Don't forget to put some music on...
George entered the abandoned train station. A smell of mold flooded his nostrils the very moment he got inside. Dark and cold it was. Dead leaves on the floor and rubble. Where did the rubble come from? His eyes slowly began to get used to the dim light. He looked around. The walls had started to scrap off, like the past of the building was sheding its skin off. He moved to the other rooms. An old matress, some newspapers torn and moldy. He could smell death in there. It wasn't corpses he smelled, but the death of an era.
He entered the station master's office. It looked like someone had been there before him and had turned the whole place upside down. Books and logs on the floor. Drawers pulled out and turned upside down. Dust, mold and cold is all he could sense. Somebody had obviously been looking for forgotten treasures in this long forgotten place.
On the other side of the room was the window of the ticket office. How many people had stood there patiently or in a hurry, excited to go on a new journey or sad to wave goodbye to their loved ones. Shadows were moving in front of him, like a peculiar time lapse. People dressed in clothes of another era. Ladies with beautiful hats and elaborate lace handgloves. Men with trilbies and walking sticks.
But then came the soldiers, young men with a heavy backpack hanging over their shoulder, holding the piece of paper that would take them to the war. Faces looking down and eyes cold. And after the soldiers came the mothers and sisters and wives and fiancees. All dressed in black, loooking for the amputees or the letter from the Ministry that announced their men had been lost bravely defending their country. An envelop with a cheque inside as a refund... But who can put a price on a man's life? Set a price and refund it?
One of the women looked at him straight in the eye. George got the shivers! How was it possible? Her cold look froze his soul and he could not move an inch. His breath stopped and then he suddenly gasped. The ghosts of the past had not left that place. He should get out as soon as he could. He should not disturb their incessant loop.
Scared to death he got out of the ticket office and started looking for the exit. He remembered leaving the door open behind him, he remembered the light coming in from it, but now he could not see it. Only shades of black. Wandering he stumbbled on a staircaise. He could see lightbeams coming in from an old wooden window blinder above. He quickly ran up the stairs. The walls were ready to fall apart, he could feel pieces of paint and plaster falling down as his shoulder touched the wall while trying not to fall in the darkness.
That smell was becoming unbearable. His hands were trembling. His knees too. He could feel the cold penetrating his skin and mustiness filling his every cell. If death is a horrible place then this should be it. Finally, he climbed to the top and found himself in front of a door. It looked locked but it was so old that after a strong push he managed it open. Cobwebs got tangled around him as he got in the room. Trying to get them off of him he tripped on a little table. An old lamp and a box of matches were on it. He got one out of the box and lit it. Thank God the lamp had still some oil left in it. He lit it up and looked around.
There was nothing there but the small table or at least that's what he thought. As the light from the lamp got stronger and his eyes got used to the new lighting he saw that the walls were all covered with photos. Portraits of people that lived hundreds of years ago. The faces looked familiar. His heart hadn't stopped pounding, but he felt like he could manage his breathing better now.
Yes, the faces were all familiar. They were all the people from the ticket office window. The ladies, the gentlemen, the soldiers, the widows. The last portrait was that of the woman with the cold look! He stepped back. He had to find a way out. And then he heard the door creaking. It was slowly trying to close behind him but he was quick enough not to let that happen. As he grabbed the handle he saw an empty frame hanging and a message pinned on the back of the door.
He could hardly make the handwriting out.
Match
Match? George had the whole packet. He ran down the stairs. While he was rushing to get to the entrance he slipped on some dead leaves. He wasn't hurt luckily but he could now smell something familiar. Gasoline? Where did it come from? A container was knocked over right next to him, he must have hit it when he fell. He now knew what he had to do.
Carefully, he placed the lamp on a stair post and spilled the gasoline all over the place. The old wooden floor was now soaked with every last drop of it. He got into the station master's office again. He made himself comfortable among the dropped books and logs and catalogues. As he turned his head to the right he spotted an old photo laying on a pile of documents. He picked it up and got the lamp closer to shed more light over it.
This soldier looked familiar. He had his eyes and his nose. They looked so much alike. He flipped it over:
I'll come back safe to you, I promise. The only bullet that will ever kill me is the one of our love.
George turned his head up and looked at the broken dusty glass of the office door. Only he could not see his reflection. The image he was looking at was that woman's cold eyes. He put the lamp out.
Reached for the packet in his pocket.
Took one match out.
Lit it.
And tossed it over the wet floor.
Original images and story by 
This story was inspired after our last Sunday getaway with 
In another post I had shown you the Castle of Platamonas. This picture is taken at the port of Platamonas. You can see the snow-covered mountains behind and the castle on the right. And yes, you can get as jealous as you want for not being able to visit the place :P
Thank you so much for your time!
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