The Station That Was Waiting for Me

I arrived at the station shortly before midnight.

I had never been there before, although something about the entrance seemed familiar. The clock above it showed eleven minutes past nine. My watch showed eleven minutes past midnight. I assumed the station clock had stopped.

Inside, I found a long booking hall with a vaulted ceiling and a row of ticket windows. All were closed except the last, where a woman sat reading a newspaper.

“I'd like a ticket,” I said.

“Where to?”

I gave her the name of the town I was travelling to.

She looked at me over the top of her newspaper.

“You'll need to know where you're starting from.”

“Here, surely.”

She glanced towards the hall.

“Are you certain?”

I turned to look. The entrance was no longer visible. In its place stood a flight of stairs descending into darkness.

“I came in that way,” I said.

“Of course,” she replied. “But that doesn't necessarily mean you came from there.”

She pushed a ticket beneath the glass. It had no destination printed on it, only a platform number.

“Platform twelve,” she said.

“Where is that?”

“Upstairs.”

I looked towards the stairs.

“Those go down.”

“Not from here.”

I took the ticket and walked towards them.

The stairs descended for what seemed a considerable distance. At the bottom I found another booking hall, almost identical to the first, except that its clock showed eleven minutes past nine and its ticket windows were all open.

A man stood behind one of them.

“Platform twelve?” I asked.

He pointed towards a corridor.

“Straight ahead. Then turn left.”

The corridor was long and narrow. At the far end I turned left, as instructed, and found myself at the top of the same staircase.

I went down again.

This time the booking hall was empty. The clocks had disappeared, and the walls were covered with old railway posters advertising places I did not recognise. One showed a seaside town beneath the words A PLACE YOU HAVE ALREADY LEFT. Another depicted a mountain railway with the announcement ALL TRAINS ARRIVE FROM THE SAME DIRECTION.

I continued along the corridor.

It opened onto a platform.

There were no tracks, only a broad expanse of polished stone extending into the distance. A bench stood beside a timetable. I sat down and examined the ticket.

Platform twelve.

The timetable listed a train to my destination, due at eleven minutes past nine.

I looked at my watch. It was eleven minutes past midnight.

A train arrived without making a sound.

It had no visible driver. Its windows were dark, but I could see the interior reflected in them: the platform, the bench, the timetable, and myself sitting with my ticket in my hand.

The doors opened.

I stood up.

Before I could board, a man stepped down from the train. He carried a small suitcase and looked rather tired.

“Is this the station?” he asked.

“I think so.”

“Good. I've been trying to find it for some time.”

He looked around.

“Do you know where the booking hall is?”

I pointed towards the corridor.

“Down there. Then turn right.”

He thanked me and disappeared into the train.

The doors closed. The train departed.

I watched it recede into the distance. For a moment I thought I could see the man sitting by a window, looking out at me.

Then I noticed that the platform was changing.

The polished stone had become railway sleepers. The bench stood between two tracks. Beyond them, another platform stretched away, and on it stood a figure holding a suitcase.

I recognised the figure.

It was me.

I stood up and walked towards the tracks. The other me remained perfectly still.

A train passed between us, although I heard no sound and felt no movement of air. When it had gone, the other platform was empty.

I looked down at my ticket again.

On the reverse, in small lettering, was a message:

PLEASE REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE. YOUR TRAIN WILL FIND YOU.

I decided to follow the instruction.

After a while, I heard footsteps approaching along the platform. A woman came towards me carrying a newspaper.

She stopped beside the bench.

“Have you been waiting long?” she asked.

“I'm not sure.”

“Are you waiting for a train?”

“Yes.”

“Then you must be at the right station.”

She sat down and opened her newspaper.

I noticed that it was the same newspaper I had seen at the ticket window. The pages were blank.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Do you know where this station is?”

She folded the newspaper.

“It's wherever you arrive.”

“And where does it go?”

She looked towards the tracks.

“That's not for the station to decide.”

I wanted to ask her what she meant, but the sound of an approaching train interrupted us.

It came slowly, with its lights shining into the distance. As it drew level with the platform, I saw that every carriage was empty.

The doors opened.

The woman stood up.

“Are you coming?” she asked.

I looked at the train, then at the platform.

“Where does it go?”

She smiled.

“I'm getting off.”

She stepped aboard.

The doors closed, and the train departed.

I was alone again.

I looked at my watch. It was eleven minutes past nine.

At the far end of the platform, a sign had appeared.

EXIT

I walked towards it. The sign stood above a doorway, and beyond the doorway I could see the booking hall where I had first bought my ticket.

I went through.

The woman was still sitting behind the last ticket window, reading her newspaper.

“I've been waiting for my train,” I said.

She looked up.

“Have you?”

“Yes. But I don't think it came.”

“Perhaps it did.”

She put down the newspaper and held out her hand.

“Your ticket, please.”

I gave it to her.

She examined it, then nodded.

“That's all right. You're here.”

“Here?”

She gestured towards the booking hall.

“Where you started.”

I looked behind me. The doorway had disappeared. In its place was a staircase descending into darkness.

“But I came from the platform.”

“Of course.”

“And the platform was reached by going down the stairs.”

“Quite right.”

I hesitated.

“Then where am I?”

The woman returned to her newspaper.

“That's a question for the next passenger.”

I turned towards the entrance.

There was a man standing there with a small suitcase. He looked tired, and seemed uncertain whether he had arrived or was about to leave.

He glanced at me.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Could you tell me where I can find the ticket office?”

I looked towards the woman behind the glass.

Then I looked at the man.

“Certainly,” I said. “It's just down the stairs.”

He thanked me and began to walk.

I watched him disappear.

Then I noticed that the station clock had started moving.

It was eleven minutes past midnight.