Tracks

It’s not the danger of a barreling train that ever bothered me. Trains are as huge as they are loud, and you’d be well aware of one if it was 300 yards behind you. Whether it’s the ear splitting shrill of the whistle, or the seismic activity they create, a train’s the last thing to catch you by surprise. And even then, if it were to catch up to you, all one would have to do is take a large stride off the track. It seems almost impossible to be struck by a train if you really try to imagine it.

And it’s for this reason that it baffles me that hundreds of people in the country are struck by trains every year. You must believe me, I mean no disrespect by it. If anything, I try as hard as I can to fully understand the reality of the statistics. Surely most if not some of these victims were as well aware of both the presence and limitations of trains as I am? So what went wrong in all those instances? Was it purely the context of it? A foot caught in a crossover rail at precisely the wrong moment? Or someone being rendered incapacitated in the worst possible place?

I must admit, my first thought was a bit comically grim. Picturing some drunken vagrant or party-goer wandering aimlessly on the tracks at night, only to find themselves so unbelievably drunk, they couldn’t manage to part ways from them. Or be bothered to be roused by a deafening train whistle…

Even still, in all earnestness, I couldn’t imagine how all of these accidents could have occurred.

Of course, this plunge into thinking about train death statistics, and speculating their occurrences didn’t arise out of pure curiosity, like some sort of daydream gone on too long when on the Tube. Actually, it became entirely relevant to my life. As odd as it seems, walking along train tracks... became sort of, a hobby of mine.

It’s quite peculiar, I know. Such a miscellaneous thing to do. How exactly does one even get into that? It’s laughably weird, honestly. I like to think of myself as a pretty open person, but this is...was… one of the few things about myself that even I felt weird about. Not quite ashamed, not entirely embarrassed either… just… weird. It was entirely accidental… I… live right by a railroad crossing. Crossing the tracks is part of my daily commute. So it became that every morning when crossing the rails, I would look down as far as I could, just to see those tracks continue on, seemingly infinite.

It was always marvelous

Especially since the tracks ran East-West. I’d look down East in the morning, and get to see the sun rising above the tracks in all its glory, offering a bright new day to the world. Likewise, in the evening, I’d liken my gaze west, and see the warm orange glow of the sunset. And for a while, this was my own little wonder for myself. It’s the small things in life right?

It was never something I really consciously thought about… Every morning I’d be rushing to get out the door for work, already stressing myself thinking of the day ahead, until low-and-behold I’d come across the tracks and have my little ritual. Then, in the evening, on the return home, decompressing and absent-minded, I’d come across the tracks again, as if they were faintly familiar, like I knew them in another life, in another world. I’d look down the other end, catch a glimpse, and be filled with inner peace for the rest of the evening.

This went on for some time.

As the weather improved, I found myself... thinking about those tracks more and more… It wasn’t until some time in June that I’d finally realized that looking down the tracks was the most consistent thing in my life. It was the first time I actually really tried to think about it. I… can’t really pinpoint when it became a thing… I think the closest I could say is maybe sometime in November? And in all that time, I really don’t think I’d ever missed a day looking down them.

And then one day, the thought struck me with such unquestionable clarity, I couldn’t help but just accept it as truth. I wanted to go down those tracks… I wanted to venture down the tracks and see what places they led to. And so, as simple as that, I had arranged to go down them the upcoming weekend.

It didn’t take any time at all for it to become a hobby. Instantaneous really. Again, I didn’t even realize how much it was becoming a part of my life. The first occasion was simply… Splendid, to say plain enough. A perfect mix of excitement - not the nervous kind of excitement, but the kind filled with boundless optimism – and familiarity. It all felt so natural, destined almost, like I was long overdue for it. Looking back, the infatuation was, kind of troubling… Though I know I didn’t feel that way at the time. To think I could feel concerned back then seems impossible, really! I do look back and feel cross with myself for being so… so stupid and giddy. Just the thought of me then gives me prickles of shame. But at the same time, how could I blame myself. I was happy after all… Is that really so naive? To bask in that feeling? To chase it? It certainly feels that way now...

I explored so many of them. At first I only went down the tracks near my home, but soon after I had made it a point to travel to different sets of tracks to travel down, quickly making it a habit to research the rail system, looking for new areas to explore. In the course of a few months I had walked the tracks miles in every direction. Passing through small quaint towns adorned with ivy, stretches of open green hills, train yards populated with empty train cars, filled with the thick smell of crude oil. Exploring all the different environments as spring blossomed, it was magnificent to behold. Such beauty, the emergence of life, it never ceases to amaze me how miraculous it is every time. Every weekend, or just about, I prepared myself a pack with water, food, a pair of clean socks, and off I went.

It had been a wonderful summer. I didn’t care how much of it I had spent alone. I didn’t feel alone quite frankly. Those treks along the tracks had really done something for me. It’s funny to think how technically, in a given week I spent so much time in the office, or at home, or at the grocery store even. But the only time I can really remember being… activated, being engaged with life and really… awaken, is strolling along those rails. I don’t know what walking along the tracks did for me, but that summer it helped bring me to a good place… it really… grounded me, you know? That was the peak of my time on the rail. At the time, I think I knew subconsciously that my time walking along them was coming to an end. I mean, all things must come to an end, right? Looking back, I don’t think there’s anyway I could have consciously accepted, nonetheless acknowledged that fact. As to how though, I never would have imagined.

Before I knew it, October was upon me, and summer was quickly becoming a distant dream as the colder weather infiltrated the evenings. The stark reality of what this meant to me was immediate. My time on the tracks was coming to an end. I hate cold weather. I mean, HATE it. And I’d rather bunker down in my flat and go insane from cabin fever than spend a single unnecessary moment out in the cold. Besides, fall and winter took all the beauty out of nature. Stripping it of all color and life, making it still, skeletal. When a cool breeze blows in the summer, it’s a sweet relief that blows life into the trees and foliage. When a wind blows in the winter, it tenses you up. It’s harsh, and cutting… it’s pure, misery. It was good timing any how. Like I said the time on the tracks had done me well… therapy really. And now, I was ready to move on. Ready to re-enter the world of petty office squabbles, commiserating with coworkers, awkward dates, and drunken late night chants at the pub. I was ready for the first weekend morning hangover, spending the length of day miserably laughing at the previous nights’ antics as I fed myself ibuprofen like M&M’s.

In any case, the last week of October happened to be seasonably warm. And with a breath of reluctance I decided to go on one last walk. I told myself it would be good to get out there one last time, not to let myself “accidentally” overlook the chance and let it slide past me. Honestly, it almost felt like the funeral of a distant relative you might try to dodge. One where it’s nothing against the person, just the effort and inconvenience of it all that makes you want to, let it go unnoticed... I won’t lie, it did have a place of mourning in my heart. It was a golden time that’d felt like it had already passed. But I told myself I was happy to give it one last go, its proper due. One last swan song on the tracks.

The day arrived with grey undertones. A sea of overcast stretched across the sky, adding to the decaying atmosphere of fall. The entire trip over was silent, almost ominous. I couldn’t help but feel like a drifter with a dark secret as I passed through the crowds, making my way to a more isolated spot. Soon enough, I came to a relatively secluded railroad crossing, and began my way down.

I had never been to the area where I started my hike. Since it was my last stroll I figured I would livin’ it up a bit with a dash of excitement that always came with trekking a new track. I didn’t want it to be too mournful after all, I figured seeing a new area would be a more uplifting send off. For the first mile or so, I was along a bustling little town. The more fanciful, maybe even eccentric kind. The ones with signs that spelled shop “shoppe”, with old-fashioned architecture, and seemingly meaningless stores that only sold antiques, or laughably overpriced blouses. It was always a wonder to me how those places stayed in business. In any case, I walked along serenely removed from the rest of those old, traditional, blokes and there perfect little model town that was removed from time, making my way along the rails as they drifted slowly, but deliberately off and away. The distance I put behind the town was so passive and steady, that before I knew it, I was in the middle of nowhere, seemingly enveloped by a small forest, except for the bit of breathing room provided by the rails. It was so quiet… How had the town faded out so quickly? It seemed hard to believe… All the noise of a small town, gone, subtly, gradually, with every step away from it.

It felt good to put the town behind me. I always hated little towns like that. They seemed so plastic and artificial to me. Wax figures, all of them. All afraid of a modern world, so the whole bunch of them build they’re own little doll house of a town, where they can don they’re polyester cardigans, and coat themselves with veneer and pinned up smiles and play pretend that there isn’t a real human inside that they’re trying to snuff out.

Although it had caught me by surprise, I found the new environment much more welcoming. I trudged on, and tried to put my mind in a happy place again.

About a half-hour later, and more attentive than before, I realized that most of my thoughts were of the weekends to come. As odd as it seemed at the time, I was almost, excited to go to work the following Monday. I found myself looking forward to small talk at work, the joy of watching pointless movies, and being carefree drunk on the weekends. That had pretty much cemented it for me, I decided that soon enough, I’d say my goodbyes, and then turn it around.

I stared at the tracks, hypnotized by them, as I stumbled along more slowly and unbalanced, transfixed by their mind-numbing affect. The unchanging pattern, etched in my mind, the only fluid thought. Until… A watch? A wrist-watch. On the center of the tracks. And not some cheap one you pick-up at Marks & Spencer either. I don’t live a lifestyle to really know about such things, but trust me, you knew it was quality just by looking at it. Silver, and square, with a stainless steel band. I stood there silently, absolutely blank in trying to make sense of it. But what else could I do? Some poor bloke must have lost it somehow, whether it fell off while riding the train, or hell, walking along the tracks. I mean, I’m here aren’t I? Doing that very thing. It’s certainly not out of the question. Besides, it was likely broken beyond repair. I mean, how long could a watch this fancy last out in the wilderness? Who knows how long it’d been here. Can’t be that many people dropping watches or walking along these rails all that often now can there! I pocketed it, with no real intention of keeping it for myself or selling it. I wasn’t a thief, but I had no real practical means of finding the owner either.

The inquisitiveness of the watch must have reinvigorated the walk, for now I was moving at a steady pace, conjuring up scenario after scenario of how the watch ended up there. I didn’t seriously believe I’d ever figure it out, more of a fun game really. I was in the middle of a particularly intricate one, where it slides off a man’s wrist whilst in a helicopter and -

The pattern broke. I was so in my head I had almost missed it. But the pattern of the tracks was so ingrained in my mind, I don’t think I could have missed it if I wanted. The tracks, they split off, sprouting another pair of tracks. They looked, older, whereas the tracks I had been following were modern and still held their youth. These tracks looked aged, mummified almost, as if they were fossilized and beyond any further decay. They couldn’t have been operational, there was no doubt in my mind. I was immediately intrigued by them. Charmed really. Such old tracks, who knew where they led! Certainly not anywhere any of the websites or maps I studied could say. I imagined, it would be such a great way to cap things off. A true adventure really. Who else could know these tracks were here? It almost felt like a gift to me, for my loyalty and love for the tracks, for all the rightful attention I’d given them, the relationship I’d built with them in this time. My intuition had been so prosperous, so guiding, it felt like a reward for my faith. It was all leading me here! And so, my instincts told me to march on, oh… how I’ll never be able to trust myself again.

On the new path, the energy became… supernatural. Celestial really. It felt so… otherworldly. All around me was airy and light. Everything was amplified, the crickets chirping, an owl hooting, the ambiguous noises in the forest. My senses were sharper, more acute. Everything seemed brighter and clearer to form, even though the light was fading. I was enraptured by my love for the tracks again, and was running with the spirit it brought out in me.

I floated loftily, reinvigorated, uncaring of the passing day, entirely enchanted and bewitched. It must be like when the old remember what it’s like to be young again, or when the lonely feel love. By this time it was twilight, I remember I had planned to head back long before, but truly didn’t have a care to.

I was lost in myself, until, I came upon a tunnel. And then my wits somewhat returned. An old, grey-stone tunnel, cutting through a large hill. It was as monumental as it was plain. But it was certainly old, like its fellow tracks. Faded grey, worn down by the wind and rain, until the stacked stone was practically a singular smooth slab. And grown over with moss. Of course I had no idea where they led, but I knew this would be the cherry on top of my expedition.

I edged nearer and nearer, my face animated with a buzz of astonishment. Pulled nearer and nearer, to the gaping, pitch black mouth.

I stopped. Well, my body stopped me. It took me a moment to catch on, until I realized... There was nothing. No crickets chirping, no rustle of the leaves. No wind… It was so, still. An eerie kind of still, like when a lake is perfectly still, and your body is just waiting for something to break through and snap at you. It felt as though, I were being watched… from all around. And with great anticipation.

I entered, passing through the moonlight, as the shadow swallowed the last of my figure. The darkness. Such pure, unyielding black. Like being snowed in, or a smothering curtain you can’t take off. I pulled out my phone and turned on the torch function, and all it did was show me how truly dominant the darkness was, practically snuffing out my light. I was drowning in it.

I felt a knob under my foot, something soft, but firm. I might of rolled my ankle on it had I not been so careful. I knelt down to take a look and found it was, a wallet.

I opened it, and found the youthful visage of a young man. A tan complexion, with hair as black as soil, slicked back, and a beaming white smile. He looked so full of brilliance, brimming in his prime. Those enthusiastic eyes, so full of life. For some reason, I couldn’t help but think he was dead in a ditch somewhere.

Blank again, I just stood there. As the darkness mocked me, crowded me. A dark cloud was forming over me. My head bent down, unable to look up. Beads of sweat accumulated on my forehead, as the rest of my body felt a stinging heat, and a lump formed in my throat. I couldn’t speak, but I knew all I had in me was a whimper. Something was going on. Something I didn’t understand. Something….not good. One instance is happenstance, twice is… well it’s certainly not happenstance.

I had to repeat the command to myself to put the wallet in the back of my pocket before I finally made a move.

I slowly moved my hand behind me, trying to keep it steady, to no avail.

I dropped the wallet.

A fast, uncontrollable breathing broke out of me.

I scrambled. Shuffling in a panic, trying to think as I tried to stay composed.

My eyes leaped all over, desperately trying to grasp onto anything. Darkness. That’s all there was.

I grabbed my torch and ran to the side of the tunnel, throwing myself to the side of the wall. Something I could work off of. I poured my shaking hands over the cool stone, desperately following the wall with a wincing pitiful face. I forced my hands forward, stumbling in the darkness, waiting for something to slash and pulverize my delicate finger bones, contorting them in every which way. I frantically ran from the image of myself wailing in the darkness, crying out in the empty tomb.

I had one quick thought. The entrance! The entrance must be illuminated by moonlight! I ran towards the front.

I kept running, and running, pushing my hand along the wall as I went, my eyes darting, frantically searching for a dot of light to follow.

There was nothing. Nothing but more darkness as the confusion rolled over me and I became more lost than before. It didn’t make any sense! How could it be gone! I went the right way! I was sure of it! I illuminated the wall in search of anything that might help. Anything to pull me out of the madness. I wanted nothing more than to beg, and plead for sympathy. But I pushed on as best as I could, with my face all scrunched up on the brink of breaking unlike ever before.

I looked along the walls, and saw… marks. Scratch marks. Covering as far as my light could shine. My stomach dropped, as my throat choked on nothing, and my body stood paralyzed, unable to fully take in what lay before me.

It was then that… a distant… train whistle blew. Helpless, and more incapable than ever, my attention turned to that. I had been terrified, but now... I didn’t know what to make of it.

Again, a whistle, steadily approaching.

And with that whistle, came the small whimpers… followed by cries.

Again! A whistle! Ear splitting this time! It was getting close, my chest began heaving. More wails joined in to a form a shrill chorus. Crying, bawling, horrified screeching! Underneath the screams could be heard the muttering pleas of petrified souls. Begging, bargaining, practically vomiting out terror. Wanting to see their loved ones one last time. Trying to imagine one last interaction with those closest to them. Mothers, partners, all of them young.

Deafening this time. It was practically on me. I couldn’t breathe. My body tensed. I imagined my face being smashed in as my body broke! Unlike any pain or damage I could ever imagine! But as long as it was all over in an instant I didn’t care!

I surrendered. And laid my body down on the tracks, in between the rails like a loose fitting coffin. The whistle and screams came to a crescendo, I could not truly say if mine joined them or not. A gush of wind rushed over the tip of my face with tremendous force. The silence that followed was so still it almost felt as if it were blaring.

I crawled out, shaken and undone. Body and mind shattered.

It had spit me back out. Whether out of disgust, or pity, I do not know.

All that could be heard on the return was my stifling breath and shambled jaunt as I scampered back to my car as hurriedly as I could.

It took a few weeks for me to come to terms with what happened. I’m not saying I’m better, or that I can make any sense of it. I just… know that I can make some semblance of a normal life in the near future.

The last… turn of the knife… came unexpectedly at the supermarket. I was walking out with my weekly food shop, when over on the community board, I saw a picture, of Mark Williams. A young man, with a tan complexion, with black slicked back hair, a beaming white smile, and eyes full of life. He’d been missing for six months at that point. In the photo, on his right hand, was a silver, square, Cartier watch.

I left immediately. And threw the watch out first thing once I got home.

I don’t plan to ever make sense of what happened to me. I just know I’ll never look at trains the same again.