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Lumps of Coal, for Luck 
by Alex Grehy

On New Year’s Day, in certain lands, the first visitor to a household carries luck across the threshold in the form of a lump of coal.

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The dead so often lack insight into their own mortality, 

lingering as if they still had business in the world. They

look back along the tracks of their lives, so many 

yesterdays laden with regrets and unfulfilled desires.

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New Year’s Eve at the station. Time to move on! says 

The Conductor. Excited souls gather, thinking that a nice

trip might indeed be restorative, a winter tonic of sentimentality 

blended with the beauty of a vintage steam engine, brasses 

gleaming, smoke pouring rich and savoury like gravy over a

Christmas roast that they do not quite recall enjoying. 

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Don’t forget your coal, The Conductor says, two lumps

each, as per tradition. They take their seats, too thrilled

by the marvellous luxury of first class carriages to wonder

at their destination and who might receive their gifts of coal.  

Glorious mountain views flash between tunnels that seem 

strangely familiar, as if their vision had been narrowed 

before, but The Conductor soothes their vague anxieties 

with champagne and song.

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Snow gathers and frost fingers drift across the windows

oblivious to the hot smoke drifting from the engine, puffing

hard against the strain, wheels slipping on icy rails. The

passengers mutter, the gathering snowdrifts brood like piles 

of old sins, frigid and intense. They cry to The Conductor

who tells them, soothingly, that all the train needs is a little

more fuel, maybe if they gave the boilerman their gifts of 

coal they would soon be out of the cold.

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One by one, he leads them forward, tells them to hold their 

lumps of coal high, as if they were dark lenses against the glare. 

They shiver, finding themselves inexplicably naked, the coal a 

deep shadow against their frost-whitened faces. The Conductor 

smiles, reassuringly, though his passengers are wide-mouthed

with terror. In the engine room they cannot help but lean towards 

the beguiling incandescence of the fire that drives the train. 

Lumps of coal for luck, you’ll be needing it, the boilerman says,

inviting them to throw their tributes to the flames as he swings

his shovel hard, though the souls he sweeps to perdition weigh 

less than the coal they offered to the pyres of hell.

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Fiction © Copyright Alex Grehy
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

More from author Alex Grehy:

Spread: Tales of Deadly Flora

Green Thumbs Beware!

Plants are beautiful, peaceful, abundant, and life-sustaining…

But what if something sinister took root in the soil, awakening to unleash slashing thorns, squeezing vines, or haunting greenery that lured you in? Perhaps blooms on distant planets could claim your heart, hitch a ride to Earth on a meteor, or simply poison you with their essence. Imagine a world where scientists produced our own demise in a lab, set spores free to infect, even bred ferns to be our friends only to witness the privilege perverted. When faced with botanical terror, will humanity fight to survive, or will they curl and wither like leaves in the fall?

Read ten speculative tales ripe with dangerous flora to find out.

Available on Amazon!