Mad About You Ch. 1 Pt. 3

Attention new readers! This is a multi-post, ongoing story. If you are passing by for the first time, and you don’t wish to be lost, start with the post ‘Mad About You Ch. 1 Pt. 1’. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

Mad About You

Chapter One, Part Three

By: Patrick Hart

“Oi, wake up!” Samuel stirred at this stranger’s voice. “Wake up brother, no sense loafing about now, not at the beginning anyway.”

His eyes fluttered open, blurry vision rendered a confused silhouette of a man looming above him. “Who goes there?” Samuel presented this query in a mumbled fashion, as he rubbed his eyes with his left hand, while his right attempted to find an anchor to steady himself, sit up, and take a look. The man shaped blur seemed to vanish in perfect sync with his clearing vision, perfectly, as if the man had never been there at all. He thought perhaps he was already losing his mind. Only, upon further inspection, he didn’t think this was so. A suit of a fairly decent make hung up with a note pinned to its jacket. When Samuel got to his feet, he took the note off of the jacket and opened it up.


Thought this would be a wee bit less drafty.


So far, this was not the afterlife Samuel had been told about; trains with compartments that shift at will, apparitions that leave suits and make jokes. Though, he did not wish to look this gift-horse in its mouth, and to think about any of this at any length without a proper amount of information would be ludicrous. Were he to, he was certain he would never get out of this room. He disrobed, and put on the suit.

It had been years since Samuel had worn a suit, or even had the desire to. It made him feel like a younger man, just the act of putting on the thing, all of the old habits, the tricks he had known for a better tie knot, they were all still there. He found a strip of thin leather in the right-hand pocket of his trousers, taking it out and bunching his hair in the other hand, he fashioned himself a crude ponytail. His host, he thought, seemed to have thought of everything but the kitchen sink. This was all just a bit absurd, and his mind was having trouble wrapping itself around this place.

Yet, here it all was; a train compartment that had been a hospital room until the moment he opened the door, a suit-gifting, jolly ghost, and a world outside of this train that of which looked more like a photograph than anything else. It looked, and even from inside the train, felt stale, while he moved along at an unknown speed. It sat outside, not dead, not exactly, but unmotivated. He had no clue just how close he was to the truth of the matter, nor would he fully understand for quite some time. It would not have been the least bit surprising to him were he to learn this damned train was called the bloody ‘flying dutchman’. He decided to quit with the pondering once and for all, and move on, to try to find his ghost, to make him tangible, and get some answers as to where exactly he had wound up. Not knowing what to do with his hospital gown, he hung it up where the suit had been, and stepped out of the compartment.


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