The Pontypool Road Paradox

A shrill whistle blast and gust of air from a passing coal train thundering through slammed Dan Johnson back to the grimy red-brick reality of Pontypool Road Station.

Dan, his head woozy, blinked and glanced around in the cool gentle breeze. Above him, a clock with a shattered face leered down from the smoke-stained canopy; its hands froze in a rictus grin at the cruel joke of the time. Two o’clock in the afternoon, the start of his afternoon shift. But how? His last memory was finishing at ten and walking home.

And then? Confusion, haziness. A brief, terrifying void. Vague memory fragments whirled through his mind. Voices, shouting, and a primal sense of fear. He recalled flashes of brilliant, vibrant colours and swirling lights, a face, a woman.

What the hell? How can I be starting the same shift again?

The station’s long, drab island platform stretched like a desolate runway, its cracked concrete slabs whispering tales of forgotten journeys and unfulfilled dreams.

But today, in the cold, grey now, it was the usual burdened parcel trolleys, dirty benches, and lost luggage. From the buffet, steaming urns, the aroma of freshly baked buns, steak and kidney pies.

On his wrist, an object not part of his uniform. A thick wrist strip made of black leather with three coloured adjacent buttons and a plastic buckle.

What’s this? He ran his fingers across the strip, leather smooth and lukewarm. Curiosity impelled him to press the central red button. With a low whine, the strip gripped tighter around his waist, sending a shearing jolt coursing through him. As it grew warmer, getting hot, he yanked it off with his other hand, sending the strange device clattering onto the grey concrete of the platform. As the whining sound intensified, a blazing hue enveloped the strip, with the pungent smell of burning plastic filling the air. It vanished with a whoosh, leaving an ashen, smoky residue that blew away in the cool, gentle breeze.

Dan gasped as he stared, his heart pounding, his bafflement evident. In all of his twenty years, he’d not seen anything like it.

‘Excuse me, porter,’ said a female voice.

Dan spun around. A woman in her mid-twenties stood there, smartly dressed, with a dark bob haircut and deep, sapphire-blue eyes.

‘Uh, yes,’ Dan said, still unsettled. ‘How can I help?’

‘You look like a helpful young man,’ she said, her voice smooth and velvet. ‘When is the next train to Quakers Yard, please?’

‘Sorry, you’ve just missed it. It went five minutes ago.’

Her face fell. ‘Oh dear. When’s the next one?’

Dan searched through his extensive timetable knowledge. ‘3.10 from the bay platform.’

‘Oh no. That’s over an hour to wait. Anywhere I could go?’

‘There’s the station buffet,’ Dan said, pointing the way.

The woman smiled. ‘Thank you.’

‘My pleasure. Glad to be of service,’ Dan said, raising his cap. ‘Oh, but watch out for Blodwen’s ham sandwiches.’

‘Good or bad?’

‘Oh, definitely bad, and that’s on a good day.’

The woman chuckled. ‘Well, a cup of tea will suffice.’

Dan nodded. ‘Should be a fresh brew in the urn about now.’

‘Lovely,’ the woman said, pausing. ‘Perhaps you’d like some tea as well?’

‘Ah, I’d love to, but I’m on duty, I’m afraid. Another time perhaps?’

The woman drew an enigmatic smile. ‘There’s always time.’

She strode off towards the buffet, leaving Dan aflutter.

‘Aye, aye,’ said another voice, male this time. ‘So that’s where you’ve been?’

Jim, a fellow porter, appeared. Three years older than Dan, he was smoking a cigarette, fair hair poking beneath the rim of his cap. Casual in manner, nonchalant, a rebel with a cause. He had a glint in his blue eyes and an impish grin on his face.

‘Been?’ Dan asked.

‘Haven’t seen you since yesterday. I called around to see if you wanted to go for a pint, and your Uncle Bryn said you hadn’t been home all day.’

Dan saw the void in his mind’s eye — dark, blank, nothing. Confused, he said. ‘I can’t remember.’

Jim gave a knowing smile. ‘I bet you can’t. Bit distracted, eh?’

‘What? Her?’ Dan said. ‘Never seen her before.’

Jim gave Dan another grin. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘No, honest, mun.’

Jim waved a hand. ‘You seemed to hit it off with her.’

‘Just being helpful.’

‘Aye, I bet.’

Dan laughed. ‘All in the line of duty.’

Jim gave him an elbow nudge. ‘Glad you’ve got a new bit of skirt at last. Good luck to you, butty.’

‘Oh no, not yet. I’m still getting over Beth.’

Jim threw up his hands in frustration. ‘You’ve got to move on, Dan. Don’t get stuck in the sidings.’

Dan, moving the discussion on, asked. ‘Anyway, what are you doing here? Thought you were off today?’

Jim flung his cigarette end onto the tracks. ‘They offered me overtime, ten till six shift, so I took it.’

‘You jammy bugger.’

‘I take my opportunities. The van won’t buy itself.’

‘You’re still going into business?’

‘Too damn right. I won’t be stuck here forever.’

‘Forever’s a long time.’

‘Aye, too right, Danny boy. That’s why you’ve got to grab every chance. See you later,’ Jim said, turning to leave.

‘Oi, where are you going? There’s parcels here for the Plymouth train.’

‘I won’t be long; I’m popping down the goods shed for a business meeting,’ Jim said with a wink.

‘Aye, you want to be careful, you do.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Jim said. ‘Discretion is my middle name.’

‘Amongst others.’

‘Look, if I don’t see you before, pop up the Oily Rag later, and I’ll buy you a pint.’

Dan considered his offer. ‘No, if it’s all the same. I feel like an early night.’

‘You and your early nights. I tell you, butt. Time is passing you by. Don’t get left behind.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Right, in that case, get in that buffet and see your new friend. She wants you to.’

‘I know, but I’m working.’

Jim rolled his eyes and tutted. ‘Don’t worry about that. Get in there. I’ll cover for you. Go on.’

‘Alright. Thanks, Jim. I owe you one.’

‘Aye, a pint up the club later will do.’

Dan nodded and headed for the buffet. Pushing open the dark brown door with its frosted glass panes, he peered inside. Only three passengers were inside: a vicar, an old lady and a farmer. Dan took off his cap, scratching his head. There was no other exit, but there was no sign of the woman.

She’d vanished.

* * *

With his shift end nearing, Dan’s last duty hung in the air like a lead weight: seeing through the 9.58pm local to Newport, a ghost train, usually the preserve of a few late stragglers off for an extended night out. Dan’s only task was to close any open doors and ensure everything was safe. The train rolled in, one of the new diesel multiple units. Most of the older drivers were disciples of steam and didn’t like them. It clunked and rattled to a brake-squealing stop at the platform. A man and a woman got off.

Driver Ivor Jones popped his head out of the cab window, his face obscured by an unnatural shadow cast by his cap. ‘Danno! How’s it going, kid? Still working hard?’

‘Aye, not bad,’ Dan replied, a tremor in his voice he couldn’t understand. ‘Just about to finish... Tired and ready for my bed.’

Ivor’s laughter echoed all around. ‘Tired! Try doing a twelve-hour night shift on the Crumlin Banker. Then you’ll know what tired is.’

‘Alright,’ said Dan, not in the mood for banter.

‘Are you getting on? Panteg and Griffithstown’s next stop.’

‘No thanks, Ivor. I’ll walk back tonight. No rush.’

‘Are you sure? The boogeyman might be about, mind,’ Ivor cautioned with a playful tone.

‘Yes, thanks. I want to think about things.’

‘Well, don’t dwell too much; it’s not good for you. See you around, kid,’ said Ivor.

A blast from the guard’s whistle pierced the air, jolting the train awake with a rasping growl. It lurched forward, grumbling its farewell to the station.

The guard’s whistle shrieked, a sharp counterpoint to the station’s lull. With a shudder and raspy rattle, the train rattled away from the platform.

A suffocating foreboding surrounded Dan, as thick and oppressive as the enveloping night.

* * *

As Dan trudged home, he found solace in the Black Ash Path, a gritty serpent of compacted coal dust that wound southwards alongside the steel veins of the railway tracks, beckoning him home to Griffithstown.

But the familiar path felt alien tonight, the air thick with an unsettling silence punctuated only by the distant pounding of the steelworks, and pistons, hissing, and screeching whistles of locomotives shunting in the nearby marshalling yards.

A shiver danced down Dan’s spine as he reached the dead-end siding, as generations of railwaymen knew it. A row of rusty coal wagons, caked with grime, and a ragged guard’s van languished on the worn section of track, abandoned for the weekend.

Standing sentinel nearby was the shunter’s shed, a ramshackle wooden structure scarcely larger than a phone box. It loomed in the night like a battered, upright wooden coffin. Inside lay the tools of the shunter’s trade, detonators and the like, along with dark shadows and a waiting legion of fat spiders.

The air filled with the stench of ozone, and a burst of otherworldly blue-white light erupted from a broken window, followed by the explosive splintering of wood.

Two ragtag masked guerrilla fighters, clad in combat gear and wielding chunky sling rifles, burst out from the shed.

‘Where the hell are we, Tal?’ asked one figure; the voice, feminine and laced with urgency, sliced through the sudden stillness.

‘It’s the wrong place. We need to go back. They’ll be on us like clockwork,’ the other figure said, his voice tinged with panic.

‘There’s no time. We can’t open a Timeshift Point yet,’ said the woman.

Dan shielded his eyes as another blinding flash of electric blue and white illuminated the surroundings.

The air crackled with energy, sending sparks dancing through the darkness.

‘Too late,’ the male rasped. ‘Here they are,’ his words were cut short as three figures emerged from the nightmare. Cloaked in sleek, menacing armour, their faces obscured by helmets with glowing green visors, they wielded weapons that shimmered with an otherworldly hum.

The air sizzled as they unleashed a torrent of blue-green fire, one of the guerrilla fighters dropping shrieking to the tracks like a puppet before dissolving in a blinding flash as the energy weapon ripped apart the target on a molecular level.

The woman raised her weapon and fired. Superheated air screamed as bullet rounds ripped back, striking a helmeted figure.

A shriek erupted from the victim - a high-pitched monstrosity warped and amplified by the visor into a terrifying howl.

The remaining troopers, visors reflecting the death throes of their comrade, whipped around in a deadly ballet. Their plasma rifles spat a vengeful hail of bolts.

Dan’s heart hammered against his ribs. From his hiding spot, he watched with bated breath as the woman darted up the tracks with a frantic rhythm. Behind her, the armoured figures gave chase with relentless determination.

The air crackled with tension, every heartbeat pounding in his ears as he prayed for her escape. Time slowed as the pursuer drew closer to the prey, the outcome uncertain. Locked in a deadly pursuit, the scene unfolded with a raw intensity, each step bringing them closer to the brink of confrontation.

Stumbling from behind the wagon, Dan’s mind reeled as he processed the gravity of what he’d seen.

A distant blast of gunfire and a bloodcurdling scream shattered the silence, echoing through the stillness, followed by another flash.

Dan’s heart pounded, each beat a drum of apprehension as he strained to discern the source of the chaos. Tension hung thick in the air, suffocating him with uncertainty as he braced himself for what might come next.

He turned, but collided with a solid figure - the female fugitive! She clamped a hand over his mouth, muffling his yelp. ‘Not a word,’ the woman hissed. Her voice, barely a tremor, sounded familiar.

As she released him, Dan turned to face her. It was the woman from the station, staring at him with an intense, hawk-like gaze from her blue eyes.

‘It’s you,’ Dan said.

The woman, puzzled, replied. ‘Sorry, have we met?’

‘Yes, at the station earlier. You wanted to go to Quaker's Yard.’

She drew a horrified expression. ‘Well, I haven’t. Not yet anyway.’

Dan stared at her. ‘What do you mean, not yet?’

She sighed. ‘It’s complicated. You might have met me there, but I haven’t met you yet.’

‘That doesn’t make sense.’

Her eyes burned with a desperate urgency.‘There’s no time to explain.’

‘Find time.’

She rounded on Dan. ‘Look, I know you’re scared. But trust me, I’m not the enemy.’

‘What the hell’s going on?’ Dan blurted.

‘More than you can handle. Where can I hide?’

Dan’s voice trembled as he uttered, ‘Follow me.’

He led her to the guard’s van. ‘Climb up and stay in there.’

‘Thank you,’ she breathed, exhaustion etching lines on her face.

The question burned on Dan’s lips. ‘Who are you?’

‘Doesn’t matter. The less you know, the better. Just forget what you’ve seen.’

Dan wanted to argue, but the fear in her eyes mirrored his own. ‘But…’

She cut him off. ‘Shut up, or they’ll find us.’

A crunch of a footstep from outside. She snapped her head around.

‘What?’ Dan whispered.

She waved at him to be quiet.

After more crunching footsteps, she calmly reached inside a pocket and retrieved a wrist strip device with its three coloured buttons, exactly like the one he’d had. She was wearing an identical one.

Dan stared at it open-mouthed. ‘How have you got that?’

She groaned. ‘This is just getting better. You’ve seen this before?’

‘Yes, I had it on earlier. Don’t know where it came from.’

‘Where is it now?’

‘Gone, it melted.’

She facepalmed. ‘Oh, great! A Recursive Origin Paradox. I’ll have to fix this.’

Dan’s head reeled as he stared at her. He had no idea what she was talking about. ‘What is this all about? Tell me.’

‘Shut up, listen and put that on. Press the red button.’

Dan shook his head. ‘No, I said it got hot and melted.’

‘I can’t explain now. Put it on, or you’ll be dead.’

‘Dead?’

Before she could answer, troopers burst into the guard's van. ‘Hold it. Don’t move,’ one barked.

Sarah pushed a button on her own wrist device and faded from existence, her dematerialising form surrounded by flashes and sparks.

Dan, desperate and with nothing to lose, slammed a fist on the button on his device. A whine filled his head, and with a clunk and a flash, the interior of the guard's van stretched away into a swirling vortex of spinning multi-coloured shapes. Dan was moving without the sensation of movement, right through the centre of the vortex.

As he tumbled through the maelstrom, ahead, at the centre of the vortex, was a glowing, luminous expanse. Terrified, gasping, lost, Dan’s mind gave way, plunging him into a deep, soothing darkness.