“You see that train down there?” My brother Derek said. His face was pressed against the window.
“It’s a trainyard. There are tons of trains down there.” I replied, refusing to look up from my book. I had a mountain of homework to do and did not have time for his nonsense.
“No, no! It’s a specific train car. Look! The one with all the graffiti. Come look … Please!”
With a dramatic sigh, I slid my pencil into my textbook to save my place and looked out the window. “I don’t see anything.”
I squinted out across the trainyard. I’d grown used to the endless rumbles and shrieks living so close to the yard. But all was dark and quiet now. My mother always warned me about playing near the tracks – but she didn’t have to worry, as I had little interest in broken glass, used needles, human refuse, and dead animals. Just outside the trainyard was a large homeless encampment.
It wasn’t a great neighborhood to grow up in.
“The one with the coffin spray-painted on it? There … you see it?” Derek’s excitement piqued my curiosity. He’d been sliding into the monosyllabic stoner teen these last few months as he edged closer to fifteen. It was rare that he talked at all. “Do you see it, Vanessa?”
I squinted. It was dark, and there were many trains covered in graffiti. Finally, I spotted the outline of a coffin. It was cartoonish, with a cross on the outside and fingertips peeking out from inside, like an old copy of Dracula we had somewhere, “Yeah okay, I see it. What about it?”
“Terry’s dad told us a killer lives there.”
“Really?”
“Really. When that train comes to town, someone dies. Just usually no one ‘important’ so no one cares.” I turned to look at my brother incredulously. Terry was his loser friend who lived a few houses down. His dad worked security at the train yard.
“Sounds like he was messing with you two.”
Derek ran his hands through his hair, clearly annoyed. “No, no. Get this! One day, we were messing around by the tracks, and it was getting dark. His dad called us in. He was all freaked out. We were scrambling up the hill. He pointed to the train car with the coffin and said, ‘Don’t go in the trainyard, especially not when that train is in it. There’s someone in there that comes out at night.’ He said they killed Crazy Paul.”
“Yeah right, Derek.”
“Honest. He told us he was working one night, securing the yard, and saw the door was open on the coffin train car. So he went to check it out. He called out in case there was a robber or something. Then, he shined a light inside and saw a stained mattress, books, and all sorts of jars with red stuff in them – only it was empty. He said it smelled bad inside, like something dead and rotting. It stunk so bad he decided it was better to call the cops. As he climbed down, he tripped over something. It was a dead body!”
“What? Oh, come on!” I rolled my eyes.
“Yeah, it was old Crazy Paul. You know the one who was always screaming and swearing, remember him?”
I did remember him. He was particularly notable for how florid his rants were. It was true that I hadn’t seen him in a while, but it wasn’t uncommon for people to come and go. It was a transient population. I figured he’d finally been sent to a hospital or jail. “Crazy Paul was dead, all bloody. Terry’s dad ran. He hollered all the way back to the train office. The cops came, and he walked them over to the train car, but there was no body, no trace, and the door was closed and locked.”
“Well, did they open it up?” I asked. I was annoyed that I cared about this ridiculous story at all. Derek shook his head, “They couldn’t – see, the train doors were all locked by the conductor, I guess, and they had these metal bands that you had to cut to open. They guessed Terry’s dad was just mistaken about which train car. But after they searched the area and came up empty, they left.”
“Isn’t Terry’s dad a big alcoholic?” I said.
Derek frowned. “It’s real, Vanessa! People go missing when that train stops here.”
“So what? You think a monster is riding around and hopping out to kill whenever it stops.”
“Yes.” “Okay. Let’s say I believe you. What do you want us to do about it?”
“I want to get proof. I want to see the door open and see something crawl out.”
“Well, I’m not going down there with you!”
“Obviously! Terry and I are going … tonight. I just wanted to tell you so someone knows. There he is now.” Derek pointed out the window to where Terry stood in our overgrown backyard. He was skinny with lank hair hanging over one eye. He raised a hand in a wave and wore a camera around his neck.
“This is a bad idea, Derek. If there is a monster or crazy killer down there, what? You gonna kill it?”
“I’m going to prove it exists. Get a picture. Prove it to the cops. I have my pocket knife for protection.”
“Don’t do this,” I said. I was surprised at how serious I was. Derek was annoying … sure, but he was also my kid brother, and at that moment, I felt something protective come over me. I had a bad feeling. The dread was crawling up my back like cold cat feet.
“Please.”
“Can’t. Three months in a row, and someone has gone missing each time. It’s real. I can help stop it. I’ll be careful. I promise.”
And then he left. I heard the back door open and shut. I watched as both boys left the safe square of light cast by the porchlight. Then, they got swallowed by the shadowy brush. I saw them cross the tracks far below and then lost them for good as they navigated through the trains. The trains cast shadows like sleeping giants. All night, I watched and listened. But there was nothing. At dawn, I awoke. My neck was bent awkwardly, pillowed on my arms that rested on the sill. I ran to my brother’s room, but the bed was cold and empty. I woke my mother, and she called the police. I was too impatient to wait. I made my way over to the tracks. I tried to follow their trail. The trains towered around me. They were disorientingly tall. It took me a while to find the one with the coffin. The car was closed up tight, silent as all the others. I pounded on the outside. There was no sign of my brother or Terry.
A smashed camera was lying on the ground. The film was open and exposed to the sun. I ran back to the house carrying it. As I crested the hill, the train with the coffin pulled away. I screamed. Inside, my mother was serving coffee to a few bleary-eyed policemen. The Policemen would be no help. And Derek was never seen again.
Every month, I watch the train outside my window. I watch and I wonder who will be next. •
Illustration by Victoria Dalpe
