Dreamweavers: Awakening

panelling and etched glass windows prevailed throughout, with small reading lights at each of the tables and deeply buttoned leather seats that were the same colour as the locomotive. It reminded Ryan of the drawing room in his grandparents’ house, where his grandad used to sit in a great armchair and read Ryan stories while puffing away on his pipe. The brass fittings gleamed and the air smelt astonishingly fresh for something so ancient-looking.

  Ryan seated himself at one of the tables and took it all in. It may not have felt familiar, but it was undeniably an improvement. The lights flickered as the train entered the tunnel that would lead to his stop; Watford Junction. He was almost sorry that his journey was nearly over, for he had become transfixed by the new world that had wrapped itself around him.

  There was a loud clattering coming from the still-open window, as the noises in the tunnel collided and poured into the carriage. Ryan got up to close it, but was surprised to find a man standing there staring distantly into the rushing blackness beyond. He seemed to notice Ryan’s gaze upon him and turned slowly to face him. Ryan let slip a small gasp of shock. It was the same face that had peered out at him from beneath a pile of tatty newspapers the night before.

  The man walked over and took a seat opposite him without a word. Ryan sat back down and there were several long seconds of uneasy silence.

  ‘Nice train this,’ said the man eventually.

  He was dressed in a morning suit with a white rose attached to the left breast, and his long hair was slicked back behind his ears. He looked to be in a much better state than he had been the night before. For one, he was in possession of a face again.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Ryan, staring dumbly at the man. It sounded lame, but it was all his mouth would allow to come out.

  ‘So,’ said the man, pulling a folded newspaper out of the briefcase he was carrying and opening it. ‘What brings you to travel on this service?’

  Ryan thought for a moment.

  ‘I’m heading into Watford. I can’t really remember why. I’m sure there was some reason.’

  ‘Watford?’ grunted the man, his face buried in his paper. ‘I’m not sure this service stops there.’

  ‘Sure it does,’ said Ryan uncertainly. ‘It’s stopped at all the other stations.’

  The man merely grunted and turned to the next page, settling back into his seat. Outside, the walls of the tunnel seemed to be growing lighter.

  Strange, thought Ryan. It’s still night-time.

  All of a sudden, the carriage left the tunnel and was filled with dazzling light that poured through the windows in a blinding stream. Ryan’s eyes had become accustomed to the dimly lit carriage and it was a while before he could even look at his own hands again.

  When his vision had returned to normal, he peered out of the window and was gobsmacked by what greeted his eyes. The sky was a cloudless palette of blues, fading from pale to dark the further from the horizon he looked. Beneath it, almost mirroring its colour, but sparkling brilliantly in the sunlight, was an ocean that stretched out into eternity.

  Ryan went back to the open window and craned his neck out into the rushing air. Behind them, far below, lay the British Isles. They looked much the same as they had done in Ryan’s geography books. What the books hadn’t shown him, however, was the train line that came arcing into the sky from somewhere in the region of London. Ryan turned his head and saw the gleaming locomotive powering onwards along the shiny rails, which stretched out into the heavens and beyond. He stared for a while in disbelief, trying in vain to make sense of it.

  Back in the carriage, the man had not even looked up from his paper.

  ‘What is this?’ asked Ryan, staggering back and slumping down into his chair.

  ‘This?’ repeated the man, peering over the top of his newspaper at the bewildered boy. ‘It was a train the last time I looked.’

  Ryan sat up, slightly annoyed.

  ‘You know that’s not what I meant,’ he growled. ‘I mean, a moment ago we were about to arrive at Watford Junction and now suddenly we’re steaming out over the Atlantic. What the hell’s going on?’

  ‘Oh right,’ said the man, seemingly pretending to have misunderstood. ‘You’re on the Railway to Heaven.’

  ‘The Railw… you’re having a laugh.’

  The man put down his paper, carefully folding it back into its original shape, and leant forwards with his fingers steepled.

  ‘Ryan. You’re dead,’ he said, without any hint of emotion.

  Ryan looked him in the eye and then burst out laughing. The fact that the man knew his name had not even registered.

  ‘I ain’t dead,’ he said, lying back in his chair. Something in the air, some tension maybe, had evaporated and he felt a lot more relaxed.

  ‘I’m afraid you are,’ said the man, equally deadpan.

  ‘Whatever,’ said Ryan, leaning over to stare out of the window again. ‘I’m still here aren’t I?’

  ‘And where do you suppose ‘here’ is?’ questioned the man, his dark features and even darker eyes impassive. ‘Surely you don’t find it normal to be sitting in an old steam train that is heading out over a vast sea on an unsupported stretch of track?’

  Ryan turned back to him, his face dark with worry again.

  ‘Okay, so suppose I am… dead.’ The word suddenly left a vile taste on his lips. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Like I said; this is the Railway to Heaven. Next stop; the pearly gates.’

  ‘Well, I ain’t going to heaven,’ protested Ryan. ‘It looks dead boring. I’d rather be heading to hell instead.’

  ‘That could be arranged,’ said the man sternly. ‘It’s heading there afterwards so just stay on board.’

  At this, Ryan’s token defiance gave way and was replaced with a rising panic.

  ‘I can’t stay here,’ he said, climbing to his feet again. ‘I’m too young. I’ve got stuff to do with my life. I’m getting out of here.’

  ‘Easy Ryan,’ said the man as the boy made for the door. ‘All you need to do is just stay on this train and everything will be fine. It’s a great place you’re heading for. Honestly, you’ll love it there.’

  Ryan already had his arm out of the window and was gripping the handle outside.

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ he shouted. ‘I’m not supposed to be here. It’s not my time.’

  ‘Ryan please, it really is your time. Stay here with me and everything will be okay. I promise.’

  Ryan glanced out of the window and saw the diminishing form of the United Kingdom far below. He made a decision.

  He didn’t expect the door to open so quickly, so had no time to release his grip on the handle before it doubled back on itself, wrenching him out of the carriage and trapping his arm against the outer wall. He gave a howl of pain as it took his full, and not inconsiderable, weight. He dangled helplessly, trying to kick his feet onto something solid in order to take some of the strain off it.

  ‘Give me your hand,’ came the man’s voice, and Ryan craned his neck round to see him leaning out of the doorway, reaching out to him.

  ‘It’s stuck,’ cried Ryan.

  ‘The other one,’ said the man calmly.

  Their eyes met for a split-second, and in the same instant Ryan’s feet found some grip.

  ‘Actually, I’ll be just fine,’ he said, and in one swift motion he kicked hard against the side of the carriage, wrenching the door off its hinges and tumbling away into the void below.

  He caught a final, fleeting glimpse of the man’s face looking both concerned and disappointed, before the train span out of his vision and he was falling… falling… falling…

  4

  Ryan’s mind was back in the waking world well before his body had a chance to register what was going on. Part of him had been aware that it was just a dream while it had been happening, yet it had been so vivid that an element of doubt had crept in, even as the train had been steaming across the sky with him on board.

  The same man had been there.
Who was he? Could he be trusted? And what did he want with Ryan? Suddenly something clicked into place; the man had known his name. How? Okay, so it was a dream, and stranger things had happened, but it still gave Ryan an uneasy feeling.

  He rolled over and looked at his alarm clock. It was 5:47am; over an hour until it would finally go off. Ryan felt quite refreshed by his sleep but, like the previous morning, was starving hungry. The prospect of drifting off and potentially coming face to face with the man again was not enticing, so after a few minutes of deliberation he got up and headed downstairs.

  ‘Ryan? Ryan honey, what are you doing up so early?’

  His mum was clearly bemused to find him out of bed before her. Ryan had just finished his fourth bowl of cereal and was on to cooking some toast.

  ‘I’m fine mum,’ he grunted as she entered the kitchen.

  ‘Jesus Ryan, didn’t you feed yourself properly last night?’

  ‘No mum, you didn’t feed me last night, remember?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You were out all night, weren’t you?’

  A curious look crossed her face that Ryan only caught the tail end of.

  ‘Yes, I was next door at Uncle David and Auntie Jen’s. I left a note on the fridge to let you know and to tell you what to do about dinner.’

  Daisy’s parents weren’t really Ryan’s aunt and uncle, but they had been referred to in that way all his life. His mum pulled an old envelope from under a fridge magnet – depicting the Parthenon in Athens – and gave it to Ryan.

  ‘Oh…’ he started, but his mum cut him down.

  ‘I don’t need