The Platform Guard Page 2

  "I was going to ask you about love? I'm afraid my heart may have grown cold."

  "A loving heart is the beginning of all knowledge. Remember, a very small degree of hope, is sufficient to water the seed of love."

  "I fear it will be a while before I heal enough to offer any man any affection." Anne dropped her chin with this stark realization.

  "CS Lewis said that affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives."

  Anne raised her chin and stared at the well-meaning Platform Guard. He looked dated and redundant in his tired old uniform. He held a sparkle in his eye and it was clear he had a purpose. He was not going to let Anne leave his waiting room upset. For that she would be grateful and gracious.

  "Thanks for talking with me today." Anne managed a smile.

  "It's my pleasure, not many people have the time to stop and talk with me these days. Everyone is in such a hurry, or they have their faces pressed into a news paper or an electronic device."

  She felt sorry for the guy. He was stuck in an unexciting job, trapped in a time warp, and made to dress like a guard from another century. Some uniforms suck, but people need to earn a living, so they wear them. "I thought I loved him, but clearly I was wrong," she lamented.

  Sykes stood and cleared the two empty cups. He walked towards his closet canteen. "You thought you were in love? Clearly you had not fallen in love yet; perhaps you just stepped in it. The tea is on me, my treat." He smiled and started to fuss with the contents of the closet.

  The platform door opened and a short, uninvited gust, of cold air billowed into the waiting room, redirecting Anne's gaze. A man dressed in jeans and a large black coat shook the raindrops from his waterproofed anorak. "Miss, your train's on its way. You should wait on the platform now."

  "Oh Okay." Anne grabbed her purse and pushed the strap over her shoulder.

  The man seemed impatient, "Let's go, I don't want you to miss your train and I need to lockup this room now."

  Anne raised her hand, "I just need to say goodbye to the guard first." She walked towards the closet door but it had closed while she was talking to the man. She reached for a handle to open the door but quickly realized the wall panel was a solid piece of wood. "Is there a door here somewhere?"

  "Years ago the door was used to serve tea, but not anymore, why?"

  "I wanted to say goodbye to the guard." Anne looked puzzled and stood motionless.

  "I'm the guard; have been for the last five years. Now let's go before the train arrives."

  Anne didn't move. I just spoke with the guard, he wore a fancy blue uniform."

  "Sorry Miss, we haven't worn uniforms for the last twenty five years."

  Anne scanned the waiting room walls. One of the black and white photographs had a man wearing the same uniform. She pushed her face closer to the framed glass. She instantly recognized Sykes, standing next to passengers. On the bottom of the faded photograph was a hand scribbled note. "The first Eastbound train, 1910."

  "This is the man I was talking to," she said, pointing to Sykes.

  "There are a lot of pictures in here. Perhaps you nodded off. I think you were dreaming. Lots of people miss their trains because they were sleeping in here. Now let's go, I still need to lockup." He motioned to the door and she started to exit.

  "His name was Sykes and we drank tea." Anne stared at the guard in disbelief. "It wasn't a dream."

  "Sykes? There are stories about a guard named Sykes, but not pleasant ones. Last time now, leave please."

  Anne walked towards the door and the cold onrushing air. She stopped in the doorway, close to the guard. "What happened to Sykes?"

  "Story goes that he threw himself under an oncoming train." The guard flicked his head. His motion suggested that she leave instantly. They both exited and the guard turned to lock the heavy door with a solid brass key. He turned to find Anne uncomfortably close to him.

  "Why did he take his own life?"

  "Look Miss, it was a long time ago and I'm just spouting the folklore of the guardhouse. Who knows if it's true?" The guard was becoming impatient.

  The lights of the train could be seen approaching. She would have to embark soon. "Please tell me. Why did he take his own life?"

  "The story I was told was that he was heartbroken. He’d married his childhood sweetheart. One day he didn't feel so good. He left work early and found his wife cheating on him with her lover. He went back to work immediately, he knew the 4.15pm train would be due. That's when he took his own life. He couldn't live with the fact that his wife was a cheater."

  Anne froze, unaware that the guard was pushing her towards the train. The train had arrived and the doors were now open. She seemed to board the train in a dumb haze. Had she been dreaming? Perhaps she did fall asleep. It was possible; she’d been awake most of the night.

  Anne boarded the train and sat in an enclosed carriage. It was an old carriage, designed with cabins that seated four. She slid the door open and entered the first cabin. A large woman sat near the window and nodded her greeting, in a courteous manner. Anne was still in shock; she nodded and took the chair near the door. The woman returned her attention to her paperback book. Anne stared blindly into the cabin wall in front of her. All manner of thoughts were racing through her mind. The only rationale explanation was that she’d read about this event before and it was in her subconscious mind. That would explain the name, Sykes. The old, faded waiting room pictures, must have registered with her subconscious mind. She manufactured the guard, wearing his blue uniform, from the images portrayed within the room.

  She had been tired, upset and easily influenced. She must have fallen asleep and created her own soothing character, like the lead man within her own private play. When you’re upset, tired and distraught you lose your mind. She had imagined the whole thing. She’d pieced together unconscious knowledge, images on the walls and quotes from books she’d read. She felt annoyed and irritated that she had allowed fanciful thoughts to drift in and out of her sleep. That was it, a tired mind searching for a bit of comfort. Satisfied with her rational explanation, she leaned back into the high padded seat to begin her commute to work. Six stations and she'll be there, on time, and not in trouble. Anne raised her hands to her face and tucked the windswept strands of black hair behind her ears. As she moved her hand she stopped suddenly, frozen in her current state.

  She raised her left wrist to within inches of her focused stare. Her pupils widened in incredulity as she stared at the crumpled paper tissue, still tucked into the cuff of her sweater, peeking out from the arm of her coat.

  The End ......

  A Short Story by Phil Armstrong.

  This short story is a unique piece of work featuring fictional characters brought to life by Phil Armstrong. If you enjoyed this story, be sure to visit www.2promises.com and download more stories and novels written by Phil Armstrong.