The Mysterious Woman on the Train

My name is David Martin. I teach American literature and creative writing at a college in Oak Crest, Wisconsin. On December 6, I was about to celebrate my thirty-second birthday, and I set out on a journey to Chicago to visit my mother. My condo is one hundred and eighty miles from Chicago, and because I hate to drive in that truck and auto infested city, I usually take the train. Now it’s been more than two years since I encountered the mysterious woman on the Chicago and North Western. I’m constantly amazed at all that has happened. On the train that day, I brought reading material to keep me entertained for the two-hour trip. Almost an hour had passed before I glanced up from my book and observed a beautiful woman slipping into the aisle seat next to the door. Wearing an elegant black suit, a white silk blouse, black heels, and a black pillbox hat with a veil touching the bridge of her nose, she held her shoulders back in perfect posture. Her auburn hair fell to her shoulders in a pageboy cut, and her lips glistened with ruby red lipstick. Noting her entire outfit seemed reminiscent of the nineteen forties, the thought occurred to me that this interesting-looking woman must enjoy wearing vintage clothing. And I could understand why because she looked great in them. Fascinated, I watched her open her purse and pull out a magazine. “The Silver Screen,” I mumbled, remembering that I’d seen a copy of that forties magazine in my grandfather’s attic. I smiled inwardly, thinking, that gorgeous creature may be carrying this vintage lifestyle a bit far!” I stared at her for a minute then peered around the car to check on the other passengers. I thought it odd that no one seemed to be paying any attention to the provocative beauty dressed in fifty-year-old attire. I picked up my book and pretended to read while stealing glances at the woman who had captivated me. She absently turned a few pages then got up suddenly, leaving the magazine in her seat. My heartbeat raced like a love-struck teenager’s. Acting like a complete fool, I couldn’t prevent myself from leaping out of my seat and following her. I tried not to be obvious when I entered the smoking car, so I sat down in a lounge chair two chairs away from her. At that time, I smoked, and I reached for a package of Marlboros from my coat pocket. I lit up and watched her out of the corner of my eye. She pulled an expensive-looking silver case from her purse, took out a cigarette, and flicked her silver, jeweled-encrusted lighter. I wondered if a boyfriend had given her the case and lighter then felt a bit angry with myself when I felt the green-eyed monster gnawing on my insides. I blew a few smoke rings and tried to appear sophisticated. I desperately wanted to strike up a conversation, but I felt tongue-tied. Her eyes weren’t blinking, and I noticed her faraway expression. I could feel something eerie happening, yet I couldn’t put my finger on it. Once again, I scanned the car and noticed no one observing her. Befuddled, I couldn’t understand why I seemed to be the only man in the car who found this gorgeous woman fascinating. Suddenly, she stood, stubbed her cigarette in the ashtray, and sauntered towards the door. I decided to wait a minute before leaving, as I didn’t want her to think I might be following her. My nerves tingled with excitement. I felt like an actor playing the part of a detective in a movie mystery. Moments later, I re-entered my car and took my original seat. Continuing my vigil, I noticed the conductor approaching. Much to my surprise, he passed over the mysterious woman as though he hadn’t seen her, and he collected the ticket from the passenger next to her. Then something unbelievable happened. The woman I’d been surreptitiously watching, crumpled to the floor and simply disappeared! For a split second, it felt like hundreds of tiny spiders were crawling up and down my spine. Chilled to the bone, I stood up yelling and pointing to the spot where she’d fallen. “She’s gone. The woman in that seat just disappeared. Didn’t anyone else see her?” Oh, my God, I thought. They think I’m hallucinating. Maybe I am! Terrified of what I’d seen and afraid the conductor might think me crazy, I sat down and glanced around at the shocked expressions on the faces of the surrounding passengers. One man placed his arm around the woman sitting next to him as if to shield her from me. The conductor rushed to my side and patted my arm reassuringly. “It’s okay, son,” he said. “Don’t be afraid. It’s only Rosalind La Page. It’s the anniversary of her death. Killed, she was, in that seat on December 6, 1946─shot by a slight man wearing a long black coat, sunglasses, and a hat pulled down low over his face. He escaped by jumping from the platform connecting the next car. The police searched but never caught up with him. I understand it’s an unsolved case. Her ex-husband, suspected of being a small-time Chicago mobster, was and still is the prime suspect…though he could be dead by now since it’s been fifty years since the murder. You see we always keep Rosalind’s seat empty on the anniversary of her death, and once in a while a person can see her ghost. You must have the gift, son.” “The gift?” My ears echoed the pounding of my heart. The thought that I might be able to see another ghost at another time seemed almost as frightening as what I’d just witnessed.