bit lost'� and I've ended up here.'�
He shook his head and looked away.
'I am sorry for'� intruding on you'�, I ventured, my confidence starting to grow. I gestured to the carriage behind us. 'I thought it was abandoned. I was just looking for a bit of shelter'� y'know, from the wind.'�
He shook his head at me again. I got the feeling none of these lies were making any mark. Either he wasn't listening, or he was more than a little bit astute.
'If yer lost, I can tell you where you are'�, he snarled. 'You're trespassing on my property.'�
'I know, and I apologise for that'�, I said. (Your property? That's a fucking joke.). 'I'll go now if you don't mind and let you get back to sleep.'� Hopeful, I thought, but you never know. I just want to get the hell away from here. I started to turn to walk away, reluctant to turn my back completely on him just yet.
He shook his head to himself again and it seemed as though his entire body relaxed in one moment, in one motion, weights falling from shoulders and Swords of Damocles missing the mark and landing safely aside. It was a subtle thing, there were no audible sighs or outward signs, he just seemed to relax instantly. It felt fair, like a genuine moment of surrender, rather than foul, like one who is putting on a front or a face to meet their own ends or to cause harm. He looked troubled as well as relieved of whatever burden he had been carrying. Perhaps I had scared him as much as he had scared me? He put a hand to his forehead and shivered.
'No, I'm sorry sonny, I'm sorry sorry sorry. It's just you scared the bejeezus out of me that's all.'� This last bit was seemingly spoken to himself, and for the first time I was aware of a faint Irish lilt in his voice. It was the way he said 'bejeezus'.
'No, I should apologise'�, I said, trying to temporize. 'I'll be going now, ok?'� Just let me go you stinking bastard, I thought. And then I reproached myself for it.
'Out of the wind'�, he mumbled to himself, shuffling to the other side of the wall I had rested against. He beckoned me to follow. Oh fantastic. I heard the scraping of his boots as he seemed to be lowering himself down to sit against it. I heard him mumble again.
'Out of the wind.'�
I looked around, wondering if I could make a dart for it. I couldn't run back to the gap; he would see me. Whether he could be capable of following me was a different matter, I just didn't want to make a bolt for it in a way that he could see what I was doing. The only way I could run would be towards the main entrance on the far side. Wherever that was. I sighed. This is against my better judgement, I thought to myself as I cast a woeful look to the heavens. I turned around the corner of the wall and sat down beside him, shielded from the now slowly diminishing breeze.

I sat down. My arm seemed to dangle painfully from my shoulder; I placed my hand flat on the ground to take some weight away from my shoulder-joint, without actually resting on it. Every so often, I would get this wrong and a violent jab of pain would ricochet around it.
'It'll be light soon, I suppose.'�
I sat there, not replying. I want to go home. I want to go'� somewhere else. What the hell am I doing sitting here next to this walking corpse? I let my right leg stretch out flat in front of me, my left leg bent at the knee. He leaned over to me and pointed to the sky. 'Light soon. Light. Can you hear the birds?'� He grinned that awful toothless grin, but still those eyes shone out, a moment of clarity on a confused apparition.
'Yes'�, I said, not really making eye contact and looking at the sky. It was indeed starting to glow faintly in front of me. I could almost see the main railway line and in the distant smear of the background, I could roughly estimate where the embankment lay. Far to my right, and out of sight, the sanctuary of that alleyway seemed a long way.
'You know sonny, you scared the shit out of me'�.
I smiled to myself. Yes, I can smell it from here.
'Sorry. If it makes you feel any better, you scared me a thousand times more.'� I shook my head. 'Jesus, you gave me a start.'�
He cackled and coughed harshly, bucking forward and spitting out something with a loud Pah! between his legs.
'True that. Your face. Terror it was, utter terror. I thought you were a ghost.'�
'I thought you were dead.'�
'Not yet son. No no, not yet.'�
I want. To go. Now.
I feigned anxiousness and pretended to glance behind me, behind the wall. 'We'd better move off soon. As it gets light, we might get caught on here.'�
'No we won't son'�, he said, somewhat finally. 'He doesn't come up this way. He stays at the gate, when he's there.'� Then to himself. 'No, it's quite peaceful here.'�
'Oh'�, I said, trying to sound as relaxed as possible. 'Don't you get any problems from people walking their dogs on the track?'� I waved my hand vaguely in front of me towards the fence and the old line. This was small talk.
He leaned his head back to rest it on the wall and turned to look at me, rolling his head along the wall.
'No, not if you don't let 'em see you.'�
'Oh.'�
A deep breath. A wince of pain.
'What's your name?'�
There was a pause. I turned to look at him and his bottom lip was wobbling, as if he was struggling with the words or the pronunciation.
'Eric'�, he said eventually. And then again, barely audible. 'Eric.'�
I nodded. I didn't really care.
'So'� why are you here?'�
He seemed confused and even slightly angered by this. I could almost here him now. 'I live here!'
'What I mean is'� how did you end up choosing that carriage?'�
'It's a roof isn't it?'�
'Well, I suppose so. How long have you been kipping there?'�
'About twenty years or so.'�
I laughed and looked at him, but he wasn't smiling.
'Really? Twenty years?'� I stared ahead. 'That's a long time.'�
'Hell of a long time mate'�, he leered bitterly.
'So, you just found it one day and thought it looked comfortable?'�
He sighed and another bout of hacking coughing seemed to echo around the flattened landscape. The sky was a definite light blue just above the treetops, and in front of me, very hazily, I could make out the roof of the factory I had seen from the railway line. I thought I could also just about see the entrance to the alleyway as well.

He was wiping his lips with a grubby sleeve. He leaned over me (I felt myself shrink away), and pointed away to my left. We appeared to be sitting in what would have been quite a sizeable building; the bricks still standing were three or four layers thick. Away to our left, a series of smaller concrete squares signified a line of smaller buildings, almost like out-houses in places, although no doubt all were connected. One of them unusually still had a perimeter wall of a few bricks height. Even in the dim daylight, it also appeared to have holes in the floor where pipes would have led, and in the middle, breaking through a large crack that seemed to run diagonally from one corner to another, small plants and grasses peeped out, like nervous soldiers inside a trench. He seemed to be gesturing to this one in particular.

'That building there. I used to work there. Used to work in that building. Me and seven other lads.'�
He leant back and rested against the wall again.
'It was all part of the factory works here. We used to make trucks, lorries, small vans, that sort of thing. But demand got low and they closed the place down. I'd been here since I was a small lad.'� His voice was wobbling. 'Worked here since I was fifteen. I started sweeping the floors'� and then when I was old enough, I was allowed to work the machinery.'�
'I used to polish the doors'�, he said brightly. 'In the end, it was me and seven other lads, we'd mould and polish the doors for the vehicles. Then we'd carry them off to be assembled. One of the buildings further down there.'� He waved his hand dismissively, not looking where he was waving. He sighed.
'But demand got low. They cut us off and tore it down, promising that something new was going to be built. Most of the lads all used to go to work on those trains'�. He gestured to the carriage. 'But in the end, they used those to cart us all off. I suppose that one got left behind.'�
I let out a deep breath, noisily; it hurt my lungs.
'Wow. I'm sorry to hear all that.'�
'I used to have a place just over the line'�. He pointed down the line, towards the alleyway. On the horizon, a line of trees signified its path and the tops of the apartment blocks could now be seen. Poking out from the tops of the trees, a single street light, like a giant bird, looking out over the playing fields further away.
'Good times'�, he sighed, forcing the words out. 'Bloody good times.'� He had closed his eyes and looked as though he was drifting to sleep.

I stood up quietly and carefully, dusting my gloves clean and beating out the back of my coat.
'Well, it's getting early and my family will be worried about me'�, I said, as cheerfully as I could. It was now or never. 'I'm going to go now, if you don't mind?'�
He looked me up and down briefly. For a moment, I thought he might object and my heart sank. Eventually he started to shake his head slowly and look away.
'No no, son, I don't mind, go on shoo. I'm sorry. You don't want to hear the drivelling of an old man.'� He seemed to struggle to get up. I grabbed him under one arm and helped him to his feet.
'I think I'm going to get some well deserved rest'�, he grinned, cheerfully. 'Thanks for the chat son, it was good to hear a human voice again'� at last.'� Without waiting to accept my goodbyes, he turned away and started to shuffle back towards the carriage. I stood as still as stone and watched him as he shuffled towards the old train, never looking back. I had been jangling some change in my pocket, a couple of pound coins and other bits and pieces, that I had intended to give to him ' suggest he get a cup of tea and a good breakfast with it. I had wanted him to ask me, but he didn't. I didn't offer it to him. It seemed condescending. It didn't seem right. I kept my eyes on him as he still shuffled down the side of the carriage, holding out a hand that brushed against the paint, seemingly just in case he lost his balance. I wanted to make sure he made it up the steps alright. I saw him clamber inside and caught his head very briefly as it moved between the windows. Then he disappeared.

I turned on my heel and started to make my way towards the line and back towards the gate. I wondered how I was going to get through that gap with my shoulder as it was. And my coat. This was going to take some explaining. There was a faint breeze now, cool and refreshing on my face. I felt a giddy euphoria. I was aware that I had been sweating a lot and this now felt cold against my back. Birds tweeted and flitted, the air seemed filled with welcoming song. On this glorious morning, I felt even more pity for the old man. I looked back at the carriage one last time.
What a story to tell. I grinned to myself and put my hands deep into my pockets, wiping some sleep from my eyes. The cold air tingled on my skin and I felt goosebumps erupt all over me. Exploring at three in the morning, 'captured' by a tramp whom he mistook for a dead body, charging through fences, falling out of trains. My eyes watered with the early morning chill. I was going to get it in the neck though, that much was certain. I thought about where I could buy some flowers at this time of the morning. Or even pick.

Walking along the line, just before the gate, I remembered the writing I had seen on one of the rails. I caught, what seemed to be, the beginning of it and followed it. It was legible and clear in the early sunlight now. It beat down on the back of my neck with a gentle warmth as the early clouds and mist evaporated. I read on; it seemed your usual delinquent gibberish. I was waiting for the punch-line. As I followed it, my blood started to run cold. I felt it, in my arms and the cheeks of my face, as though icy water flowed through my veins now. I began mouthing the words, then whispering them until I was speaking them aloud, but quietly under my breath. I was starting to jog down the line, occasionally nearly losing my footing on a slippery sleeper. Finally the message ended just short of the gate, a long quote that ended on the rail on the other side.

I looked to the gate and the hole in the fence I had created just to the other side of it. I looked back at the carriage. My heart thumped and my shoulder began to ache and throb. I pressed my hands against the gate and leant on it gently, pressing my face against the wire mesh, staring through one of the holes. I stood there for'� maybe thirty seconds, perhaps a minute. I turned back and walked over to the line again, squatting near a particular passage and re-read it. And re-read it. And re-read it. I stood up and ran a hand through my hair. I returned to the gate and, as before, leant against it, feeling the cold metal on my forehead, smelling the rust and hearing the faint creak as I leant against it. No. I've got to do something. Just in case. It probably isn't true, but just in case. I darted off the rail and sprinted over the stones back towards the carriage.

The air sucked out of my lungs as I ran for the old carriage. I was stumbling with almost every step now, leaping over bits of debris and trying not to twist an ankle or stumble back onto the rail. I ran like a madman, like a man possessed, flinging my legs out and up to avoid falling over. When I was about halfway there, I threw my coat off that had been desperately clinging to me, catching the wind and acting like a sail; it fluttered to the ground behind me. Cold air mingled with the moisture on my body, clinging to my shirt. I ran alongside the train and slowed only to put my feet into the rungs of the steps. With one hand, and battling off the shrub that grew nearby and that had so tipped me over before, I hauled myself into the carriage and tentatively looked around into the aisle.

I bowed my head, my throat thick with sadness, my eyes blinded by tears. I wiped them away with my sleeve but more came. Laying him on his back in the centre of the aisle, I took the filthy rag, carefully holding it by what seemed to be its cleanest corner, and drew it over him, covering him from his feet, up his dirty ankles, over his torso and to his head. The eyes were open but no longer shone. I hastily placed the rest of the blanket over his head and stood over him.

Outside, daylight streamed into the carriage. Covered all over the walls was a mass of writing, scribbling, over everything. The bare panels, the ceiling, even the metal frames of the seats. I hauled myself up and walked backwards towards the door, always keeping my eyes on the bundle on the floor. Jesus'� man. I wiped more tears away. Self preservation started to set in. I'd done all I could. I clambered out of the carriage and started to try to walk casually away. By the time I'd reached my coat, still laying on the floor, it was a full run.
I staggered through the hole in the fence. My shoulder clashed against some of the metal tubing that once held it as a frame and cried out in anger. I wanted to get away from here. I finally stumbled, on all fours, out onto the railway line. I looked both ways, dreading to see an early dog walker striding down but it was desolate. I remained, on all fours, my arms trembling with the weight of my body. I felt so weak. So incredibly dizzy. I felt sick. I took deep breaths of cold air and tried to stand up. I felt a heave and my body bucked forwards. I rushed over to the embankment on the far side and began to wretch, great heaving wretches of nothing. My nose ran and my eyes were filled with tears.

I wiped my face with the inside of my jacket and regained a bit of composure. I started to walk back slowly. Stumbling and tripping down the main line. I could just about see the old carriage as I walked. I moved close to the wall just to keep it out of sight. I should've left sooner. I repeated that as a mantra. I wish I'd never fucking made it through that fence.

I reached the entrance to the alleyway. Familiar sounds of civilisation twinkled away from behind the thick line of trees. The distant roar of cars making the commuter route hummed away as a constant in the background. I stood on the rails. The carriage was a matter of a wall and a tall fence away, now safely out of sight. I looked to the alleyway, the open arch, welcoming back travellers from the other side of the world. Even now, it seemed to look at me with distrust. My face was red, my hair a shambles, my coat torn to shreds, the inside smeared with my bile and mucus. My eyes were raw, as was my throat. I turned away towards the wall. Picking up a piece of chalk, I carved a slogan over all the graffiti. I carved it in large letters, large enough to be spotted by any casual observer walking on the line. The only words I could think of right now; the last words of that long sentence reeled off on the rail that led to the carriage. I held the chalk in my hand, throwing it and catching it in my hand briefly. I turned and hurled it over the fence into the wasteland with all the strength I could muster. Then, running a hand through my hair, taking my coat off in the chill morning air and draping it over my shoulder, I stepped over the rails and under the arch into the alleyway again.

'If there is a heaven, I'll see you there. If there isn't, thanks for the memories.'�