A little thunder

A Little Thunder

David Jackson peered out of his window on car 4. The rain outside battered the thin glass leaving trails of what might as well have been tears. The grey, dusky sky spewed thunder with spears of lightning, almost in rhythm to the shaking of the boxcar. The rabid huffing of the steam engine long ago drowned out by the torrential downpour. He shivered with anxiety. David had always hated trains, and the rain. Both somehow reminded him of New Delhi, the shambling dead, the Shaman, and Janice. Oh sweet beautiful Janice, he reflected. He blinked his eyes away from skies the color of rotted flesh and rubbed his face. For David, a life of risk was never in his plans; he only wanted to investigate worldly oddities. His profession had taken him all over the world, at the generous grants of major institutions of learning and the arts. He got his commission from names such as Stanford, Cambridge, Harvard, even Smithsonian. His findings ever since the early 1900’s had been monumental. Now however, things had taken a turn from amazing adventure to damned crusade. David clenched his jaws in irritation. The truth is, he thought again, this world is full of oddities, and they’re all of the deadliest cunning. Again he remembered New Delhi, the sickly sweet of rotting flesh, the spice of ancient mystics, and the crimson of life’s death on golden blonde hair. Reflexively David’s hand tightened on his cane as another peal of thunder split the sky asunder.
The clouds were beginning to look like gaping skulls and the rain like running maggots. David could feel the evil creeping from the box next to him. He could not wait to be rid of the horrid totem. He glanced upon the fine ebony wood, bracketed in bronze and polished to a shine. He shivered as he thought of what lay inside, lulling softly on black satin, wrapped in blood written gossamer. David huddled his cloak around him tighter as the boxcar dipped into the side of a mountain, consuming all but the faintest of candlelight. His heart began to beat erratically and his breath came in heaves. Armored spiders crawled up his spine and his stomach had gone to ooze. His whole body began to tickle with the pricking of pins and needles. With a shudder he again glanced at the smooth, polished, black box. It bounced ever so slightly to the jostle of the train tossing flickers of light from its mirrored surface. It was then that the candle went out.