The clatter and rattle from the rocking of the train masked his chokes and splutters. I tightened my grip further, baring my teeth and growling at his face. Slowly the life drained from his eyes and his flailing arms dropped to the floor in a satisfying heap. I fell backwards, allowing a sigh of relief to escape my lips. I wiped the saliva that had dripped down my chin and leaned forward, opening the door that I had built especially for such an occasion, and gently pushed the body with my foot. Slowly, the man’s head poked out from the side of the train, followed by his shoulders. A smile spread across my face as I remembered what was coming up. I pushed him a little further and then jumped to my feet, giddy with excitement. Quickly, I gripped a curtain and pulled it around myself and closed my eyes in anticipation. In an instant, there was a splatter and crack of bones. I felt something hit the curtain and run down to the floor below, luckily falling just before my shoes. Once most of the dripping had stopped, I peeked from behind the curtain and my smile grew.

 

The small lavatory had been covered in thick, red blood. The man’s legs had become caught in the door and were now hanging by the spine, which had been shaved of its ribs. Parts of the man laid strewn around the compartment, most noticeable his genitalia which were hanging from a lamp that had been spared of most of the blood splatter. I lifted my eyebrows in surprise and genially reached up and flicked one of the testicles, giggling as it jiggled around and swayed, knocking into the other. I stepped out fully from behind the curtain and marvelled at the sight. What was left of the door was now banging against the side of the train and I made a mental note to tell Johnson when we arrived at our destination. With a final sigh, I turned and left the room, closing the door behind me, locking it with its key and handing the key to Johnson, who smiled at the action and immediately turned to catalogue the item. I clapped my hands together and turned back to the quiet carriage.

 

I had invented the quiet carriages as a way of fulfilling my darkest desires when my father bestowed the Fullrum Trainline to me, and then so, unfortunately, passed away after signing the papers. Such a shame. I switched my thoughts away from the memory of my father and to the three bodies that seemed to be still sitting in the open, and their wounds still spilling out blood. I tutted and walked over to the nearest one, a middle-aged woman named Rebecca Collins, a childhood friend years ago, but that had changed when she married into a family who directly opposed my own. I brushed it off, of course, but one can't help but feel a little betrayed, so when she suggested we meet to reconcile and catch up, I didn’t know that one thing would lead to another and I would slip so haphazardly with the knife and skewer the woman as if she was a chicken ready to be grilled, and how unfortunate that it happened several times. I was pulled away from my inner thoughts by the return of Johnson. I turned to Johnson, who had returned from filing the key and informing the station master of the condition of the train.

 

“I say, Johnson,” I said, “why are these bodies still in the open?” Johnson cleared his throat and gave a small smile.

 

“Your wife insisted that she sees your handy work,” he said coldly and matter-of-factly. “She seems to think you’re getting…”

 

“I don’t care,” I interjected, hearing my wife’s reasons for keeping the bodies around was none of my business. If she wanted them out, she wanted them out. But it was getting considerably harder to convince people to come into the carriage with several dead bodies lying around. As we exited the tunnel, warm sunlight shone down through the skylights in the roof, shining through the blood, making the carriage considerably more crimson. I sighed and placed my hand on my hips, ashamed that I had let more blood soak into my beloved Heffson. Heffson, you see, was my childhood dog. A beautiful golden retriever whom I adored from the moment I met him, and I was there until the end. Once the animal had passed away, my father immediately had him skinned and given to me that Christmas and I had had him sprawled out on my bedroom floor ever since. I looked back at the blood-soaked hound and sighed, realising the amount of scrubbing Johnson would have to do in order to returned Heffson to his former golden glory. I quickly spun on my heel and address Johnson.

 

“Johnson,” I spoke with a certain amount of urgency, feeling the red mist descending already. “Is it possible to use another carriage for the next…” I trailed off as Johnson started to smile, his thin moustache following his upper lips as it curled.

 

“As much as I would endeavour to allow that sir,” he said, crushing my thoughts immediately, my wife now back in my mind. “but your wife has insisted that we wait until the next stop so she can board, and the bodies can be disposed of appropriately.” I sighed and turned away from the man, feeling the red mist building in my head. I shook my head firmly, trying to shake the thoughts but they kept returning. I had seen one particular man while luring the other into the lavatory that I had taken quite a fancy to. He had black hair and a jointed look, as if he had been hit by a fellow passenger. His sour and displeased face intrigued me greatly. I turned back to Johnson, but the butler had vanished, seemingly into thin air. I looked around the carriage, unable to find the man. Sighing in defeat, realising I would never discover the mysterious ways of my butler.

 

Johnson was an odd fellow, who appeared in my service several years ago, offering his cousin as one of my victims. I took him up on his offer, killing the man quickly and swiftly, in a style that was irregular for me, but one I revelled in experimenting with. After that, Johnson kept appearing, offering me more cousins for me and often disposed of the bodies himself. Occasionally, I would hear the odd cackle coming from a room in the house, but I just wrote it down to Johnson playing with the corpses that I so readily supplied. It was only after the sixth man he offered me, and four women may I add, that I finally asked the man what his business was. Turns out he was using me as a scapegoat for the disappearances within his own family, and the man I had just killed was, in fact, his father, not another cousin. After that, the man offered himself to me, and I employed him. My wife at the time didn’t seem to mind the new face around the house, chalking it up to it being a man I was planning to kill, but was, marinating, I think was the word she used. Speaking of wives, the train had now pulled up to its latest station in its tour and stopped, my current wife was standing directly in front of the doors to the carriage. I slapped on my best smile and opened my arms as her manservants opened the door for her, allowing her to stride in superiorly. She was dressed in a red dress typical for her figure and age, the dress correctly emphasising the different parts of the body that men found enticing. She turned and looked at the three bodies that were laying on the floor, lifting her nose in disgust.

 

“You got more blood in Heffson,” she said, lifting the head and then dropping it, squelching as it did. I sighed and shrugged.

 

“We really should move it, my love,” I said. My wife turned to me and glared, freezing me.

 

“I am well aware,” she spat, her mood suddenly changing. I rolled my eyes, knowing where the conversation was going. “But with the house in disarray, I feel it’s the best for him.” She cast her eyes back down to the skinned mutt. “But clearly not.” I gave a small smile and turned around, attempting to return to the other carriages to pick another victim, by I screamed in surprise as Johnson stood behind me, his usual small smile that was hard to decipher.

 

“Goodness Johnson!” I exclaimed. “Why are you always appearing behind me!” Johnson straightened himself, attempting to hide a small laugh.

 

“I do apologise, sir,” he said quickly, realising his attempt was not successful, “but a letter arrived for you.” I quickly stood straight and extended my arm, Johnson placing the letter directly into my palm. Hastily, I opened it and read its contents. The telegram was directed for me, by a Baron Escabar. I didn’t know who the man was at the time, and neither did Johnson or my wife, but it didn’t seem like an odd thing to me at the time, just a simple request for dinner that Saturday night. I accepted, being the gentleman I am, and invited him to my London estate for that Saturday night. With ample opportunity to prepare, Johnson prepared us a delicious hare stew, alongside some beautifully prepared potatoes. The Baron arrived late, the inconsiderate bastard, and was rude throughout the evening's proceedings. He did not eat much of the stew but gorged himself on the sweet cakes my wife had lovingly made for my birthday a fortnight prior. He brought his own scotch and rum and drank both bottles, then had the audacity to ask for another, as if we were the brewery Johnson shopped from. It was much later that evening, I planned to confront the Baron about his behaviour over the course of the evening and his brutish behaviour to one of the maids, who had cleared away his plate. We were sitting in the living room, a name my wife often laughed at, smoking cigars and drinking more of my whiskey. I had luckily kept the man’s eye away from my personal drinking cupboard, and he was blathering on about something to do with the current affairs in America, I was too busy trying not to crush the glass that was in my hand with rage for how the man had treated my home and staff, but eventually, he stopped talking and we sat in silence, the slight crackling from the fireplace soothing me into a sense of calm.

 

“I’ll tell you what,” the Baron said, a huff in his voice and a stern hard stare into my eye, “I don’t much care for people like that.” He had ruined the silence, and my sense of calm, but I pushed forward, looking forward to when the man would decide that enough was enough and he would call his driver and would leave my home, well, one of them anyway. I decided I would please the man by engaging in his conversation.

 

“I know what you mean,” I said through a grim smile that seemed to please him. “I can't stand it either.”

 

“Ah!” the Baron yelled, his eyes popping open and his hands waving in the air. I sat up further and braced myself, waiting for the man to swing a blow at my head. “He speaks!” I raised my eyebrow and the man laughed. “I was wondering when you might.” I opened my mouth to speak, but the man’s powerful voice cut me off. “Look, I was wondering if I could hire your services,” he said quietly, his wide eyes ticking from side to side, as if expecting someone was spying on him. He was, of course, I had a listening system installed in my house years ago, with two people operating out of a small room that sat beside the basement. “I've been told by several people that you know how to dispose of those who are an inconvenience to others,” he continued. I nodded slowly.

 

“I do usually,” I stated, realising the glass in my hand was now empty, “but I'm not usually paid to do so.” The Baron nodded in agreement, but his smile somehow grew beyond what I previously thought possible.

 

“I understand that,” the Baron said, “but I...” he stopped and looked around again. I raised my eyebrows in surprise and flicked my gaze up to the listening device that was embedded in the large stone gargoyle I had transported from France. A long story for another time, I feel. “A man has come into the possession of some rather…” he paused again, for a reason I was not quite sure of. To this day, I believe that he was just trying to build tension, tension I was not experiencing. “Incriminating information and I was hoping you could dispose of him for me.” I nodded slowly again, understanding where he was going. You see, my work was known by many people, and by many people, I mean many people. Though rarely, my services were hireable. I am quite a particular man with particular tastes and preferences. I don’t tend to listen well to others, hence my four wives. I amused the man by gesturing for him to continue.

 

“I am happy to pay as much money as you would like,” he continued, “or any other type of fee you wish, even a cut of my business. As long as he ends up dead.” His tone grew stern as he finished his sentence. A smile stretched across my face and I reached out one hand and he shook it firmly.

 

“It would be my pleasure,” I said. A few weeks later, I received another letter from the Baron, telling me that my victim would be on one of my trains the following week, dressed in a blue suit and wearing a red tie. I wrote back, telling him I had received his information, and asked him to accompany the man, so I knew exactly who he was. A question that had become practice after a mix-up three years prior. Another long story. So, the week of the train journey began, and I boarded at the third stop along the line, immediately locating the man, who was sitting beside the Baron. The man was dressed, as promised, in a blue suit with a red tie, quite distinctive amongst the greys and blacks that covered the rest of the carriages. I did my usual, smile and shake hands with anyone who made eye contact and I soon passed the Baron and his guest. I made my way to the quiet carriage to inspect and make sure that its newest arrival wouldn’t be deterred by its mere appearance. I entered the carriage with slightly less excitement than I wished to enter with, seeing my wife sitting in one of the armchairs, which had replaced one of the old ones.

 

“Darling,” I said. My wife looked up, placing her bookmark into the pages of her book in preparation, seeing the look on my face.

 

“What is it?” she asked.

 

“I don’t know,” I responded, “I'm just feeling a little down, that’s all.” My wife smiled at me and stood, walking over to me and placing a hand on the top of my head, as if holding me in place.

 

“Once we get moving,” my wife tried to comfort, “you’ll feel better.” I nodded in agreement and listened to my wife walk away, further down the train. She’s a brilliant woman, my wife, always by my side and wanting to contribute wherever she can with my efforts. I met her four years ago, surprisingly at an old friend’s wedding, and we immediately fell for each other, which didn’t best please my wife at the time. The following year, we married and she took a very active role in my business. That being my hobby, rather than the locomotive trade that my father lovingly gave me. I was shaken from the thoughts by the sudden movement of the train, which almost catapulted me across the carriage. After a few moments, allowing the train to pick up speed, I stood from the armchair and adjusted my deep red suit and black tie. It helped to stand out on my trains, like my soon-to-be victim, especially when trying to convince people of my social standing and business trade. As I rose, Johnson once again appeared before me. I stepped back, startled, and then recomposed myself, glaring at the blue-eyed man intently. He didn’t speak as I walked around him and back towards the rest of the passenger carriages.

 

With the train moving at quite a significant speed, it wouldn’t be long before we would arrive at the next station, so I had to act quickly. I entered the carriage were my target sat, still situated beside the Baron. With a wide smile spread across my face, I walked towards the pair, the Baron immediately catching my eye, his own lighting up eagerly. The man beside him was distracted by the book that he held in his hands, diligently, almost lovingly, stroking the next page teasingly, as if the page were getting pleasure from the expectation of being flipped over. I took the sight and used it to my advantage, seeing the group of children that sat close by, shouting at the trees and animals that we passed by. I leaned towards the man and tapped his shoulder and the man startled, folding his book away immediately.

 

“Sorry,” I said quickly, chuckling at the reaction. The man smiled and laughed himself. “I didn’t mean to startle you, my friend.”

 

“It's alright,” he responded, “how can I help you Mr Fullrum?” I chuckled and placed my hand on his shoulder, towering over him. I could see the Baron grinning behind him.

 

“I was just wondering, if you would prefer, I have a quiet carriage at the rear of this train,” I offered. He seemed to perk up at the suggestion of silence. “So maybe you can enjoy your book in peace and quiet.” I finished my sentence with a smile, ever so slightly genuine. The man looked over at the group of children and sighed, another squeal of joy piercing everyone’s ears. He looked back at me and nodded.

 

“Thank you, Mr Fullrum,” he said, quickly folding the corner of the page he was on and standing. I stepped to the side, allowing him to pass. I cast a quick glance to my left, seeing the Baron smiling at the man as he exited the carriage. He looked at me and nodded. I gave him a wry smile and turned back to the man, who was now waiting for me, not noticing the exchange the Baron and I had. I smile politely and walked past him, guiding him through the rest of the carriages, until we reached the quiet carriage. My wife had appeared in the room, book in hand, lip resting in between her teeth and her eyes wide. She was clearly reading one of the many explicit and erotic novels I have kept in our bedroom. She had been steadily been going through them over the last year, almost exhausting Johnson’s knowledge on the sexual positions and descriptions that were written, but the man had kindly obliged every time. My wife looked up as we entered, instantly dropping the page and releasing her lip.

 

“Darling!” she said loudly, as if I had caught her in bed with another man. “Who is this?” I grinned at her and gestured to the man for him to sit the armchair I had occupied earlier.

 

“This, my dear,” I said slowly, “is our guest.” My wife caught on quickly, inspecting the man in the armchair. Another ability my wife seemed to possess was the uncanny ability to know where a body would look best, based on their clothing. Sadly, her advice never reached my brain while they were dying, especially that last one. She was not best pleased about the state of the lavatory. She moved her lips into an approving frown and she nodded slowly.

 

“Of course,” she said. The man looked up from his book, not having seen my wife at all and wasn’t listening to our little conversation. She turned to me, her hand rest completely over the cover of her book, but I could still see the title. I smiled at the act and looked at her knowingly. She huffed and stood, looking directly in my eyes. “Is this the only one?” she asked in a low voice.

 

“No,” I replied quickly, now feeling the red mist building. She nodded again and sat back down, waiting for me to move away before opening the book again. I moved to the back of the carriage and located Johnson making a cup of tea for our new guest.

 

“Are all preparations made?” I asked with a grin. Johnson smiled back and poured a cup of tea into a cup, handing it to me. I took it and sipped at the liquid lightly, alerting the man to the presents of the beverage. Johnson left to delivery the drink, leaving me to look out over the tracks we were covering. I had always had the quiet carriage installed as the last carriage, it gave me beautiful views like this to relax to after taking care of whatever business it was I had to take care of on the train. But this was usually a man’s or a woman’s death. I finished my tea and looked behind me, seeing that Johnson had moved to the exit and had slipped the latch down over the door, sealing the four of us together. The click of the latch alerted the man and he turned, seeing the latch secured over the door. While his back was turned, I briskly walked behind him and stood patiently. My wife remained glued to her book, her lip and eyes returning to how they were.

 

“What the…?” the man asked, standing up and setting his book down on the arm of the armchair. “What are you doing?” he demanded. Shouting into Johnson’s face. “Why is this door locked?” Johnson didn’t answer, his eyes drifting to me and I stood, the still-hot cup of tea close to my hand. The man waved a hand in front of Johnson’s face and huffed, turning to face me. “What’s wrong with your butler!” he shouted, stomping over to me. It was then I realised he was wearing thick, black boots with his blue suit. I felt my insides curl at the sight.

 

“I am sorry,” I told him, not listening to his complaints, “but Johnson only listens to my wife and me.” He looked at me with bewilderment, then realisation dawned on him and his furious expression smoothed and his eyes grew fearful.

 

“The Baron?” he asked and I nodded in response. He sighed and slipped his hands into his pockets and his eyes fell to the floor, seemingly in defeat. “You know what…?” he asked, his voice trailing off. I nodded, but he didn’t see. In a flash, the man gripped the armchair and threw it at me. I stepped to the side and moved forward, quickly gripping his collar and pulling him towards me. I wrapped a hand around his neck and I pushed down, forcing my body weight against him. The red mist had descended and consumed my vision. The world around was consumed by a fiery inferno. I bared my teeth and pushed harder, seeing the man struggle against my grip. He flailed beneath me, grasping at my suit and skin, desperately trying to save himself. I felt my veins course with anger, with heat. Every part of my body was moving in towards the man, crushing his neck with my iron grip. His head swelled and grew redder and redder, his eyes popping outwards until eventually popping out with a satisfying pop. Behind me, I heard my wife giggle at the noise. Before the man suffocated, I heard a crack, then another, and then another. Then, the man’s neck collapsed and my hand fell through and hit the wooden floor behind. The mist was suddenly gone and sunlight poured back into my vision. With a sigh, I stood and wiped the small amount of blood that was on my hand. I looked down at myself and sighed again.

 

“He ruined the lining,” I muttered and my wife sighed at me. I looked at her and grinned widely. Her eyes were different, wanting, yearning. I moved closer and sat on the arm of her chair and moved close to her. “Enjoy the show?” I whispered, marvelling at the sight of goosebumps appearing on her skin. She shook and sighed passionately.

 

“You were brilliant, darling,” she whispered back. I leaned in close and kissed her neck and she moaned, feeling my lips trail up her neck and fall down to her distinctive collarbone. But before I could continue further down, there was a bang at the door which tore us from the moment. Frustrated, I pulled away and glared at the door. Johnson acknowledged the look and opened the door to reveal the Baron standing there, a smile on his face and coat in hand.

 

“I was wondering if…” he started, trailing off a the sight of the body. His smile broadened and he let himself in, immediately drinking the rest of the hot tea that was now unclaimed. “Good-oh,” he said brazenly. I looked back at my wife, who was also glaring at the man. I turned back to the Baron and forced a smile on my face.

 

“I assume you were aware of the work that he was involved with?” I pondered. The Baron looked at him, eyes narrowed and mouth hung open like a puppet.

 

“Of course,” he said quickly, his face confused and baffled. “He worked for me, before that some crime thing or something…” he trailed off, seeing something behind my eyes, no doubt the red mist that had once again started to build.

 

“Ah!” I exclaimed, moving behind him to Johnson, who carefully and discreetly handed me his revolver. “So, you will know why I killed him then.” The Baron turned to me, the teacup now hanging precariously from his index finger, as if threatening to drop it.

 

“Because I hired you,” the Baron answered, still stupidly believing that he was the smartest in the room.

 

“That you did,” I responded. I moved around him carefully. See, I was trying to find the best spot to fire. Heffson was still being cleaned, bless him, so I didn’t need to worry about him, and I don’t believe my wife or Johnson would particularly like to have an idiot’s brains spread out across their person. I adjusted the Baron accordingly, so his back, and more importantly, the back of his head, was facing an open window. The fresh air that the window provided was a brilliant way of disguising any rotting or putrid smells that might linger in the carriage longer than either I or my wife would prefer. I wasn’t too sure about Johnson, there was much about the man even I found disturbing.

 

“So I don’t see what you’re…” the Baron yelled. Quickly, I raised the revolver and aimed it at the man’s head. He was silent and the sound of the wheels against the tracks returned. My wife had returned to her book, now no longer interested in the event happening before her, much to my dismay. I turned my attention back to the Baron, who had raised his hands in surrender. Johnson kindly walked up behind him and plucked the teacup around his finger and returned it to the rear of the carriage.

 

“I don’t usually do this Baron,” I said, my finger inching closer to the trigger. “But I feel I can make an exception in your case.” Unlike my previous victim, the Baron remained stationary, not attempting to escape or flee at all. I was slightly pleased by this outcome if I am being honest. It was never as much fun, I find, if they think they can get away. I've had people attack me themselves with knives or chairs, but it never feels fun when they do so. I much prefer my victims like the Baron, large and unmoving. Freezing at the first sight of danger, hoping their complicit and abiding nature will allow them their freedom. Of course, it never did.

 

“That man knew of your work,” I said, “your real work.” The Baron’s eyes shifted again, this time fear consumed him and he started to shake his head.

 

“No,” he muttered, “no, no, no.” he fell to the floor, putting a slight dent in my plans. He sobbed for a second before looking up at me. “How did you find out?” he sobbed. I sighed and opened my mouth, but my wife’s groan of boredom distracted me.

 

“Just kill him!” she shouted. “He’s selling and buying women across the country as sex slaves! Well done! Just kill him!” I looked back at the Baron, who was looking at her in shock. I lowered the barrel and rested it against his forehead. The Baron closed his eyes, whispered words I can't be bothered to recite.

 

“Fine,” I sighed and I fired. Blood splattered against the floor, once again staining the carpet that had just been cleaned. The Baron fell forwards and I jumped back, luckily avoiding the second splatter that erupted from the fresh hole in the man’s head. I tossed the revolver to the floor and sat in the still-unstained armchair across from my wife. I sighed in relief and picked up the book that my first victim had been reading. It was called ‘The Frightful Hound’, actually written by an old friend of mine, George Grodger. It was his latest and I had been meaning to purchase it and read it. It was the third book in a trilogy he had been writing, and they had only been getting better as they continued. Anyway, enough about that, as I opened the book, my wife coughed and forced my attention upon her. She was now gesturing to the growing pool of blood that was slowly creeping towards her foot.

 

“Well move your foot, dear,” I suggested. My wife huffed and swivelled in her seat, throwing her legs to the other side and away from the pool. It would stop eventually. The sun was setting now, creating beautiful long shadows across the width of the carriage. The open window carried out the stench of the drying blood and gunpowder smoke, leaving us with the cheery twits of the birds and gentle rocking of the train carriage. Behind me, I heard the train whistle and another passing train returned the greeting. With a sigh and a smile, and a fresh cup of tea from Johnson, I finally rested my hands and opened the book.