The clock on the tower of The Railway Hotel always read 12.40.

Not a second less nor a second more. Always precisely 12.40.

After some initial and agonising lengths, The Swimmer realised this and sighed. The sigh came from the slight irritation but mostly came from the exercise. It had been a long time she had been in a pool. Her arms ached instantly, her lungs groaned in agony, and her legs struggled. She looked to the left at the two pool clocks and noted that only ten minutes had floated by. She planted two feet on the ledge at the deep end, and sighed again, leaning her head against the big, red, rope barrier.

“The pool claims another one,” said a gruff voice behind her, causing her to jump. The Lifeguard chuckled and pointed to the water beside The Swimmer. With a quizzical brow, The Swimmer looked to her left and noticed that her hair band was sinking down to the bottom. The Lifeguard, a young black man who wore a uniformed red shirt and shorts, laughed and walked away.

“Shit,” she said, as the black band now went beyond her grasp. She added her now difficult, loose, thick hair to a list of excuses to climb out of the swimming pool. Instead of exercise, she thought about tucking into the Moroccan chicken she saw served at a nearby the café. The thought of shovelling the spiced meat into her mouth as the plastic fork scraped up sauce and grease excited her. Her stomach even quivered a little bit.

The Swimmer hesitated. She was about to paddle over to the ladder when she glanced at the lanes of the pool and realised that the Leisure Centre was eerily quiet. There was just her, The Lifeguard, and two other people swimming up and down like she was. One was a rotund man with grey hair who was merely just a blur as he hurried with his front crawl, splashing back and fourth. The other was a skinny young woman: She wore a pink cap that covered every single wisp of hair yet in spite of this she kept her head completely above water. There were little huffs from her lips as she relegated her breathing. The Swimmer hated her just a little for the precision and effort.

Regardless of Front Crawl Man and Pink Cap Woman, there was no chatter. No child squealed in delight as they splashed each other with water. No instructor bellowed for accurate leg kicks. No people gossiped with each lap they took. It was peaceful, almost. Maybe idyllic. Just the soft splashes of a proud swimmer and the exhaled breath of a routine one.

Huff. Splash. Huff. Splash. Huff. Splash.

Angelic.

Another sigh. A hectic and miserable year had drove The Swimmer’s grubby hands into junk-food, alcohol and cigarettes. Her unhappiness wasn’t making a drastic impact on her health but she felt sluggish and not like her peppy self at all. Partly because of the miserable year. Partly because of the cluster of bad food choices. She thought about keeping herself active and keeping herself fit, using the swims to propel herself into health. It wasn’t as though she were obese but she was curved and extra pounds had pushed her outside of comfortable. She wanted to be happy again – in herself. Bad years come and go but she was determined not to let this one alter who she was forever.

A reflection of The Railway Hotel was obscured on the surface of the pool, it’s tall turret like a kaleidoscope picture.  A cool shiver danced delicately down her spine as she pulled herself deeper into the water to cover her skin with warmth. At the same time, The Swimmer allowed the silence to ripple over her and decided that she’d keep on swimming. Her body groaned at the decision but she knew that she had to push passed the wall and get back into the flow. Pardon the pun, she thought in a silly manner and giggled, blowing little splashes as she did so.

She passed half-way, nearing the brown brick of the shallow-end, her stupid thought was followed by an eerie one – that she shouldn’t keep her back to The Railway Hotel. The feeling creeped like adrenaline into her legs and arms and she dashed quickly towards the other end and turned around, heavily breathing as she faced the building. Her heart gave a little twinge. “Fuck,” she whispered, prompted by the random rattle of pain and panic. “I’m really out of shape.”

The Swimmer used her palm to calm her body down, hoping that the familiarity of her hands would ease her heart up and she could relax for a bit. She kept her eyes fixed on The Railway Hotel.

Before she took a lengthy break, the world of busyness and laziness grabbing at her heals and keeping her on dry land, she used to frequent this pool every Saturday. No more and no less. Yet as she kept herself fit, pacing up and down the lanes, she never once noticed the hotel lurking through the big panel windows. Thick black lettering below the clock and above the turret windows read AD 1880. Knowing that the building had stood for a substantial amount of time and yet never entered her preview settled in the worse way within her. She stared at it like you would a huge spider in the corner of your room, never wavering in fear of it suddenly disappearing.

She soaked in every last detail of the building and began to laugh at herself. The chuckle was only half-enthusiastic, like a cover for all the tension building up insider her. As you try to make the spider seem more ridiculous, it’s over-sized legs haphazardly running across the wall, she tried to make a mockery of The Railway Hotel. Especially because the numbers of the clock she had been so intensely watching before were actually letters that spelled out the name of the establishment. She rolled her eyes and a blink yelled “idiot.”

Still, she felt squeamish. With an eye still on the hotel, she dismissed it as hunger and decided on just a few more laps before she climbed out.

Suddenly twenty minutes had gone by without her realising it. It’s funny how the water just takes you. Each stride and you are further from your thoughts, listening to that babble around her ears as her heavy, dilapidated breathing soon became as precise as Pink Cap’s though she still wheezed in places. Her pool companions still swam and she wondered if they too were lost in the man-made tides that surrounded them.

Huff. Splash. Huff. Splash. Huff. Splash.

Now facing The Railway Hotel, The Swimmer debated between getting out after such a healthy amount of exercise or pushing herself a little bit forward. A few more minutes would hardly hurt her now and, again, she noted that the calm quiet of the Leisure Centre had skimmed away any unease she had before. In such a populated town as Brixton, what kind of chance would this happen again – really?

Keeping her sights on the water, she now treated the building like a looming teacher or Police Officer, avoiding any eye contact in order to avoid any trouble. She studied the grey sky reflected on the surface as the ripples blurred the hotel into brown and white-washed brick. Its distortion was less…terrifying.

She concentrated on different types of light and dark greys and the railway where the hotel got its name. She allowed her mind to drift, imagining the different types of trains that have passed by throughout the centuries. Steam to deiseal to electric. She thought on the thousands, if not millions, of souls that have been carted across the same steal rails. One direction below, one direction next to The Railway Hotel.

As The Swimmer pulled herself closer to the Hotel’s side, ignoring its presence in her peripherals, she saw something strange in the reflection of the railway. She slowed her strokes down to truly look at it as it shifted and shaped with the water. A round black figure seemingly stood close the turret of the hotel, arms in crucifix against the train railings. The shock of such an appearance caused her to break her promise and stare directly at The Railway Hotel.

A big gasp pulled a huge gulp of water into her throat. She spluttered from the shock, forgetting instantaneously how to swim. Panicked, she started to tread water, afraid that the pool would take her for not being wary. Trying to not sink to the deep end by paddling in one spot, she watched aghast as a stocky man clung to the sides of the railway. He faced away from her, leaning against the metal bars and faced the abyss of the tracks. A long navy trench coat flapped in the wind.. With one hand, he wrapped his white knuckles around the railing. The other hand held a briefcase, making his balance look utterly uneven. A man on the edge. The Swimmer couldn’t keep her eyes off him.

Then the man turned. The train came into view. For a second, no more and no less, she swore he locked eyes with her. His expression nauseated her. The Man on the Tracks was so terrified that his face looked deformed from fear. So earthly shade of pale matched the colour of his skin. His eyes were tortured and appalled. Tears glistened. He shook his head at her and dropped the briefcase. It broke open and out billowed seemingly thousands of papers. Then she heard the train horn. Then he turned away.

Then…

“No!” She bellowed. In the space of seconds and without thinking, she quickly  crawled over to  the side. Using whatever strength was powering her right now, she leaped out of the water. She rushed to the window and saw…

Nothing. Nothing at all. No train had stopped, bloodied by the jumper. No screams and sirens screeched in the distance. No briefcase broken open. No papers in the wind. No sign of what she saw.

She flipped to see if anyone else had witnessed the same but was met with the huff and the splash of her two water-based companions. Confusion spread across her face. The big concerned eyes of the businessman felt so real, burning still in her mind as light stains from a screen.

The Swimmers head felt light. She grabbed her stomach which had bloated and gurgled from the stress. She wished she had her hair-tie because her clumped slimy hair descending down her shoulders weighed her down, and stressed her out. If she were alone, truly alone, she’d take off her swimsuit to stop it from feeling like metal against her skin. She looked again at the scene, expecting a different result. The hope melted into remorse and guilt as she wished for the death of a stranger more so than evidence of her momentary insanity. That thought scared her more than anything.

She could feel her heart in her throat when the lifeguard came pacing over. Shit, she thought as she watched his expression turn to concern for her. He extended an arm as though he were wrapping it alongside her shoulder and she stepped back, knowing that if he would so much as brush her then her stress would dissolve into a panic attack. She kindly lifted a hand and said “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, I just…” She tried to come up with an explanation that didn’t hint and some serious illness, physical or mental. “I just….saw…I’m just really tired.”

“I understand” he said, smiling. “Do you think you need medical assistance? I should really take a look at you.”

“No I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Please take your time, miss, going back into the water, yeah. There is no rush.”

“I think,” she said with a deep breath, hoping as with the last, that it would be the breath which would bring her back to normalcy. “I think I just oughta go home.”

“Are you sure?” The Lifeguard’s smile seemed more sweeter than usual. “We’ve honestly never been quieter. It’s a blessing, really.”

The Swimmer had brought her heart-rate back down to the Earth, following an open-stretched hand to the glassy and near still waters of the pool. She starred at it, entranced. It looked so welcoming. She thought about how relaxed she’d become, just pacing up and down in the world of her own mind. Her mind drifted somewhat, imagining the controlled water turning into soft comforting arms and cooing her like a child as she slept. Her face flushed. “Maybe one more,” she whispered.

“That’s the spirit” said The Lifeguard, clicking his fingers at her. Despite clearly being 10 years her junior, he wagged an authoritative finger at her: “But I’ll be keeping a close eye on you.”

Against her better judgement, she took one last look at The Railway Hotel before she jumped in. A face in the turret window snuck out behind lace. A small clasp of air pushed through her lips. Closing her eyes and snapping them open, the face had disappeared.

What the hell is in the chlorine?

Instead of jumping back in, she tentatively stepped down and sat on the ledge. She spent a few moments listening to her undeterred new friends as they swam. Huff. Splash. Huff. Splash. Huff. Splash.

The noises seemed louder this time. They had their desired affect. The visions that she saw melted further away as she dipped into the pool.

The Swimmer decided on the best course of action in order to avoid starring at The Railway Hotel. On laps away, she’d do a breast-stroke. On laps toward, she’d swim on the back and stop before the end, edging backwards then taking off on her front again. She’d look ridiculous but she didn’t care. She just knew it was the only way she could finish her swim in peace.

Still, two sets of eyes kept burning in her skull.

Huff. Splash. Huff. Splash. Huff. Splash.

She timed her breathing to the only sounds she could make and took off, enjoying the new system in place. The Swimmer let her mind drift again as she escaped the grasps of The Railway Hotel. She instead concentrated on her arms. Like a prayer two hands started at her chest. The pushed out and straightened completely. As the tips glided to their furthest point, she bent her legs like a frog. The two sets of legs and arms then circled together, propelling her forward. Breath. Repeat. Clockworks in motion.

Swimming helped. Swimming was good. Swimming was peace.

That was a lot of thought for one measly lane. Suddenly she was gripping the shallow end wall with the same tightness as the man she imagined just minutes ago. The same white knuckles baring. She couldn’t help but wonder on how she saw them with such detail. So vivid in her mind that the terror within her felt as though those same knuckles were punching their way out.

She realised she was afraid to go back. “Come on” she whispered – urging herself to leave the wall, “Come on this is stupid.”

Huff.

Splash.

She bounced in the water before pushed herself off the wall and back into the water. Looking high at the sky through the glass ceiling, she noted that the clouds were darker as the day started to close. She wondered how long she’d actually been in the water and wished she had the courage to turn her head and face the clock on the wall. The voice inside her kept her head still and straight.  So she concentrated on the clouds, allowing her thoughts to descend until it was nonsensical. After all, how many shades of grey could one have?

She wondered how close she was to the pool and turned ever so softly to see how close she was (or how far away she was) from The Lifeguards’ chair. As she was now kicking away from him, she realised she was close to the other side. The Railway Hotel side. Clenching her teeth, she put her head straight again and that’s when she noticed the smoke.

Even though the colours can be the same, it’s easy to separate smoke from clouds. The former is fast and thick and haunting. It rushes across the sky with utmost menace. There was so much of it that it nearly turned darkened the entirety of the glass ceiling.

The Swimmer broke her promise. She spun around and saw The Railway Hotel. It stood still like a beast on a mountain. Only it was entirely on fire. Ferocious flames lit windows like the gates of hell. Smog swelled and ascended into the sky like demons were spewing from whatever gaps they could find, gleeful in their freedom.

Then she could smell the burning. Then she could hear rapid thuds, loud and panicked, followed by screams. Then…

The Swimmer stopped and screamed: “Fire! OH MY GOD FIRE”

This time she stayed in the water, transfixed on one window as hands scraped and pounded, desperately clawing their way out. The Swimmer was frozen. The punches in her stomach were tearing her up but her legs only waded, keeping her head above water. I have to do something, The Swimmer thought and yet she couldn’t even turn her head. She wanted to yell but was overcome by the water. The hands grew frantic – no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t break the glass. The face came into view. A woman. Pressing her cheek against the cool glass for relief from the heat, screeching alongside her fingers and pleading for help. Wisps of ash clung to her blonde hair, smudges of smoke on her cheek. The Woman in the Fire had that same expression as the man. The Swimmer felt sick again as tears came to her eyes.

“Oh god,” she moaned in utmost horror.

As if she heard The Swimmer, the woman turned suddenly, locking eyes with the young, paddling girl. Please, the woman mouthed, please help me.

It pushed The Swimmer to find strength. She turned around and yelled: “Somebody help!”

But…

The pool was dark and empty. Not even The Lifeguard sat upon his high chair. There was no Huff. There was no Splash. Just silence and darkness. That’s when The Swimmer realised that it was suddenly night time. As fright coursed through her, the pleading woman’s face still echoing in fragments upon her mind, a worried perplexity followed. The Swimmer looked up immediately and noted the stars that were in the sky. Not a cloud in sight. The Swimmer couldn’t decide whether the image of two people dying was worse than the absolute cocktail of bewilderment and dread that curdled inside her.

She turned in the direction of which she did not want to turn.

It stood against the dark blue canvass with several lights on. The “clock” face stared out of the dark. It was not lit up but it’s white face was noticeable. The Railway Hotel had not been doused in flame. There was not a hint of burning anywhere. In fact, the building looked the most immaculate that it had ever been.

The lights across the pool suddenly switched off and she realised she was completely alone. In the turret of The Railway Hotel, that same face peered from the lace. The Swimmer fell backwards into the water from the shock. So many different eyes of the dying surrounded her mindsight as she plunged down into the darkness. Completely submerged in the water, The Swimmer’s heart panged in emergency. She tried swimming up, snapping her eyes open but met with the pitch black of the pool. Hysterically, she just tried to swim up. Up, up, up and out of the pool. Then…

Hands grabbed at her loose thick hair, pulling her towards the abyss. Many different hands all clasping at strands. She thrashed, trying to escape their grasp, causing pain as clumps of hair were pulled viciously from her skull. She shouted. She screamed. But the water muffled her anguish. There was no one coming to help.

She struggled to breath. Her heart ached. Her stomach turned.

Huff. Splash.

The Swimmer screamed as a spotlight descended on her last, painful, breaths. A new darkness came over her as her lungs and heart started to give up…

***

“Hey hey hey, it’s OK. It’s OK. We’ve got you, we’ve got you.” A soothing voice.

“You’ll need to calm down, Miss, if you want us to help you.” A familiar one.

“Look, hey, you need to stop thrashing otherwise we can’t get you free.” A stern one

They all cut through her screaming.

The Swimmer snapped her eyes open and stopped screaming immediately, realising that she was alive. The day was bright and beaming, in spite of the clouds. The pool was no longer silent. She could hear children play, laugh even. And she was alive, floating horizontally in the pool. The Swimmer was becoming further from agitated as she fumbled to get vertical. There was a pull on her hair causing her to instantly start to thrash again.

“Stop, stop,” said came the soothing voice, a woman’s. “You’re hair is tangled on these ropes, we just need to get you free.”

The Swimmer froze instantly. Trepidation caused her to hesitate in her thanks. For finally she realised what had happened as dainty fingers pulled and untangled her hair from the barriers beside her. She looked around and saw the faces of Huff and Splash. The Pink Cap and the Front Crawl. The Woman in the Fire and The Man on the Tracks. The Man holding her in place as The Woman untied her from the lane ropes. The Lifeguard observed from the edge.

Puzzle pieces began to fall into place. The exercise, the empty stomach, the unhappy worried thoughts must’ve caused her to see things. Hallucinate. Projecting nightmares onto the side of The Railway Hotel. She breathed out a sigh of relief.

“I must’ve…” The Swimmer gulped. As The Woman, and The Man and The Lifeguard circled. “I must’ve worked myself too hard. I’m hungry… I just got disorientated.”

“I think I should definitely give you medical attention,” said The Lifeguard, concerned again as the last of her hair was weaved out from the ropes. Sheepishly, The Swimmer became upright, finding footing on the Deep End ledge.

“Are you OK?” said the Woman.

The Swimmer nodded silently, deciding it was time to leave to save herself from embarrassment.

***
The Swimmer barely dried, dressed quickly, and bolted out of the Recreation Centre. She peeled down a side street, fearing that every person who passed her on the street was aware of her moronic moment. Her face burned red as pale pink trainers bounced her away from scene of the crime. She buried her hands into her purple jacket, hoping she’d get to the bus stop quickly.

It was a few beats of panic more when she realised that she was somewhat lost.

Then she saw it. The Railway Hotel. It took over an entire corner, stretching down two directions. It looked taller somehow, dominating the sky with it’s Clock Tower and mystery.  Every window had curtains closed and the entranced seemed bordered up and painted with dark blue. She took a deep breath and suddenly the doors were open.

Much like the top of the hotel from the swimming pool, The Swimmer wondered why she hadn’t seen this place before. A familiar quiver shattered through her but it didn’t push her away. It coaxed her in. Curiosity pulled on her hand as she found herself in front of the reception, looking around at the décor. Sage coloured wallpaper offset the white washed wood-lining. Furniture had a emerald green colour and gold furnishings, dated. It looked like cheap vintage but a history of expense was tired into. The reception had wooden slates but the floors of the dining room to one side, and the bar to the next one were beige.

There was no soul there. No warm face to greet her. No bustle of hotel. Nothing. On the counter of the reception, a key lay. Room 23.

The Swimmer didn’t say much. She didn’t turn and rush out the door. She instinctively grabbed the keys. A peculiar knowing made her start to work. Her pink trainers bounced up the stairs. She followed guided up and up and up, spiralling up as though she were heading to the clock tower. The room in the turret. She stepped in. The door closed. The routine began.

The Swimmer pulled back the lace curtains and found herself starring directly at a pool as a woman paced up and down, long thick hair A familiarity descended. A train horn blew and she was startled, turning to face the railway. She saw The Man on the Tracks. He now stared directly at her, that same deathly expression, shaking his head before he leaped in front of the train. In moments, the smoke began to obscure The Swimmer’s view of the pool. She heard The Woman in the Fire pleading.

Night descended, The Swimmer looked out. A spotlight focused on the pool. She felt The Swimmer drowning…

***

“The hotel claims another.” The Lifeguard smiled, through bitter tears, as screaming echoed from the room turret room above. Sitting on the edge of the bed, watching  TV, he flipped from channel to channel. The image never changed. No matter how hard he wanted it to. A child stands in the middle of the road. A bus loud and fast rushes towards him. Imminent disaster. Grief and horror in the air as a woman screams. A man – The Lifeguard – runs from outside The Brady’s Barr to grab the child. When he gets there, the kid is gone. The bus has not. It is an agonising minute of footage that has played over and over again.

The Brady’s Bar stood derelict and abandoned as many hurried by. The rush was not from fear, though many more in tune folk would shudder at it’s cold glance. Boarded up blue windows gave fright to many and all in Brixton. The emptiness caused the building to fade into the background. Its funny because if people paid attention, they’d realise it wasn’t always a pub.

The building was something completely different. You can tell because a clock tower has stayed the same, with the numbers reading The Railway Hotel.

The time on the clock time stays always at 12.40. No more and no less.