by Amy Cross
I try to keep my eyes open, so that I can muster some more strength and lunge for the lever again, but deep down I just don't have the strength. I got the train so far along the line, but the last few meters were too much.
“Forgive me,” I whisper, as my eyes close. “I just couldn't do it.”
The train shudders and lurches.
Opening my eyes, I realize that we're no longer rolling back. I look over at the lever, but it's still firmly pulled down, which means we should be reversing, but we're actually completely still. And then, to my complete astonishment, the train starts grinding forward even though the engine is pushing the other way. At first, I tell myself that this has to be some kind of mistake, that maybe I've already died and now I'm just imagining something that never happened. Cold wind is still blowing against my face, however, and I can hear the train's wheels screeching as we're pushed inexorably toward the end of the line.
Leaning forward, I try to push the lever, but I'm still for too weak to help. I don't understand what's happening, but then I look at the mirror beyond the side window and I'm shocked to see that there are people on the track, pushing the train forward. I have no idea where these hundreds of people could have come from, but they're actually succeeding in forcing the train toward the edge. I try to spot Milly out there, but there's no sign of her. At the last second, however, I spot another familiar face.
Debs is out there. She's part of the crowd. And then I spot Stephen Armitage as well, and I realize that these must be all the dead souls that were trapped on the train's underside. Maybe they're broke free now that we're no longer on the cursed stretch of track, or maybe they simply realized that this was their chance. Either way, they're managing to push the train, and a moment later the entire front section starts to dip down.
I turn and look out the window, and I spot a valley far below, just as the train tumbles over the edge and begins to fall. I grip the sides of the chair as we plummet, and as the wind races through the broken window I swear I hear a kind of screaming sound echoing all around me. Is that really just the wind, or is the train somehow crying out as it finally falls to its doom? I'd like to think that it's the latter, but I don't have time to consider the matter further.
I squeeze my eyes tight shut as the train hits the ground, and the last thing I feel is an enormous explosion ripping us apart.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Richard
Perhaps it's because we're in such a remote location, far from any town, but it takes until a little after dawn before the emergency services arrives. Cop cars and ambulance and fire trucks all come screeching to a halt together, but I'm pretty sure that their drivers and passengers can already see that they're too late to do anything.
Wreckage from the train is strewn everywhere. After the initial impact, there was a large fire, although that died down after a while. Twisted chunks of metal have been left everywhere, but so far there's been no sign of them coming together to form another figure. I guess that must have been the train's very last attempt to stop me, and it would have worked if it hadn't been for the dead souls out there on the tracks. Somehow, between us all, we managed to get the train over the edge of the unfinished bridge, and there's a strange sense of calm down here now.
“I got the details back concerning the train that was involved,” a cop says to his superior, a short distance away. “Apparently this particular train is supposed to be rusting away in a yard a couple of hundred miles away. They're gonna get back to me, but right now they don't seem to have a clue how it ended up here.”
“That's encouraging,” the other cop says with a sigh. “The line's supposed to be disused as well. I'm getting the feeling that a whole lotta people are gonna have to explain how they didn't keep a better eye on this situation. This is the twenty-first century, runaway trains aren't supposed to be a thing anymore. I mean, isn't there supposed to be some kinda technology to stop this sorta thing happening?”
They continue to grumble to one another as they walk away. In the distance, a local news crew has arrived to gather footage of the train's smoldering remains.
I know I'm dead.
That part's no mystery whatsoever.
I even saw a body being removed in a bag a while ago. I guess I got pretty badly burned at the end, which might make identification difficult. I never had any fillings, so I'm not even sure that dental records will be much use. Maybe that's something of a mixed blessing. I mean, I have no idea what – after fifteen years – the cops think about my parents' deaths. I keep telling myself that I wasn't really responsible for what happened that night, that the railroad was already reaching out and influencing me, but deep down I think that maybe that's not true. The railroad only got into my head once I reached Sobolton.
And, sure, I destroyed a cursed train that was causing a lot of misery, but that doesn't exactly wipe the slate clean. I'm surprised I'm not burning in Hell at this very moment. It's almost as if something's keeping me anchored here to this world.
I look around again, but there's still no sign of Milly. She wasn't one of the souls that got trapped beneath the train. I don't know why that is, although I suspect that she was simply too strong, that she tore herself away at the last moment and set off to find a way to help instead. She must be close, though, so I figure my best option is to just wait for her. So as the police and investigators examine the scene, I simply wander amongst them, listening to their bizarre theories and keeping an eye out for Milly.
By dusk, she's still not here, and I'm starting to worry that I might not ever see her again.
With the sun starting to set, most of the police drift away. Finally there's just a single officer guarding the scene, and he's sitting in his patrol car and checking stuff on his phone. He doesn't seem like the most observant kinda guy.
I walk across the impact site, looking around at all the wreckage. It's so dark out here, and I can't shake a sense of real dread in my chest. I guess maybe I was expecting some kind of miraculous happy ending, I was hoping that somehow Milly would show up and we could be ghosts together. The fact that she's not coming, however, makes me wonder where she went after she helped divert the train. I want to think that she's in a good place but, at the same time, I can't escape a niggling fear that both she and I deserve nothing but eternal damnation for what we did. I know the train influenced us by forcing us to give in to our darkest sides, but that doesn't absolve us of blame. We could have been good people, but we made the worst possible choices.
And then, as I continue to make my way through the darkness, I spot a faint glow of light on the ground.
I head over to take a closer look. Something's flickering beneath one particular piece of wreckage. I turn the metal over, and to my surprise I find what appears to be a single chunk of coal that's still just about managing to hold on to its glow. Reaching down, I pick the chunk up and find that it's not even particularly warm anymore. There's the faintest orange hint to one of its sides, and I realize after a moment that this is from the train. There was coal onboard, burning bright, but now this little chunk – no bigger than a marble – is all that's still burning.
Even after the huge crash, and the explosion, one last tiny part of the train is clinging to existence.
Filled with disgust, I'm about to toss the piece away, when I notice that its edges seem to be constantly shifting. I turn the piece of coal in my hand, and I'm overcome by the realization that what I'm seeing is more than a simple black lump. Standing right here, right now, I watch as the piece of coal phases between different states, between moments of brightness and moments where it seems ready to die. Finally I begin to understand that I'm not just seeing the coal as it exists in this moment, I'm seeing its entire existence. I'm seeing its past, present and future all in one, and I realize that – from this simple little nugget of evil – the entire train could maybe one day return and continue its reign of terror.
I drop the piece of coal, but it's still burning as it hits the ground and roll
s.
Looking up, I see that the sky is unusually bright tonight, with all the stars so very visible. Milly used to talk of these nights as being the moments when the universe holds its breath, when fate itself can be changed. The sky was like this on the night I killed my parents, and on a few other very important nights ever since. Now, as I look back down at the chunk of coal, I realize that I can't possibly let this evil continue. If Milly's gone, that might be because she's finished her task, but I guess I have one more thing to do. I move my foot, until it's hovering above the coal. I only hope that, by destroying this last trace of the train, I can end its existence forever. Not just in the present or the future, but maybe even in the past.
With that thought in my mind, I crush the coal under my heel, and everything goes white.
ALL CHANGE
Chapter Fifty-Three
Richard
Many years earlier...
“No!” I say firmly, getting to my feet. Still holding the rifle, I step toward him. “You never listen to me, do you? I'm not going to be a lawyer. I actually wouldn't mind being one, in normal circumstances, but the thought of turning out like you makes my stomach churn. So you're the reason I won't be going down that particular path.”
He gives me the side-eye, but he actually looks slightly amused.
“And you won't be hitting me with that cane again,” I add, despite the fear in my chest. “No way. I'm eighteen years old and those days are over.”
“We'll see about that.”
“You can't even hold the damn thing properly,” I add as he starts to turn away. “Your hands shake so much, it barely even hurts. You can't even -”
Suddenly he turns and swings at me. I pull out of the way, but I'm not quite quick enough and his fist brushes the side of my face as I fall back against the bookshelf.
“Is that the best you've got?” I sneer. “You're no -”
He lunges at me again. This time I raise the butt of the rifle and almost swing it at his face. The next few seconds are a blur, but somehow I manage to step aside. He tumbles past me, missing my face, and he slams drunkenly into the bookshelf with such force that he pulls one of the shelves out. He drops to his knees and books rain down on him, and I take a step back and stare down at a pretty pathetic sight.
“You little scrap of shit!” he snarls, struggling to get back up.
I tighten my grip on the gun. For a moment there, just a moment, I came damn close to smacking Dad's face with the butt of the rifle. It's as if all my anger and aggression came bubbling up to the surface, ready to explode, and frankly I feel like it's a miracle that I kept it in. A little shaken by what just almost happened, I take a step back and prop the rifle against the wall, and then I watch as Dad tries again to get to his feet.
“Help me up!” he barks. “Damn you, get me off this floor!”
“Do it yourself,” I reply.
“I'm ordering you!”
“Get up, Dad,” I say with a sigh. “You're drunk.”
“You little...”
He hauls himself up, almost managing to stand before tilting back and crashing down again. He lets out a pained gasp, and then he looks up at me with pure hatred in his eyes.
“You're drunk,” I say again.
“I'll make you pay for this!” he yells.
“No, you won't,” I reply, as I hear footsteps nearby and turn to see Mom in the doorway.
She looks shocked, although I don't know why she would be. She knows what Dad's like, she's been married to him for long enough to have seen this kind of display over and over. Then again, maybe it just takes one more time for the truth to come home, and something about Mom's face looks different tonight. Maybe I'm imagining things, but I swear it looks as if perhaps she's finally seeing the sour, depressing truth about the man she married.
“He's drunk,” I point out, unnecessarily, as I wander over to join her. “Mom, I'm gonna go and crash with some friends for a while. I think it'd be good to defuse the situation, but I'm worried about leaving you here.”
“I'll be fine,” she replies, watching as Dad continues to grumble on the floor.
“This isn't normal, you know,” I add, placing a hand on her shoulder. “If Dad wants to be an alcoholic old fool, then that's his choice, but I refuse to let him change who I am. I'll stay with Kenny or Adam, and I'll give you a call in a day or two. I just... I think that if I stay under this roof much longer, I'm gonna become someone else. Something else. And I don't want that.”
“You shouldn't be driven out of your own home,” she says.
“I know, but that's just the way things are.” I pause for a moment. “I'm gonna go quickly pack a bag, okay? And then I'm gonna head off before Dad gets back up.”
“I understand,” she replies. “And when your father's sobered up in the morning, I think it's time that he and I had a chat about a few things.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Milly
Sighing, I turn and head over to where several chunks of wood are on the ground. I desperately want to help Dad but, if he still won't let me, I guess there's no point forcing the matter. He'd only end up getting angry and -
“Fuck!” he yells.
I turn, just in time to see that in putting the latest piece of wood on the belt, he's somehow managed to hook his jacket to a splinter on the side. My eyes widen with horror as I see Dad's feet lift off the ground, and he's quickly fed straight toward the spinning blades.
“Milly!” he screams. “Help me!”
I rush over toward the machine, just as the motor stops running and the blades stop spinning.
Halfway along the conveyor belt, with his coat still caught on the chunk of wood, Dad lets out a sigh of relief as he slumps down.
“What happened?” I ask.
“I'm caught!” he replies, trying to pull his coat free and then trying to somehow get himself out. “Damn thing, I don't even know what it -”
Before he can finish, the motor starts up again, and Dad's once more jerked along the conveyor belt toward the blades. I blink, and in an instant I hear the wood getting ground to dust. I slam my hand against the button on the machine's side, just as Dad lets out an agonized cry.
As the machine stops, I turn and see that Dad's left hand has been drawn into the blades. There's dark, glistening blood everywhere, and when Dad pulls his hand free I see that his fingers have been mangled and chunks of white bone are poking out through holes in his skin.
“Help me!” he screams. “Milly, do something!”
***
“Not long now,” I say, as I keep the truck racing along the road. “Hold tight.”
“You don't even know how to drive!” he snaps. “You'll crash before we get to the hospital!”
“I'm doing alright!” I yell angrily. “Shut up and stop complaining!”
He starts grumbling again, but this time I try to ignore him. I keep my eyes fixed on the road, and I try to remember the way to the hospital. I'm on the verge of panic, but somehow I manage to hold myself together.
“You're useless!” Dad snarls, clutching his savaged, chewed left hand. “You're gonna get me killed if you don't drive faster!”
***
“Your father's going to be just fine,” the nurse says, as we sit on chairs in the hospital corridor. “He's in surgery right now, and they're going to do what they can to save his hand. But the important thing is that you got him here so quickly.”
“I had to run a few red lights,” I reply sheepishly.
“I think you'll be forgiven.” She gets to her feet. “I have to get back. Do you have anyone coming in to sit with you?”
“My mother's on her way.”
“That's good. Just sit tight and I'll have someone let you know when he's out of surgery.”
As she walks away, I feel an overwhelming sense of relief. Toward the end of the drive out here, there were moments when Dad fell very quiet, when I started to think that maybe he'd lost too much blood. By the time we reached t
he hospital's front door, he was losing consciousness and he'd begun to look very pale. Somehow I managed to hold my shit together for long enough to get help, but I guess I was in a kind of panic. If anything had happened to Dad, I don't know if I'd ever be able to live with myself.
Or do I?
As I sit here now, I can admit something that's been gnawing at me for the past hour or so. The truth is, when Dad first got caught in the chipper, there was a moment when I think I considered not doing anything. It only lasted for a fraction of a second, but I know it was real. I looked at him, I heard him crying out, and I wondered what would happen if I just... watched him get dragged into that thing. A shudder passes through me now as I think back to that moment, and I try to tell myself that it didn't really happen at all. Except I know that it did, I know that for one millisecond I was filled with the idea of letting my father die.
What's wrong with me? Do all people have those dark little thoughts, or is it just me? Taking a deep breath, I sit up and tell myself that I must never, ever let anything like that happen again. There are tears in my eyes now. I don't want to be a bad person. I want to be good. Whatever just nearly happened, I'm gonna make sure that it never happens again.
I'm going to be a good person.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Richard
Today...
“Sobolton,” I mutter as I check my phone. “Never heard of it.”
Sitting in my car, I briefly consider starting the engine and driving on. It's late, almost 10pm, and I could maybe just drive through the night and get home before dawn. Then again, what's the point? Ever since Shelley finally left last week and moved in with her lover, the house has felt impossibly empty and bare. I even drank a bottle of wine the other evening, all alone, and it wasn't until the next morning that I realized I was in danger of turning into my own father. That was something of a wake up call, but I'm worried that it might all happen again.
