Joshua

The 07:05 passenger train service whirred into life under a single, bright light bulb. The man who sat half illuminated by it smiled; the light bouncing around the contours of his face as the bulb rocked in a draught. It had been a quiet night, relatively speaking. All through the night the freight wagons, tankers and container stock had rolled through this miniature countryside, passing through dark stations, rolling into sidings to be unloaded. By night, the trade routes never ceased the endless little clatter. But now, as dawn started to rise somewhere behind him, the man awaited the first flurry of activity. The goods trains would start to decrease in activity, the passenger services would start to pick up. Soon, the main rush hour would start, branch lines and express lines all converging on the hub; right in the centre of the massive layout a miniature glass dome, an imitation of all those old Victorian greenhouses that spanned St Pancras, York, Manchester and the other great stations of the UK.

The layout was huge; situated as it was in the attic it covered the entire floor space of the house below. It had not been converted so it was still cold and he had to wrap a blanket over his shoulders as he supervised the goods trains late at night. He started to flick the switches at carefully considered intervals. The freight wagons found their berths to sleep for the day, whilst on the outskirts, branch lines ferried commuters towards the centre, or to tributary stations for pick up by the larger express trains. The next hour or so would be the most tense, at least until around four in the afternoon when everyone would disperse.

And already, there was a problem.

He didn't register it at first, but as his eyes flicked to the far side of the board, he could see a collision imminent. One of the express trains had just completed its first circuit, and it was rapidly catching up on a slower freight line still due to make several more tours before it could be put away. He licked his lips and the eyes darted to various points. There was at least, in his mind, a thirty percent chance of a collision somewhere near the station he called Parson's Way - a small station where trains rarely stopped, only one track wide. Thirty percent was a low risk, but it was a risk nonetheless. Now he was holding his breath. He flicked a few more switches and altered some points. Following the routes of both trains at the same time, his head staccato from left to right, he waited for the opportune moment. The points changed and the signal dropped. The express train shot ahead of the freight line and took the one route through the station; the wagons following shortly afterwards. Crisis averted. The first blip of the day. He let out a deep breath and gazed upwards to the gloomy rafters.

The morning seemed to be going normally. He could see commuters waiting at the tributary stations. A man with a briefcase checking his watch, his name was Colin. A young man, maybe a student, trying to attract the attention of a pretty girl reading a book. Jason and Rhian perhaps. An elderly couple with travel cases on their way to the airport for a holiday. Ernie and Marge. Colin, briefcase hooked through his wrist, was tutting. The train was on time, but he had arrived ten minutes early so, to him, the train was late. The man allowed himself a little smile at Colin. Nothing he ever did would satisfy him, so it was pointless trying.

A noise snapped him out of this reverie. Another freight train had just rumbled past carrying an unmistakeable noise with it. He listened carefully as it wound the outskirts of the layout and started another tour. No doubt about it; loose wheel. He closed his eyes tightly and sighed, clasping his hands together as if in prayer and chewing his thumbnails. He opened them again and looked around. The train would have to be stopped, but where? The rush hour was in full swing now; express trains, branch lines, everything was moving. There were no free sidings nearby and this train needed to be stopped. Now.

Once again, his vision darted around the board. There was a chance, just a chance, of hiding it at Beech Brook Station not far from where he sat. The line there was four wide, but he could potentially (with some canny signalling) reduce it to three. He brought the train to a rest just outside the station and then he was flicking switches. Points were changing; signals dropped turning amber for warning. He waited, holding his breath again, until the express trains passed by the signals and then slowed them down. Deftly, like a sewing needle, three packed services fed their way through this little station. The man's shoulders, that had been hunched up over his ears now dropped, his lips moving as he soundlessly announced a delay.

Passengers waiting for the 08:45 service to Central. Please be aware this service is delayed by ten minutes.

Another crisis extinguished, he looked scornfully to the prone freight train waiting just outside the station. The last car had a loose wheel; this would mean going downstairs and sneaking into his grandfather's bedroom. He sighed and looked around. There was no way to avoid it. He couldn't keep funnelling trains through Beech Brook; he needed another wagon to get that train out of the way. He checked his watch, very loose on his bony wrist. No time for delays. The Trains Have To Run On Time.

He stood up gingerly, hunched over to avoid the gables of the roof. He hadn't stood up for a few days; it suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't so much as needed a piss or shit in that time. He tottered around the outside of the layout towards the trapdoor. It was open, with the top of a ladder poking out from below. He looked down and swung a leg over, groping with his foot for a rung. Finding one, he put his weight onto it. His leg trembled and he could feel his knees were weak. Carefully, he placed his other leg onto a rung. His body was trembling now, enough to make the metal ladder rattle. Gulping for air, he slowly climbed down the seven foot descent to the carpet of the hallway below.

He crept towards his grandfather's bedroom, clasping the doorknob with his fist and taking a deep breath. He would need to be quiet. The door clicked open and he immediately looked towards the chest of drawers on the far side of the room. It was dark, the curtains were closed, but he could make out the shape of the drawers and the glint of light reflecting from the large mirror perched on top. He was determined not to look at his grandfather lying in bed as he tiptoed across the room. The usual smell, a sickly yet sweet odour, was as overpowering as ever and he felt his nose running. He reached the drawers, grasped the handles of the only one that wasn't dusty and opened it carefully. Then, in his mistake, he glanced into the mirror.

His grandfather was looking at him, except he didn't have eyes to see, just hollow sockets. His skin was tight as papyrus, drawn over his hollow bones and his decayed mouth exposed his false teeth into what seemed like a lecherous grin. He could see, around the mummified corpse, black patches where the flies were gathered. If he made a noise to disturb them, the buzzing combined with the presence of hundreds of flying insects in the dark would make it nearly impossible to reach the door.

His hands were trembling as he picked out a shiny new wagon to replace the one upstairs. Gently, he closed the drawer again. He hated being in this room. Despite the corpse, there was a feeling of life in this room. So much life, so many things alive and he, the living breathing human, was the alien, the unwelcome intruder. Turning on his heel, he tried to ignore the bed, but felt his knee brush against the covers. A faint buzzing went up into the air and he quickened his step towards the door that was ajar. Rushing through, he closed it behind him with a slam, sliding down the wood to the floor, his eyes wet with tears.

To his left, the front door was partially buried under a mountain of unanswered mail. He got back up to his feet and looked at his watch again. It almost slipped off over his hand. The rush hour would be over soon and he could relax, but in the meantime, there were trains to maintain, schedules to keep to. Placing the little wagon between his furry teeth, he tottered over to the ladder and ascended again.