I used to be fascinated by diesel locos as a child, always impressed by the vague, terrifying notions of whatever I imagined was caged inside each of those grimy, rolling metal hulks - that which thundered and protested and shook concrete and stone as it passed. Their appearance seemed to me evocative of something relentless, unstoppable and otherworldly - something cold, threatening and immensely dangerous. Throughout my adult life, I've spent more than my fair share of time on Britain's crumbling rail network, but nothing I've seen since seemed to match the power of those old childhood imprints, locked in memory. Trains are obviously very emotive, evocative things - as witnessed by the number of fictional romances, thrillers and chilling supernatural tales concerning themselves with the subject, or perhaps it's the very fact that so many real journeys begin and end with them.

But what if there was always one final train to take? A service we all board at our own designated hour. You may find yourself on that strangely silent platform without warning. Soon, an immense, dark loco pulls in slowly with it's train, crackling and shuddering as some unearthly energy courses angrily beneath it's decaying metal skin. Of course, you are compelled to travel - whatever it's destination may be...

Finally finished!