The serpent's song

Henry Miller. 5'2''.  Officially dead as of 5 minutes ago.  Given the size of the wound the compartment is surprisingly clean.  The corpse was found sprawled on one of the bottom bunks with his limbs contorted at odd angles.  It would appear he had the cabin to himself and was discovered only when the porter came to retrieve a some spare pillows therein.  The victim was stabbed at approximately 11 pm. The impromptu doctor is conducting his final tests.  No pulse.  The conductor makes an announcement.  "We are advising everyone to remain in their cabins until tomorrow morning.  Thank you for your patience and cooperation.  Steps are being taken to resolve this issue. Please, don't be alarmed; we believe this to be an isolated incident."  

Bed again.  There is now a middle aged Indian woman with long flowing black hair and a face that is more striking than pretty occupying the dreaded middle bunk opposite the veterinarian.  The room fades out and then as though no time has passed fades back in with a flash of lightning.  Strange music. It's too loud to sleep.  When the lighting strikes a silhouette is visible on the dingy drawn curtain curtain separating us from the corridor.  I survey the cabin attempting to determine wether one of my companions has merely gotten up to use the facilities but they are all accounted for.  I hesitate for a moment remembering the conductor's instructions but I hear another eerily dissonant chord which quickly gives way to a dreamy piece of music coming from an undeterminable and distinctly Indian instrument.  I have to investigate.  Still woozy and disorientated I carefully descend the ladder clinging to the handrail and trying very hard not to bang my head.  As if in a dream I stumble down the musky hall and follow the long string of dim lights lining it.  At last I reach the source of the music.  Compartment 203.  Hesitantly I knock.  The music stops abruptly and a man with the same height as the silhouette comes to the door holding a stringed instrument and looking rather sheepish. "Can I help you with anything?" he inquires his flush more evident contrasting with his complexion.  I suddenly feel awkward in my long white nightgown and stare at my barefoot as I say "The music.. Sorry I thought... well I don't know what I thought."  He looks surprised and says "My apologies madame, I was under the impression the private compartments were sound proof."  I look up. "Thats fine I'm something of an insomniac anyway... Sorry, this is kind of an odd question but were you in the hallway a few moments ago?"  "No, I haven't left my room since I arrived yesterday evening and settled in for the night almost immediately.".  Mystified I left the tall dark haired stranger to his music and made my way back to my own compartment.  The curtain is ajar.  Bloody Hell!  My bag is gone.  

      

Author's Note

Please forgive the fragments and poorly punctuated dialogue