THE VIEW FROM THE TRAIN

The only fact I was sure of was it was a heck of a long way to travel by train but then that was the price to pay if flying was not an option. The truth: I was scared. A long haul out of London had put paid to any thought of getting on a plane. Almost one hour after take-off and, as we crossed the east coast of Ireland, an engine blew, shedding debris and spouting flame. A bumpy emergency landing and that was it. It scared the crap out of me which was not surprising as I did have a sensitive disposition.

The route by rail: Eurostar from London to Paris, change for an overnight to Vienna, change for a train to Budapest, change to a sleeper to change at Saratel to Bistrița in Romania, well, to be precise Transylvania and that was where I was heading. Bistrița and a school to teach English after, of course, what I expected to be thirty-six hours of total boredom. What I didn’t expect was the sudden scare towards the end of my journey.

Travel light by train was the way to go but, on this occasion, circumstances had already dictated that. The note stuck under the magnetic Eiffel Tower on the fridge had told the story. She was gone; I was alone, a distressing fact that required extreme measures to resolve. So, I escaped. I sold the lot and snagged a job a decent distance away from despair and headed off hauling my only suitcase rammed with everything I had and three books that I couldn’t bring myself to sell.

The one I’d struck on reading seemed appropriate. In a way my journey mirrored that of solicitor, Jonathan Harker as he travelled to meet Count Dracula. Even down to the arrival time in Vienna - eight-thirty in the morning and my train was also an hour late. Switching to the Budapest train without a hitch, I returned to the book, read a few pages, but found it hard to settle. Something bothered me and I couldn’t put a finger on it. Maybe her leaving was the cause; it had left me feeling vulnerable.

Staring out of the window, I started to wonder about young Mr Harker. What he must’ve been thinking as he travelled to Bistritz. Newly qualified he must’ve been full of expectation. Biztritz surely, it could be no coincidence. I Googled my phone and there it was. Bistrita was the modern-day spelling. I was heading for the same location. Even though I knew it was fiction, an involuntary shiver slithered slowly down my spine and I had to twist and turn to shake free of it. That was enough of that; I put the book away.

I must’ve been tired, stress does that. I dozed much of the way to Budapest. Changed to the sleeper but Jonathan Harker had his claws in me. Retrieving the book, I flicked to the third chapter and continued reading until sleep finally took hold.

The jolt woke me. The carriage rocked as the train came to a halt. Glancing out of the window I could just make out the dimly lit sign, Saratel. A rumbling. The corridor door slid. A sudden draft. My gaze froze. The view reflected in the dark carriage window showed a figure silhouetted against the lights of the corridor. Dark hair, a widow’s peak, a long black cloak and blazing white teeth. My heart thumped. I thought I was going to die.

Turning to stare at the figure, as he swirled his cloak, with a hiss, he said, “The train’s full, ha ha, do you mind if I join you. It's the end of the Dracula convention, you know.”

One last look and I grabbed my bag, shoved past and hit the platform just as the train started to move wondering if it was a good idea to still get the connection to Bistrița.