Tales from the Universe
The station has been selling tickets for eighty-three years.
This would be less strange if it had tracks.
There are none.
No rails.
No platform.
No abandoned railway buried beneath weeds.
Just a small brick station at the end of Willow Street with a clock above the entrance and gold letters over the doors:
MARROWVALE STATION
Every morning at 6:00, Mr. Finch unlocks the ticket window.
Every evening at 9:00, he closes it.
And occasionally—
someone buys a ticket.
Fourteen-year-old Simon Reed has lived across the street from the station his entire life.
He has never seen a train.
His mother says there used to be tracks.
His grandfather says there were never tracks.
His history teacher says the station was built for a railway project that went bankrupt before construction reached Marrowvale.
This seems reasonable.
Then Simon asks:
“Why is it still open?”
His teacher pauses.
“Historic preservation.”
“Why does it have a ticket clerk?”
“Tourism?”
“Have you ever been inside?”
“No.”
“Do you know anyone who has?”
His teacher looks annoyed.
“Simon, sometimes old towns have unusual traditions.”
Simon writes this down.
Nobody knows.
It is becoming one of his favorite answers.
The first passenger arrives on October 3.
Simon is walking home from school when he sees her.
Old woman.
Green coat.
Small suitcase.
She enters the station.
Simon stops.
Waits.
Five minutes later she comes out holding a ticket.
She sits on the bench beside the building.
There is no platform.
Just grass.
Simon watches from across the street.
Twenty minutes pass.
No train.
The woman checks her watch.
At exactly 4:40, she stands.
Picks up her suitcase.
And walks behind the station.
Simon follows.
There is nobody there.
He runs around the building.
Nothing.
No car.
No alley.
No back door.
Only a field.
The woman is gone.
Simon tells his friend Priya the next morning.
“She probably got picked up.”
“By what?”
“A car.”
“There wasn’t a car.”
“Bus.”
“No road.”
“Helicopter.”
“Thank you for your contribution.”
“You asked.”
They visit the station after school.
Inside are wooden benches.
A timetable.
Ticket window.
Nothing particularly strange.
Except the timetable.
Priya reads the destinations.
“Where’s Bellweather?”
“Never heard of it.”
“Saint Orison?”
“No.”
“North Mercy?”
“No.”
“Glass Harbor?”
Simon takes out his phone.
None appear on the map.
Then Priya points toward the bottom.
“Marrowvale.”
Simon looks.
Their own town is listed as a destination.
DEPARTURES
4:40 — Bellweather
5:15 — Saint Orison
6:03 — Marrowvale
7:22 — Glass Harbor
“How do you take a train from Marrowvale to Marrowvale?”
Mr. Finch speaks from behind the ticket window.
“You buy a ticket.”
Neither child noticed him sitting there.
Mr. Finch is approximately seventy.
Or ninety.
Simon cannot decide.
He wears a blue railway uniform with silver buttons.
Priya approaches the window.
“Where are the tracks?”
Mr. Finch looks over her shoulder.
“Outside.”
“No, they aren’t.”
“Not presently.”
Simon steps closer.
“When are they present?”
Mr. Finch smiles.
“When they’re needed.”
This is not helpful.
Priya points at the timetable.
“Can I buy a ticket to Bellweather?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You don’t need one.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the window hasn’t offered you one.”
Priya looks at Simon.
Simon looks at the ticket window.
“It talks?”
Mr. Finch closes the little brass shutter.
“Station’s closing early.”
It is 3:17.
They return the next day.
Closed.
The day after.
Closed.
Friday afternoon, the station is open again.
There is a boy standing at the ticket window.
About sixteen.
Simon recognizes him.
Daniel Cross.
Senior at Marrowvale High.
Daniel’s family has been having trouble.
Everyone knows because small towns treat privacy as a recreational challenge.
His father lost his job.
His parents fight constantly.
Daniel has been sleeping at friends’ houses.
Simon watches him hand Mr. Finch money.
Mr. Finch gives him a ticket.
Daniel leaves the station.
Priya intercepts him.
“Where are you going?”
Daniel looks embarrassed.
“Nowhere.”
“You bought a train ticket.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Simon points at his hand.
Daniel looks down.
There is a ticket between his fingers.
His face changes.
For a second he looks frightened.
Then confused.
“I don’t know why I have this.”
He drops it.
Walks away.
Priya picks it up.
MARROWVALE STATION
ONE WAY
6:03
Destination:
MARROWVALE
They wait.
6:00.
Daniel returns.
He does not seem surprised to find himself there.
“Daniel?”
He barely looks at them.
At 6:02, the station clock stops.
Every sound in town stops with it.
Cars.
Birds.
Wind.
Everything.
Then they hear it.
A train.
Far away.
Coming closer.
There are still no tracks.
Priya grabs Simon’s sleeve.
The grass behind the station bends.
Two steel rails appear beneath it.
Not rise.
Appear.
As though they had always been there and everyone had simply failed to notice.
Wooden ties.
Gravel.
Signal posts.
A platform extends from the back of the station.
Simon turns toward Willow Street.
The town is gone.
Not destroyed.
Gone.
Beyond the station is darkness filled with distant lights.
The train arrives.
Black locomotive.
Seven passenger cars.
No markings.
The doors open.
Daniel steps forward.
Priya grabs his arm.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“You are home.”
Daniel looks toward the darkness where Marrowvale should be.
“No.”
Then he boards.
Simon and Priya jump aboard before the doors close.
This is, both later agree, an extremely poor decision.
Inside, the train is warm.
Old lamps.
Red seats.
Maybe thirty passengers.
Some children.
Some adults.
An elderly woman in a green coat.
The woman Simon saw disappear.
She recognizes him.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Where are we going?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
She looks at his empty hands.
“Whether you have a ticket.”
The train moves.
Simon looks through the window.
There is no landscape.
Only darkness.
Then lights appear.
A town.
Marrowvale.
Except different.
The train passes Simon’s house.
His father’s truck is in the driveway.
Simon stops breathing.
His father has not lived there for six years.
In the kitchen window, Simon sees himself.
Younger.
Maybe eight.
His father lifts him onto his shoulders.
The train passes.
Darkness again.
Priya whispers:
“What was that?”
Simon cannot answer.
Another Marrowvale appears.
This one is flooded.
Water reaches the second floor of the houses.
Another.
The school is gone.
Another.
Willow Street is filled with apartment buildings.
Another.
No town at all.
Only forest.
Marrowvale.
Marrowvale.
Marrowvale.
Dozens.
Daniel stands near the door watching each one.
Priya understands first.
“That’s why his ticket says Marrowvale.”
The old woman nods.
“He doesn’t want to leave town.”
“Then what does he want?”
“A different one.”
The train is not taking passengers to places.
Not exactly.
It takes them toward versions of places.
The life where someone stayed.
The town before something happened.
The house where the argument ended differently.
The school where you made another choice.
The family where someone never left.
Simon understands why the station has no tracks.
Tracks go from one location to another.
This train travels between something else.
Possibilities.
Regrets.
Maybe memories.
Maybe worlds.
Nobody seems certain.
Then Simon asks:
“Can Daniel get off?”
The old woman says:
“Yes.”
“Can he come back?”
She does not answer.
They find him three cars ahead.
Daniel is staring through the window.
Another Marrowvale passes.
His father is working at the hardware store.
His mother is laughing outside.
Daniel sees himself riding a bicycle with his younger sister.
Everything looks ordinary.
That is what makes it powerful.
The train slows.
A conductor appears.
“Marrowvale.”
Daniel reaches for the door.
Priya says:
“You don’t know what that place is.”
“I know enough.”
“No, you don’t.”
“My family’s okay there.”
“You saw them for ten seconds.”
Daniel turns.
“You don’t understand.”
Priya starts to answer.
Simon stops her.
Because she doesn’t.
Neither does he.
Daniel has lived inside something they only know as town gossip.
Simon looks through the window again.
The other Marrowvale waits.
Warm houses.
Evening sun.
Daniel’s father walking home from work.
Maybe it is better.
Maybe considerably better.
Simon cannot prove otherwise.
So he asks a different question.
“What happens to the Daniel who already lives there?”
Daniel freezes.
The conductor looks at Simon.
For the first time, his expression changes.
Nobody knows.
Not Daniel.
Not Simon.
Not Priya.
Perhaps there is no other Daniel.
Perhaps there is.
Perhaps boarding the train creates the destination.
Perhaps it finds one.
Perhaps the entire thing is only something passengers experience while sitting inside an abandoned station with no tracks.
There are too many explanations.
The door opens.
Daniel stands before it.
His other life waits outside.
Then somewhere farther down the train, a bell rings.
The conductor says:
“Decision.”
Daniel closes his eyes.
And steps backward.
The doors shut.
The other Marrowvale disappears.
At 6:04, Simon and Priya are standing behind the station.
Grass beneath their feet.
No tracks.
No platform.
Daniel is beside them.
The station clock begins moving again.
Traffic resumes.
Birds sing.
A dog barks three houses away.
Daniel looks at the ticket in his hand.
It is blank.
He folds it carefully and puts it in his pocket.
“Don’t tell anybody.”
Priya nods.
Simon does too.
Daniel walks home.
The next morning, Simon returns alone.
Mr. Finch is behind the window.
“You boarded without a ticket.”
“I noticed.”
“That is generally discouraged.”
“What is that train?”
Mr. Finch shrugs.
“You rode it. You tell me.”
“Does it actually go to other versions of places?”
“Perhaps.”
“Can people change their lives?”
“People do that without trains.”
Simon dislikes this man.
“Why did Daniel get offered a ticket?”
Mr. Finch looks at him carefully.
“Because he wanted somewhere else badly enough to see the station.”
Simon thinks about this.
“I’ve seen the station my whole life.”
“Yes.”
Mr. Finch reaches beneath the counter.
He places a ticket in the window.
Simon does not touch it.
His name is printed across the top.
SIMON REED
Departure:
4:40
Destination:
HOME
Simon stares at it.
“I am home.”
Mr. Finch says nothing.
Simon thinks of the Marrowvale he saw through the train window.
His father’s truck in the driveway.
His younger self in the kitchen.
He looks at the station clock.
4:12.
For the first time in his life, forty-eight minutes feels extremely short.
Behind the station there is only grass.
But Simon knows better now.
A place does not need tracks until someone decides to leave.
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