He thought the large clock on the wall 

may well have been an antique 

Perhaps, from an old railway station

It equally could have been a replica

Bought at The Range, or online, of course

The arms frozen at 2.22

Today? Yesterday? 

Always?

The rest of the kitchen was impeccable 

Clean as a whistle (a railway attendant's perhaps?)

The old glazed porcelain sink:

pristine

Mugs tidely retired to a tarnished holder

Utensils hanging from a copper wire rack 

       All as still as the air itself

A tea caddy in the guise of  a steam train

A 2-4-0 he thought with nerdish pride

And, wasn't this once the old gate keeper's cottage

decades ago?

 

In the middle of a small dining table

An old gas lamp

sat beside an open tin of matches

Waiting

Everything appeared just so

Somehow, oddly just so

Even sound seemed confined

to the movements in the kitchen 

Nothing of the outside world filtered in

It was, indeed, as if time

had ceased its ticking

 

But, then there was the body…

 

Nothing just so about it

Nothing how it should be

A macabre jigsaw 

The head 

The arms

The legs

A Torso 

All separated…

…or, more like - pulled apart:

Flesh and skin stretched & tapered 

Like something a school kid would do to a fly or spider 

 

     Welcome to my parlour…

 

There suddenly came a shrill whistle 

A hissing of steam 

His head spun back to the clock

2.2.2 - 6

The windows fogged 

There was a striking of a match

The gas lamp glowed 

Something grisly & unearthly raising it high

He thought of the tea caddy: 

2-4-0 - 6

Everything began to rattle & shake

The huffing of an engine

Unbearably loud

He stared at the body

Head,  torso, legs, arms:

6

Behind him, a breath so hot

it burned like the sun

 

And all at once he knew 

 

Something wicked this way came

Upon a ghostly late night train