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April 14 , 2010

Cult Train


When the old steam locomotive signals its imminent arrival in the city of Windy Glen, Bella hurries to the rundown station in search of the truth about the long feared iron horse and comes face to face with a man dressed all in black.  The young woman questions his motives and taunts him which angers the quick tempered man.  With a little coercion and the offer of a train ride to a place she will never forget, the sexy man lures Bella inside.

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The train’s lone passenger dressed all in black walked slowly and assuredly into the weathered station.  He bent down to adjust the strap on one of his boots when he heard a voice from behind him. 

“So, it’s true.  There really is a mystery man.  What’s your name…Jesse James?” 

The taunting tone in the woman’s voice caused a familiar feeling in the man’s gut and he knew he would have to calm himself if he were to fulfill his duties in Windy Glen.  “No, ma’am,” he answered as he tipped his hat. 


“My arrival is of no significance to you?” 

Bella shrugged. 

“And you do not fear the arrival of this old train?” 

“Should I…really?” 

Tipping his hat, he challenged the young woman.  “Well, little lady, how about a ride on this old, what did you call it, piece of tin?” 

Bella looked down at her feet, rolling the toe of her shoe on the cement floor.  She looked up and the dark eyes seemed almost black now as they peered into her own.  “Sure, I’ll go.” 

Offering no words, he motioned her onto the train.  It was dark inside the old locomotive, except for the tiny white light bulbs scattered throughout.  The windows were blackened and Bella could not see a thing.  She felt the man’s hand on her butt pushing her along and she walked slowly to the back of the train.  The old iron horse began to move slowly and noisily as she walked and she could feel the mysterious man’s presence behind her. 

“Who is driving this thing?  I didn’t see anyone,” she asked as she walked. 

“This old piece of tin, you mean?”  His sinister laugh made young Bella’s skin crawl.  “The conductor lives far from here, my dear.  Think of him as the puppet master.  He pulls the strings.”

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