Mile Marker 65

Hello all. Sorry if I sound a little frantic, but my mind is not in the best of places. You see, my brother has gone missing; it’s been around 72 hours since he was last seen. I thought I’d post this here, in the hopes someone can explain what happened, or even if any of this is real.

Below is the blog post he was writing when he went missing. If anyone can decipher what happened to him, anything at all, please message me.

I’m looking out of the carriage window, I’m sure the sun is setting now, I swear it; but I’ve been staring at it for, I can’t remember how long. I think I’m going mad.

This will sound insane if I just come out and say it, so I’ll need to explain a little first.

After visiting my parents for the weekend, my mother drove me to the train station. Waiting on the platform, the sun began to beat down, surprisingly hot for 10:30 in the morning. The PA system announced that my train was delayed, time of arrival unknown; great.

Other commuters entered and exited carriages on the platforms that surround me. I however, just stared at the heat haze in the distance, waiting for my train to arrive.

I wasted around twenty minutes browsing the net on my phone, when the hiss of hydraulics woke me up from my techno-slumber; the train had arrived.

The door to the carriage was directly in front of me, and open. I put my phone away and pulled myself onto the steps. As soon as I entered, the doors closed behind me, the train began to depart.

The car was half full; businessmen with newspapers and suits sat in silence. I took my seat at an empty table and watched the station disappear into the distance.

I checked the time, it was 11:05am, I should be home around 1pm. I then spent the next two hours completing the coursework I should have done on the weekend.

1pm; I began to pack up my things, my laptop and books, and stored them in my rucksack. I got up from my seat, made my way to the carriage exit and waited for the train to stop.

The blistering heat blew through the open window, showing off the speed of the locomotive. The air doing little to dispel the sweat gathering on my forehead.

My legs grew weary as I grew tired of waiting for the train to stop. Frustrated, I looked out of the window into the distance, I could see nothing of interest between me and the horizon. I watched as a small wooden post approached and accelerated past me, *MM 65*, written in black on white gloss paint, it disappeared as soon as I saw it.

I pulled myself back in and re-entered my carriage. I flung my bag down on my seat. A man dressed in a very expensive looking suit flicked through the broadsheet he was reading.

“Excuse me sir,” I asked, “what time should this train get to the next stop?”

The man stared into my eyes, checking out one eye, then the other, before looking at his equally expensive wristwatch, “1pm, sir”, he said, switching his gaze back to my eyes.

I checked my phone, it was 1.30pm, “What time do you have?”

He sighed and slowly checked out his watch, this time moving his arm towards his face, exaggerating the motion, “10:30, sir.”
“But, I got on the train at 10:30,” I replied.

He left his arm in the air, rechecked his watch, “It’s 10:30, sir.”

I thought about arguing with him, as he was clearly wrong, however I just returned to my seat and pressed the service button. The man with the watch stared at me, his arm still raised as if ready to look at his watch again; I stared back at him, slightly bemused. As if he made his point, he lowered his arm and picked up his paper and began to read again.

I stabbed at the button again, five minutes and no steward to be seen.

“How long does it take for someone to see you around here?” I shouted to the half full carriage, the heat clearly starting to take it’s toll.

The men and suits continued to read their papers or to rummage in their briefcases. The only woman in the car, an old woman, sat at the end of the carriage and gazed blankly in my direction.

Annoyed I turned my head, resting it in my hand, not wanting to see my fellow passengers. I could not get over how hot it was, how dry the grassed appeared outside the window, acres and acres of almost scorched land. That’s when I saw it again, MM 65.
Looking at my phone, it was almost 2pm, a clear hour late for my stop.

What the hell was going on.

Overhead, the white bulb was still illuminated, yet it went unanswered.

I woke as the locomotive hit a bump. My face plastered to the table. The sun continued to torch my skin, the light from the window was just as bright as before. I fished in my pocket for my phone, wondering what time it was, sure I missed my stop. I jolted up as I saw the time, and then jumped again.

It was 8:30pm, and the old woman sat in the seat opposite me.

“What the fuck is happening?!” I exclaimed to the old lady, “And why are you sitting there?”

“What do you mean, deary?” she replied.

“What fucking time is it?” I asked.

She mustered an uncomfortable smile, “You know what time it is, sweety.”

“8:30?” I said, showing her my phone.

She continued to smile and shook her head.

“Then what time is it, Miss?”

“You know what time it is,” she repeated, her smile dissolving.

“10:30?” I suggested.
She nodded.

“What the fuck is going on?”

She looked out of the window, as if seeing something important. I reactively followed her gaze.

The pole shot past the window, MM 65.

“What the hell is that thing? I’ve seen it like three times?” I said annoyed.

“Mile Marker,” she said in a matter of fact tone.

“Mile Marker?”

“It marks the miles between stations,” she explained.

“But I’ve seen the same one three times?” I trailed off.

What was happening to me?

I stood up and ran my hands through my sweaty hair, before sitting straight back down. I leaned over towards her, “What time did you get on the train?”

“10:30, sir,” she replied, I could see sadness in her eyes.

“But I didn’t see you get on when I did. How long have you been on this train?” I asked her.

She averted her gaze and sighed, “A long time.”

She turned back to me, tears rolled down her cheeks.

“How long?” I pushed.

She took a handkerchief out of her handbag and wiped her eyes, but she didn’t answer me.

“I’m not going to get to my stop am I?” I asked.

Her head shook.

“I need to get off this train!” I demanded.

“You just need to wait, sweetheart.”

That was twelve hours ago and now my phone is about to die, so I will get this post up as soon as possible. I’ve made sure to turn on autosave, I need to make sure someone knows what’s happened.

I’m looking out of the carriage window, I’m sure the sun is setting now, I swear it; but I’ve been staring at it for, I can’t remember how long. I think I’m going mad.

I’ve seen that mile marker now more times than I can count, I’m not going to get to my station any time soon.

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