Night Train

In his bedroom three blocks away from the railroad tracks that split the town in half, Richard hears the train whistle.  Every night at midnight, when the train barrels west towards Garret Tunnel and River Junction, it approaches the grade crossing in the center of town and she blows her whistle.  It’s a lonely sound. The engineer and firemen in the cab and brakeman riding solo in the caboose are the only living souls on the train.  Every day engineer Jonathan Luther hauls freight out of Central Station to River Junction. Every night at midnight as it passes through Richard’s town, Luther brings it near the grade crossing. That’s when Luther pulls the cord and the whistle screams like a wounded banshee wailing through the night. The whistle begins as a harsh, long-drawn-out note before it dies away to a whisper. Pulling the cord, Luther gives three long blasts then a short one then another long blast. The sound bounces off the buildings and echoes through the valley waking Richard up.  Every night Richard rolls over, sits up in bed and glares at the clock on the small nightstand.  “Midnight,” he groans before falling back asleep.  

Luther is alway punctual. People set their watches by him.  But not Richard.  Most people don’t even hear the train anymore.  But not Richard.   

 +++++++

Luther stares down the tracks as the train rumbles onward. Sinister shadows from overhanging trees loom over the tracks as the train’s headlamp captures frozen deer with glowing eyes. Leaning out of the cab of his steam engine, Luther watches the ribbon of steel unfold before him heading towards River Junction and dawn.  David Farmer, the fireman, pulls his bandana from his neck, wipes his brow and reties it around his neck. His face is red from the heat. His shirt is soaked in sweat and grime and cinders.  Propped against the firewall he tapped the glass on the water gauge. The needle remained glued in position. He wipes the cinders from the glass and gives it another flick to work the needle free. It wiggles. Farmer leans on his coal shovel waiting for the gauge to adjust. The needle fluctuated for a few seconds that seemed to stretch on for hours before it rises then starts to drop telling him more coal is needed. Farmed pulls his gloves out from the strap of his denim bib overalls. Putting them on he straddles the platform balancing himself with one foot in the cab and one in the tender. He plows his shovel deep into the pile of coal. Then with a shovel full of coal, he swivels back to the fire box in the cab, steps down on the foot peddle forcing the clam shell hinge on the firebox to spring open. Heat pours out.  The cab glows from the glimmering coals. Ash and coal dust spray out filling the cab with a thick and rich aroma that Farmer and Luther could almost taste. With a toss, Farmer throws coal to the left side of the fire box. The shiny black anthracite coal catches fire.  Letting up on the foot peddle, the door to the firebox closes. He turns around and scoops up more coal from the tender and repeats the process over and over and over.   

 It is Halloween when Richard sneaks out of his house, runs to Jimmy’s and waits in the shadows behind the cluster of naked maple trees that have finally shed their leaves and coated the ground with a carpet of color. From a distance the trees looked dead. Even crouched, hiding behind them Richard thinks they are dead. The bark is rough and cold and damp. Above him branches twist in the breeze.  In the dim moonlight they sway in a macabre dance above him.  

“You got the mirror?” Richard asked for the tenth time when Jimmy joins him in the shadows. 

“Come on, it’s in the garage.” Unwrapping the blankets that hid it from view, Richard grabs one edge of the mirror and Jimmy holds the other end as they march it out of the garage, down the driveway and up the street toward the railroad tracks.  Dried leaves crunch beneath their feet as they make their way across town. Their shadows follow them to the other side of the meadow leading them to the railroad tracks.  There they come over the ridge that looks down on the town. Setting the mirror on the ground Richard and Jimmy peer down the track that runs to Garret Tunnel. In the dark they sit there waiting.

Richard checks his watch. “Jimmy, it’s 11:55.” He pats the mirror.  Rubbing the gold gilded frame, he shouts, “Five more minutes! He’s always on time.” His voice rises with excitement.  “This is going to be so great!”

The mirror is an antique that was salvaged by the boys when the hotel in town was razed a few months ago.   

Jimmy’s fingers turn red in the frigid night air that is almost as cold as Richard’s heart. Jimmy pulls his hood up over his head and dug his hands deep into jeans in an attempt to dispel the chill. 

“Are we,” Jimmy asks stuttering with uncertainty, “still going to do this?”.  “May be we -“

“Sure!” Richard laughs, It’s gonna be great!”  Richard looks down at Jimmy, “You’re so stupid.”  Glaring at Jimmy, Richard makes a guttural clucking sound, “So are you chickening out?” The sound is hard and raspy.

“Let’s go,” With two hands Jimmy grabs hold of the mirror and pulled an end up. A corner of it drags in the mud. 

Richard bounces up. He grabs the mirror and they run up the hill towards the railroad track. Reaching the bend in the track they stand in a straight line to the track. The boys line the mirror up with the track and the approaching train.

“This is going to be so great.”    

The steam engine hauling freight down the mountain lumbers down the tracks when Luther spots the lights of another train heading towards them.  Smoke from the stack rises and dances around the train.  Luther pulls the cord on the whistle. He pulls it hard and long. The whistle screams. WIth two hands he pulls the brake lever toward him. The lights of the oncoming train grow closer and closer on the single track. 

Luther pulls the brake leaver with all his strength and yells, “Farmer jump - save yourself!” The driving wheels skid on the track. The trailing cars buckle. Farmer jumps from the cab and rolls down the embankment to safety.  

The lights of the oncoming train keep coming.  Luther keeps pulling the whistle. The oncoming lights keep coming. Then Luther and his freight train race past the glowing light.  

Three nights later Luther and Farmer are leading the train down the tracks when the lights appear again. They grow closer. The headlamps are heading towards them on the same single track.  

“Farmer, it’s those boys again. They're back.” 

This time it isn’t the boys.