The Bridge of Zombies

A wooden railway bridge in the midst of snow-covered hills and valleys on a frosty, chilly winter with a below zero degree temperature awaits for the scheduled train to arrive. There is a signal pole within 10 metres from the bridge. The bridge is made up of layers of wood tied together in a criss-cross fashion robustly. It is built over a lake, now, frozen in winter.

Something is moving across the layers of the wood from the underneath of the bridge. Looks like a human figure, the face is not visible. The body structure looks like a human structure. But who the hell will be climbing on this chilly evening! Isn’t he afraid of dying in the cold? What is the urgency? Where is he coming from? Below? The lake below is all frozen. There is no possibility of human settlement. Is he trying to catch the arriving train?

The engine whistles from far away. The signal turns red. The climber faces the sky, looks at the full moon and continues to ascend. His face is evident now in the silver-grey of the moonlight. Grotesque, scarred, and one eyeball hanging out of its socket ready to fall. He or rather it adjusts the eyeball and ascends the logs of the wood with greater speed.

A few others follow him. A few more follow. A few more...a few more...and a few more...Hundreds of them making their way to the top...hundreds lined up at the bottom of the bridge ready for their climb. All of them similar to the first one, grotesque and twisted faces, weird eyes hanging out of the sockets, the absence of epidermal layers, asymmetrical and unbalanced torso…….

ZOMBIES.......

Hundreds of them like the group of ants on a forage. The signal turns red, and the train slows down and stops exactly on the bridge.

A boy licking his lollipop peeps out of the window looking down the bridge - a skeletal hand on the top of the bridge, another one and a face slowly pulling itself up. He has never seen such a thing and the lollipop falls from his mouth. He shakes his father who is asleep in the next seat. The irritated father scolds the boy, looks at the zombie through the window, both of them drop their jaws in fear. A shattering noise of glass followed by human screams.

The train whistles again, ready to start.....

And Ned wakes to the train’s rumble on the railway track next to his house.

A dream it was....he wakes up drenched in sweat, feeling relieved it was a dream...the face of the zombie whose eyeball hung from its socket, the bridge, the little boy with his lollipop, the climb, the train - everything was so surreal as if he was transported to that place, as if he was watching a movie in his home theatre....it all felt so real.

Ned paints all those weird faces and the weird place and the weird bridge from his dream naming his collection, 'The bridge of Zombies'. His painting collection is sold in millions and a movie adapted based on his pictures and paintings. To date he wonders whether it was actually a dream he saw or did he somehow managed to run away from that accident and save his life, was he that small boy or the zombie or was it all just a figment of his imagination?

He has recurrent dreams, flashes of memory, fleeting visions over the years never finding an answer why is he seeing all those things? Every time a different flash, a clearer image, something in the backdrop was now visible clearly, but mostly the same flashes, different scenes, different things highlighted, sometimes a face, sometimes a hand, sometimes a bone, sometimes blood splatter, sometimes luggage sprawled over, sometimes ugly legs, an eyeball hanging from its socket, mouths screaming, horrified eyes. He has become famous for his zombie paintings over a period of time. He paints all that he dreams, every detail of his nightmares, every face, every bone, every scene, every picture. These paintings have brought him a substantial fortune, but within he was sad and detested.

Sergeant Toss Redmond after reading the article on Ned Benson and his weird paintings tossed the newspaper aside. A weird incident three days back preoccupied his mind. He walked to the whiteboard and noted a few points thinking about them again and again. Nothing came to his mind. The incident was as bizarre as Ned Benson’s paintings.

A train from Portridge to Seamgull via Dandimoss did not arrive as per the scheduled time at Dandimoss. A rescue and investigation team was sent out. The train was stranded on the wooden bridge of Dandimoss, the signal was red, and there wasn’t a single passenger on the train. The train was empty. About 350 of them in all the different classes plus the railway staff and the engine crew, all of them disappeared, just like that? The windows were broken, the doors had dents, the roof had cracks as if someone forcibly broke open the doors and windows. But what happened to 350 live people. Where did they go? How can they disappear like that on a chilly night of January without a trace?

His assistant Nick Doyce had just returned from Dandimoss to deliver the search report.

‘An extensive search conducted within a radius of thirty miles spanning all directions from the bridge. No living thing found. The search team is of the opinion that it is difficult to cover more than thirty miles in that chilly and rough weather. No one could have survived it.’

Sergeant Toss was still in deep thought. Without looking at Nick Doyce, he asked, ‘Did they check underneath the bridge?’

‘A frozen lake, that’s it.’

‘Nothing else? Are you sure?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Sergeant Toss nodded and Nick Doyce left. Sergeant Toss then came back to his desk, removed a file from one of its drawers, and placed it over the newspaper that popularized the weird paintings of Ned. He flipped the pages of the file. January 18th, 1859….January 8th, 1860...January 26th, 1861…...three days back - January 15th 1862. It was a full moon in January, the first full moon of the year. And on every first full moon of the year, the train that passed in the night to Dandimoss stopped on the bridge, and the passengers just disappeared. A rescue team was sent the next morning when the train did not arrive, and every time it was found on the bridge empty. It happened only on the first full moon of every year and no other time.

Sergeant Toss read the article on the zombie paintings by Ned, and he pondered more. He removed the magnifying glass from the first drawer of his desk and looked thoroughly at one of the paintings of the Ned published in the newspaper. Same bridge, same log work, same surroundings, same signal pole. The painting was an exact replica of the bridge of the Dandimoss. Sergeant Toss decided to meet Ned Benson and discuss the bridge and his paintings.

There was something sinister about Ned Benson. His eyes were sad and pale. He did not remember anything about the incident. His parents disappeared on a train journey. He was found in a railway hospital by his maternal uncle. That was all he could recollect. He had never been to Dandimoss or to Portridge or to Seamgull. He grew up in London with his uncle. A year back, he had nightmares, and he started painting all his nightmares. That was all he had to say. There was no further investigation. Over the years, the railway service from Portridge to Seamgull was stopped as new railway lines were introduced in a different path. The case remained unsolved and the greatest mystery of all the times.

No one on the train in any of the years survived. They were eaten and turned into zombies and before the first rays of the sun, they descended down the bridge into the frozen river to hibernate in the frozen lake only to wake up again on the first full moon of the next new year. A boy who licked his lollipop ran away. He slid through the seats while his parents were eaten alive and turned into zombies. He crawled underneath the seats, he hid in a large trunk in the luggage compartment and was unconscious until the train was brought back to the station by the rescue team. He was found by the cleaners who was removing the luggage from the train and was sent to the hospital. He was in a coma, and when he woke up after a month’s treatment he could not remember anything. He suffered a post-traumatic shock and years later the memory of that night resurfaced in the form of flashes, visions, nightmares and daydreams. And that was why Ned Benson had zombie nightmares, and that was how Ned Benson painted pictures of zombies.