The Railroad Apartment

The grinding sound of metal on metal as a key is inserted into a lock. Pins are pushed into alignment within a cylinder. The key turns, and a rotating cylinder retracts the bolt. The door releases from the jam.

First through the door is Abner, business manager for the building owned by his brother. He is in his 50s, unkempt, in a body thats too big or a suit thats too small.

Whitney - early 30s, black curly hair, glasses dresses stylish but on a budget - appears from behind Abner, standing just beyond the door threshold.

“Okay, it’s a railroad.” Abner says with an unplaceable accent. “The large bedroom is in the front. You have to pass through the other room to get to it, you know a railroad. Full bath, and half bath just off the kitchen over to the left. It’s eat-in if you have the right table. Hardwood floors, just polished, so don’t scratch. The kitchen is all new appliances. If you want to paint the wallsyou must paint them back before you leave. No pets. Laundry in the basement. Central A/C. Fitness room. I need first and last for deposit.”

Whitney takes a circular stroll around the unit’s living and kitchen spaces. Pokes her head in the bathroom, flushes the toilet, turns on the shower. Inspects the “new” appliances in the kitchen. At first glance, these two spaces alone are double the size of any previous apartment.

“I could lead a large yoga class in here!…Not a lot of light though.” Whitney says

“Uh, yeah that is the problem with the railroad style. The front, lots of sunlight. Rest of the apartment, not so much.”

“And the listing is not a type-o or anything right. That is the rent?”

“Yes, that is the price.”

“Okay, because 1 bedroom, two bath, this much space, in the middle of downtown, right next to the subway, doorman, elevator, parking, all of it for that price, is well a little impossible if you don’t mind me saying. I have been to a dozen other places and they are at least double - triple - this price with half the amenities. So what’s the catch? You hit me with hidden fees when I sign, or this place actually belongs to a family of ghosts and I am their tenant?”

“No, no, nothing like that….here, come with me. Stay close.” Abner says moving towards a door centered on the wall of the living room, opposite the front door. He grips the doorknob and begins to turn but before he pulls back on the brass handle, he checks his watch. He gives Whitney a stern look and reminds her, “Stay close.”

The door opens to a vast void of blackness. Abner steps forward, Whitney close behind, as instructed. She immediately feels a drop in temperature and a rush of air blows through her curly black hair. She is pulled by some invisible force. A sudden jolt and she’s standing in darkness but the atmosphere feels different, bigger and airier. The ground is hard and uneven, like metal on top of rock. She bends down, using her hands to search around for some explanation. Her hands grip cold steel rails running parallel, arms length from each other. Her curiosity prevents her from keeping up with Abner.

“I told you to stay close, come on we need to move.” Abner has his phone flashlight out. She notices a small doorway of light at the far end.

A tunnel? She thinks.

She looks behind her but sees much of the same, nothing.

“What the hell is this?” She asks.

“It’s a railroad tunnel. Above our heads, massive mountain, not sure which one or where it is. But that’s what it is.”

“Ok weren’t we just in an apartment heading to a bedroom..How did we get-?”She doesn’t know how to finish.

“See that doorway at the end, with the light, that’s the bedroom.We need to pass through this to get to the bedroom. Listing said railroad, no lies, is truth. Come, we don’t have much time.”

“Much time for what?”

“The train. It’s a railroad tunnel, we don’t have much time before the train.” Abner says getting a move on, Whitney follows.

Within a couple of minutes they reach the end of the tunnel. Abner disappears into a doorway of shimmering light. Whitney can’t help but look behind her. A rumbling in the distance gains speed. A circular light, floating high in the air, grows as it approaches. Hot air rushes towards her. She is frozen as the face of a diesel engine materializes from the darkness. A hand grabs her shoulder and she is pulled back into the white light.

Whitney is disoriented as the blinding light dissipates and a room comes into focus. What she sees now, astounds her more than where she just came. A large corner bedroom, wraparound floor to ceiling windows with unobstructed views of the city spreading uptown and to the east, exposed brick. Double doors leading to a walk-in closet. Another door leading to her full bath.

“What do you think? You like?

Whitney looks at him in contemplation. Weighing all the pros and cons.

“So I have to do that every time I want to go to the bedroom?”

“Or leave yes, but it’s not that same every time. Here when we go back I will show you.”

Abner opens the door, and they are met with the same routine as before, only instead of a mountain tunnel, they are traversing a narrower track with fences of animal pens running parallel to the rails like the walls of a canyon. It’s a train through a petting zoo. The goats, sheep, mules, and other barnyard friends, nip at them as they run by. And the train? A downscaled version of a steam locomotive, sized for children. Conductor Conrad, in matching blue pin striped overalls and cap, drives from sitting atop the tiller, his bulky legs hang down. He’s large and grumpy and doesn’t like people on his track. He has some choice words for Abner.

They’re back in the living room. Abner sees reluctance on Whitney’s face to accept such an extraordinary situation.

“I waive deposit and rent is controlled.”

“Deal.” Whitney extends her hand to ceremoniously close the transaction.

Lease signed. Checks certified. The keys in hand At long last, Whitney had a place of her own. Sure there’s an active unexplained phenomenon between her and her bedroom. But rent control, at a tenth what she should be paying anywhere else, and amenities. She can live with the portal, she just needed to learn how it worked and follow the rules.

Short of any explanation, Abner was able to provide a train schedule. The trains came once an hour always at the same minute mark (:47) regardless of the track. She hung up small LED screens on the outside of each door, counting down the time until the next train. As long as she steered clear of trying to get across anywhere around the :47 minute mark, she was safe.

For the most part Whitney adapted to life in the railroad apartment. She rebalanced her schedule. Never taking the risk if she was within a few minutes of the arrival time. She determined there was no clear determination as to which track appeared at which time. After passing through the railroad. A close of the door reset the destination into a repeating shuffle of options.

There was the mountain tunnel, with the big diesel.

A grimy city subway station.

The kiddie train in the petting zoo with the cantakerous Conductor Connie.

And a bridge that stretched across a desert ravine, this came with a beastly Baldwin Locomotive. This proved to be the most treacherous and the one that reinforced the adherence to the schedule.

About six weeks or so after moving in, the morning sun pours in through the windows, spilling warmth and sunshine on her face. She rolls over and grabs the analog alarm clock her grandmother gave her. It’s the kind with the bells on top, well-crafted, perfectly engineered to guarantee the correct time all day, everyday. Except two. She puts the clock down and checks her phone. Her eyes grow wide, and jumps out of bed.

“Suck a dick Daylights saving!” She shouts rushing into the bathroom.

In her haste, she disregards her normal routine and completes the bare minimum. Within five minutes she’s showered, clothed with barely a second for primping. She tears open the bedroom door and runs in.

The LED screen reads 00:01:18 until next train.

A whoosh sucks her into the endless and she reappears out in a wide open desert landscape. It’s flat and beige as far as she can see, with dried green shrubs and short cacti sprouting up from the ground. She traverses the track quickly. The uniqueness of this track is the near quarter mile bridge spanning a ravine with a roughly two hundred foot drop into a craggy demise. She continues her march over the bridge when she feels a slight vibration in the air. She stops, looks, but sees nothing. She continues on. The vibration intensifies. Whitney reaches down and grabs hold of the rail line. Before her hand touches the hot steel she can feel the hum. A train was coming.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”Whitney continues this string of “fucks” as she sprints.

The train gets a little too close for comfort as pushes herself to cross the final few yards. Other tracks could offer a possible escape , albeit a theoretical one at best, where a person could, maybe find a gap between the wall and the oncoming train. But on the bridge, you have no choice but to cross and the only escape is down. Luckily, she makes it with only sunburn. But lesson learned.

The troublesome nature of a portal behind a very visible door is when a meddlesome but uninitiated houseguest goes exploring. Such a thing happened one night.

Whitney had been moved in for almost a year. She learned from her earlier mistakes to never underestimate the railroad. Spending extra for a premium pull out sofa in the living room afforded a safe, comfortable option if she needed to avoid the railroad all together. One night, a first date went unexpectedly well, and they ended up back at her place.

Too many drinks and the physical barrier between them already broken in the elevator. They come through the door, wrapped in each other’s arms, locked in intimacy, stumbling to the pull out sofa. Undressing, kissing, fondling, foreplay be damned, these two were too passionate for foreplay.

The affair ended sooner than expected with Whitney passing out almost before the completion point. Whitney’s guest climbs over her snoring body. She pulls on panties, covers with a button up, and heads to the bathroom. Only, she was never shown the bathroom.

It was dark but a bright LED screen next to a door with a timer counting down intrigues her. She opens the door, curiosity pokes her head in too far, she’s jerked forward, and vanishes. The door shuts behind her.

Some time passes before Whitney wakes to find her bedmate missing. Most of her clothes and belongings were still strewn about, so she hadn’t left. A quick check of the bathroom and kitchen proved she wasn’t there. That could only leave the railroad. Wasting no time, Whitney throws on clothes, shoes, checks the time 00:04:34 until the next train.

Shit, Whitney thought, a minute twenty was her best time. But that was her, who knows what sort of shape this woman was in. Also where was she? The door closed behind her, the portal reset. She could be anywhere in the cycle. Wasting no time, Whitney throws open the door and rushes in.

The push and pull of an invisible force, darkness recedes slightly, revealing not much more than a small looking arched doorway of light about three hundred yards ahead of her.

Great, the mountain, she thought.

“JODIE! Are you here? Hello? JODIE!” Whitney calls out as she jogs through the tunnel. She’s going to have hustle if she was going to find her in time. The end of the tunnel grew larger and no sign of a wayward young woman.

Whitney bursts through the bedroom door, closes it, waits a beat then reopens. She takes a breath and runs back in.

00:03:02

The subway.

As far as track lengths go it’s not the longest or even the most treacherous, but it is dark, dirty, a promiment urine smell and rats. Not the worst, considering her situation, but Whitney found herself extra annoyed every time the subway came up.

“JODIE! Hello! Can you hear me? JODIE!” Whitney again called out as she ran down the track, dodging the rats. It did occur to her at this moment, that her name may not in fact be Jodie, but she was holding out luck, that this woman (Jodie?), would respond to any voice.

She hops onto the platform, runs up the stairs and is back in the living room.

“Hello?” Whitney holds her breath, nothing. A deep sigh and its back into the black.

She feels the cool breeze on her face before the light finds shape. The wind carries a unique fragrant mixture - designer perfume, alcohol, sex, maybe a cigarette. Blurred shapes crystallize into hard angles and Whitney catches sight of her half-naked date, at the edge of the track just before the start of the bridge. Barefoot, panties, and shirt unbuttoned, the desert wind tossing her blonde air in all directions. Whitney wishes she had time to appreciate the sexiness of this image. But time was what neither of them had.

“Jodie…Hey…Hi…”Whitney says moving towards her.

She doesn’t move, react, or acknowledge Whitney.

“Hey, Jodie, are you ok?” She says with less panicked volume and a more gentle tone.

Whitney registers her body gently swaying, teetering on the edge of cliff. Aside from that, she was stiff, her head locked in a downward position staring into rocky abyss below. Whitney reaches out with her hand.

“Jodie, I think it’s best to step away from the edge, come on I got you, nice and easy.” Whitney has her by the hand and eases her away from the edge. At a safe distance Whitney, quickly, calmly, and concisely explains their situation.

“Ok, I know this looks crazy and it is, but before you think to ask I have no more explanation than what you see here. But what I do know, is in less than two minutes a train will be heading down this track and we need to get to the other side before that happens…So please we need to get moving.” Whitney says, squeezing her hand for comfort. She takes a step onto the bridge, the arm holding onto Jodie’s is pulled back, left anchored to an immovable weight. Jodie didn’t move.

“Hey, Jodie, we really need to go!”

Jodie’s looks up to meet Whitney’s eyes.

“Ok but there is something you should know,” Jodie says having regained her faculties “…one, my name is Gerri, not Jodie, and two…I am deathly afraid of heights.” She has a quivering voice and tired, red eyes.

“I really sorry about this Jodie…Gerri, sorry…I am, but you just have to trust me.”

Gerri nods, squeezes her eyes tight, her grip on Whitney’s hand turns white, she takes a step.

Whitney immediately pulls her forward, aiming to quicken their pace. It isn’t long before a hum radiates through the air. She stops briefly and the vibration of the track is felt all up her leg.

“Fuck, let’s go!” Whitney takes off, Gerri in tow, neither letting go of each other’s hand.

Near the midway point, The Baldwin announces its arrival. A black cloud of dark gloom belches into the air, contaminating the otherwise crystalline blue sky. The monster Locomotive, all 200 tons of it, chuggs down the track like a black beast erupting from the bowels of hell. A thunderous roar rips through the terrain as the fiery demon approaches the bridge. The deafening blast of the whistle - a terrifying screech - like the battle cry of predator about to attack.

Whitney pushes her self beyond limits. Gerri does the same, their flight mechanism activating latent superhuman abilities. Tears flow down their face. Their vision tunnels to focus only on their destination.

Whitney’s confidence is high until a rush of warm air blows from behind; the train as gaining on them - no not gaining - it was on them.

The rumble of the locomotive devours the usefulness of their ears, their equilibrium is thrown off. Gerri begins to stumble, Whitney compensates to keep her upright.

The edge of the cliff grows closer.

The beast moves in for the kill.

SMOKE!

WHISTLE!

CHUG-A-CHUG-A

CHUG-A-CHUG-A

CHUG-A-CHUG-A

WE HAVE TO JUMP!

Their bodies in mid flight, time slowing to a crawl. Whitney’s eyes glued to the sun bleached desert sand of the cliff side, the dried brownish green sprouts, the cacti, her mind prepares for a tumble onto hot sand and scorching steel. But as their bodies are about to make ground contact, reality twists and distorts. Air leaves their lungs. Sunlight is evaporated and nothingness consumes the landscape.

The door crashes open and they THUMP hard onto the blue oval area rug on top of the hardwood floors of Whitney’s bedroom.

Whitney rolls to her back, to catch her breath. Gerri pulls her knees tight to her chest. She’s absorbed into a fit of hysterics. Whitney not knowing what else to do it, puts a hand on her back and rubs it for comfort.

“This apartment is fucking insane!” Gerri belches from her cocoon.

“Yeah…but the rent is incredible.” Whitney responds, gasping for air, and almost proud.