I feel the engine slow and know we’re coming near a turn. Even at the reduced speed, the paper and inkwell begin sliding left as the tracks bank toward the right. My hand quickly stops the motion, and I sigh as we pass into the mountain’s shadow. Peering through my window, I see the approaching tunnel. Closing my eyes, I begin counting. I am in the fifth cart. Chu-chug—that’s the engine—Chu-chug—now the coal follows—Chu-chug—one—Chu-chug—two—Chu-chug—three—Chu-chug—four . . .
With another Chu-chug I move from shadows to darkness. I can feel the chthonic coldness even without opening my eyes. Beside me, in the once empty seat, dressed neatly with a golden chain hanging from his waistcoat, that smiling devil lounges. I pay him no curtesy, but blindly work the stopper back into the inkwell.
He knows I see him, and fiddling with his chain, he pulls out a watch. It swings in an ark, dancing brilliantly in the lightless underground. He holds it up to his ear, reminding me. Looking at its face, he makes an exaggerated expression like something from a pantomime, and his head wags from side to side.
“Time’s up,” he says before the tunnel ends.
I feel the warmth of light, and open my eyes. The underworld is behind me. Still, I travel in the shadow of the mountain, but I know the tracks will turn again, that they will lead me back to the sun. For now, I unstop the inkwell and dip my pen. Even in the shadows, I will write.
Tale Told 