0:13

From our earliest days, we've

0:15

gathered around the fire for

0:17

warmth and comfort. But

0:20

beyond the light of the dying

0:22

embers, there is

0:25

the darkness. And

0:28

it's in the darkness of the

0:30

night where we find ourselves. Waiting,

0:35

yearning for the dawn to banish

0:37

our fears. But

0:40

our campfire holds more than

0:42

firelight. For with

0:44

us, you will hear the

0:46

tales that make the nightmares engulf

0:49

you. And

0:51

you dare not close your

0:53

eyes. Embrace

0:57

yourself for the

1:00

No Sleep Podcast. Welcome

1:09

to the No Sleep Podcast. I'm

1:12

your host, David Cummings. We've

1:15

come to the end of the line. The

1:17

terminal approaches. Time to go off

1:19

the rails, as it were. Yes, our

1:22

20th season wraps up with the finale.

1:25

Here on track for two tales, which will

1:27

hopefully bring the horror and give you a

1:29

kick in the caboose. But

1:32

first, I want to share some news with everyone.

1:35

If you follow us on the socials, you'll

1:37

have seen us hint at this big news

1:39

already. But it's time to let everyone know

1:41

about an exciting new series the No Sleep

1:43

Podcast is a part of. It's

1:46

called Tales from the Void, and it

1:48

will be streaming this fall. It's

1:51

a series of screen adaptations of horror

1:53

stories from the No Sleep Subreddit. And

1:56

of the first season's six stories, four of

1:58

them were featured on the podcast. over

2:00

the years, included our stories

2:02

from fan favorites Rebecca Clingall

2:05

aka CK Walker, Man

2:08

in Lysette, and Matt Demerski.

2:10

And I'm very proud to be an executive

2:13

producer on this project and

2:15

you might even see me on screen

2:17

as I host a short post-episode interview

2:19

segment with the authors. Fans

2:21

in the US can see the show

2:24

streaming on Screenbox and in Canada it

2:26

will appear on Super Channel. And

2:29

don't worry we're working hard on

2:31

securing international streaming providers. We'll

2:33

be sharing more about Tales from the Void

2:35

as the spooky season approaches, but for now

2:38

you can check the link in the show

2:40

notes to go to the Tales from the

2:42

Void website. So brace

2:44

yourself to take the plunge

2:46

into the void with us.

2:50

Now let's talk about the season

2:52

finale. As you may

2:54

have deduced from my opening remarks, the

2:56

stories this week are trained on traveling

2:58

down the tracks. Yes,

3:01

trains. For some

3:03

a bit of an anachronistic form

3:05

of travel. Some of you might

3:07

commute by train, be it commuter

3:09

trains or subways. Others of

3:11

you may have never gone on a train

3:13

journey. And yet trains

3:16

seem to be steeped in

3:18

horror traditions. Ghost trains, dark

3:20

tunnels, abandoned tracks holding sinister

3:23

spirits. It seems

3:25

trains hold a special spooky place

3:27

in our horror-loving hearts. We

3:29

love horror trains so much we might

3:32

just be making them the theme of

3:34

an upcoming season. Hmm, yeah, maybe.

3:39

But before we begin this free

3:41

full-length finale, we need to introduce

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dear sleepless listeners We thank you for

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being with us around the camp. During

6:00

season twenty. We look forward

6:02

to giving you April showers of Horror

6:05

before we kick off season. Twenty one

6:07

at the start of me. And

6:11

now for the last time

6:13

the sun has a fire

6:16

close quite resource. In

6:25

our first tail we meet a group

6:27

of boys who traveled down some train

6:30

tracks in hopes of seeing a dead

6:32

bodies. oh we've known of and of

6:34

wrong story source. I think that to

6:36

fellow did that one. No

6:39

no. In this tale the boys learn

6:41

of a legend in their town. The.

6:44

Legend of a ghost train that

6:46

can be seen only at nights

6:48

in a certain spot. And as

6:50

will learn from author Kenyan Sanford,

6:52

the experience the boys have will

6:54

leave a lasting impact on all

6:56

of them. Performing.

6:58

This tale are Danza Pula,

7:01

Ellie Hirschmann, Matthew Bradford, and

7:03

Kyle Acres. So think twice

7:05

before you go out into

7:07

the dark to see a

7:09

spectral legend. Especially.

7:11

If you seat the

7:13

midnight special. I

7:28

guess it started in the Thunder Down.

7:30

The Atkins Elementary school had a dome

7:33

shaped monkeys bar set in. Our gang

7:35

agreed to call it the Thunder Dome

7:37

after a movie only gym had seen

7:40

when his father brought it home for

7:42

Blockbuster and allowed him to watch it

7:44

once because quote this one was P

7:46

G Thirteen and that means it's okay.

7:49

By fifth grade the our you had

7:51

outdoors after lunch was mostly spent talking

7:53

to your friends. We sat in the

7:56

bark inside the bars and. talk

7:58

mostly about movies or TV

8:00

we liked, or sometimes we

8:02

became literary and discussed comic

8:05

books. Fridays, however,

8:07

were a little different. We

8:09

still did the same thing, but

8:11

Friday afternoons outside were the best

8:14

because it was like Christmas Eve

8:16

every week when the anticipation of

8:18

the weekend, like an unwrapped gift,

8:20

was sweeter than having it. Anticipation

8:23

was intangible, and it never disappointed.

8:26

You never needed to wait to hold

8:28

anticipation because it was already there. When

8:31

they say the journey is better than the destination,

8:34

I tend to agree, unless the

8:36

destination is the beach or the

8:38

journey is by bus. That

8:40

Friday afternoon, we discussed scary movies

8:43

we liked. Jurassic Park

8:45

worked. It had come out

8:47

a few years before we were in the

8:49

fifth grade, but we still shared books on

8:51

dinosaurs and agreed we should all have a

8:53

healthy interest in cloning, considering we would be

8:55

dealing with it soon. Maybe

8:58

ten or so years on. Jim

9:01

finally stopped talking about how the Lost World

9:03

was not as good as the first movie,

9:06

and then Elliot spoke

9:08

the words that started it all. We

9:16

all shook our heads yes, because

9:19

being scared was our favorite pastime.

9:21

When you are ten or twelve years

9:24

old, you still get scared by monsters

9:26

because you don't know that life will

9:28

be much worse than ghouls and slimy

9:30

things lurking inside a videocassette. Not

9:33

yet. I heard about

9:35

something I think is gonna really scare

9:37

you guys. Jim

9:40

cocked an eyebrow. Yeah,

9:42

what is it? They

9:44

call it the Midnight Special. Elliot

9:52

had heard it from his dad, who had heard

9:54

it when he was our age from another kid

9:56

just as these things go. Turns

9:58

out, the Northern Order of Atkins,

10:01

Texas was where the old railroad tracks

10:03

that kept the produce and cattle moving

10:05

from the east and Georgia all the

10:07

way out to Southern California crossed

10:10

on their way west. Sometime

10:12

in the forties, which I imagine had something

10:14

to do with World War II, as all

10:17

things in the forties did, they outfitted

10:19

the trains to take prisoners out west

10:21

in the evening shifts. So,

10:23

during the midnight hour, you might hear

10:25

the train roll through and tap the

10:27

outskirts of town. And

10:29

if you listened hard, you might hear

10:31

the cries of lonely men being taken

10:33

to prison. Many of

10:36

these men might be taken to the gas

10:38

chamber real quick after that. At

10:40

least, that was the story, but

10:43

I'm not sure what it had to do with what

10:45

comes next. Fast

10:47

forward a couple dozen years and these

10:49

particular tracks don't carry trains out west.

10:52

Not with produce, not with cattle, not

10:54

with men of any kind. Now

10:57

nothing crosses the tracks but green

10:59

weeds, choking the lines and delivering

11:01

the area back to Mother Nature as

11:04

best it can. The

11:06

tracks remain, the wood cracked and looking

11:08

like a ladder that never was set

11:11

up right. Nothing goes

11:13

down the line, at least not officially.

11:16

Some say, as all these stories tend

11:18

to promise, that if you go out

11:21

to the tracks around midnight and you look to

11:23

the tunnel that feeds out the tracks, you'll

11:25

see a train. It's

11:27

blue, but it also isn't. You

11:31

can see it, but you can also see

11:33

right through it. The locomotive

11:35

has a conductor just like you saw in

11:37

the cartoons. He wears a

11:40

big hat and his skin is shrink-wrapped

11:42

around the bones of his face. If

11:45

he sees you watching, he points right

11:47

at you and opens his mouth. There

11:49

are bugs and light inside, begging

11:52

to be freed. Then

11:54

he laughs for as long as the train rolls

11:56

by you. The train is

11:58

empty, just a long way. line of

12:00

flat pallets with no cars on

12:02

top, except for one. Right

12:05

in the middle of the length of the train, there's

12:08

a storage car, and the

12:10

doors are wide open. You

12:12

can see in. You

12:15

can look right inside, and what

12:17

you'll see is the future.

12:20

Your future. Right

12:23

there, in blue and nothing, is

12:25

your future, and you'll know

12:27

the rest of your life because the

12:29

midnight special rolled through and looked right

12:31

back at you. And

12:33

you'll hear the laugh of the conductor,

12:35

the entire snaking length of the train,

12:37

and for the rest of your life.

12:46

What a little bull. Elliot

12:48

shrugged. Maybe,

12:51

but only one way to find out. Christopher

12:54

was eating a payday, but when

12:56

Elliot began the story he had been eating a

12:58

KitKat, he kept his

13:01

legs criss-crossed applesauce, and his

13:03

knees didn't reach the end of his shorts,

13:05

so he looked like nothing but ankles and

13:07

shins. You mean

13:09

going there at midnight? Elliot

13:12

nodded, grinning. That's

13:15

just what I mean, Chris. I

13:17

say we go out there at midnight and

13:19

see the train for ourselves. My

13:22

dad won't take me. Chris never lets us stay up

13:24

past night. Even when he and my

13:26

ma go out, they always come back by night. He

13:28

hates being out late. Elliot

13:31

tossed a stick at Jim. We're

13:33

not going with our dads, dummy. We'll

13:36

sneak out and go by ourselves. I don't

13:39

want to sneak out. My dad'll kill me. My

13:41

mom might kill me too, which means I'll be double

13:43

dead. You don't come back from that, Elliot. Don't

13:46

be caught, then. Come on.

13:48

Do they check your room every night? We

13:51

all shrugged. Atkins was a

13:54

homey sort of town. We were

13:56

all pretty cozy in our southern suburb lives.

14:00

still had our parents. Most

14:02

of us had siblings. We

14:04

all thought we didn't lack from much. We

14:07

were still too young to go around feeling our

14:09

oats. You guys

14:11

suck. My dad snuck out to

14:13

see it when he was our age. This could

14:15

be so much fun. Come on. Elliot

14:18

kept casting, but none of us were

14:20

biting. Elliot might have been

14:22

ready to go against his parents' wishes, but

14:25

in the fifth grade, the rest of

14:27

us weren't. No, we

14:29

weren't sneaking out to see a ghost train.

14:32

The ironic part about the whole thing was that

14:34

the ghost train wasn't what

14:36

ended up scaring me. It

14:47

took a couple years, but we reached the

14:49

end of middle school, and since it felt

14:51

like we might never see each other again,

14:54

Elliot convinced us we were

14:56

ready. It's now

14:58

or never, guys. Let's go. Recess

15:01

and a playground had been replaced by

15:03

bleacher seats in the gymnasium during lunch

15:06

hour. Jim had hot

15:08

pockets, which always grossed me out.

15:11

Chris, he dropped the tofer

15:13

once we were in middle school, along

15:15

with about 50 pounds. Pod

15:17

had a salad. I was

15:19

working on a cold turkey sandwich I brought

15:22

from home while Elliot worked us over. He

15:25

stood while the rest of us sat, moving

15:27

his hands around like Nixon making his own

15:29

case. Elliot turned out to

15:31

be more successful. Elliot, why

15:34

do you want to go see a ghost train? We're

15:36

grown up now, and we're 14. We don't believe in

15:38

that situation. Jim, you still

15:40

watch horror movies like every night,

15:43

not even good ones. I thought

15:45

you'd be as stoked as anyone to go see it.

15:48

Jim looked up from his pepperoni paste

15:50

kalachi. That's what they look like to

15:52

me and squinted his eyes

15:54

to Elliot. What are

15:56

you talking about? Not even good ones. Elliot

15:59

shrugged him off. You're

16:01

telling me Children of the Corn 3

16:03

Urban Harvest is cinema to you? You're

16:06

gonna tell me it's good? I'm

16:09

a completionist. And we love

16:11

that about you, so let's complete this

16:13

adventure we've been talking about for

16:15

years. Chris piped

16:17

up, dropping his fork into his salad.

16:20

He had made good choices, lost his weight,

16:22

and looked pretty good now. But

16:25

no matter what face he put on for

16:27

us, we all knew he hated those salads

16:29

he had for lunch. Still,

16:31

he liked the looks from the girls enough to

16:33

keep him going. He went from

16:36

the young pudgy kid to the most handsome in

16:38

our group, and we were all really proud of

16:40

him. And I must admit,

16:42

a little jealous. I

16:45

don't have anything else going on. Elliot

16:47

pumped his fist and pointed at Chris. That's

16:51

a spirit. When are

16:53

we talking about doing this? Like what night? I

16:55

just need to ask my parents. No

16:58

man, don't ask your parents. It's more

17:00

fun this way. Why wouldn't I

17:02

ask my parents? I know they'll

17:04

say it's okay, so I have nothing to gain

17:06

from not calling them. Plus, plenty

17:09

to lose. Because

17:11

if you tell your parents, then they'll

17:13

know. And if my stepdad

17:15

asks your parents where we've been, he

17:18

won't be happy. Yeah,

17:20

okay. I guess. I

17:23

figured if my parents did find me sneaking in,

17:25

I'd tell them the truth and hope for

17:27

the best. I was always on

17:29

my best behavior, and if I shrugged it

17:31

off as something I thought was a little

17:33

embarrassing because it was childish, they'd

17:36

probably be okay with it. Jim

17:38

was still stewing about the bad movie's

17:40

comment. He took film,

17:43

for whatever reason, personally. He

17:46

finished one of the hot pockets and bit into

17:48

the next. Time and cheese, as

17:50

if it actually were, before he

17:52

spoke next. I don't know,

17:54

man. Why does it matter? It's just

17:56

a silly story. Elliot Looked

17:58

at Jim. No longer

18:00

telling the story along with his

18:03

words, his eyes were accenting his

18:05

speech now. Because.

18:07

To him because because we

18:09

never did it when we

18:11

were kids, because we're gonna

18:13

be leaving for our schools

18:15

and and because I've got

18:17

nothing else to do that.

18:19

Goodness. Good

18:22

enough for me. Chris

18:24

seemed genuine, not just

18:26

humor and Eliot shorr.

18:29

Okay that you have to watch the

18:32

next Children of the Corn movie with

18:34

me. Elliott pumped his fist again and

18:36

pointed at gym. That

18:38

will not happen, but we can

18:41

watch something. something maybe. Elliott moved

18:43

his hands flat like blades in

18:45

parallel to the floor and danced

18:48

his fingers around. Soon

18:51

we do, We

18:55

all have something at Allianz napkin,

18:57

a salad leaves, Mp Hot Pockets

18:59

leaves. He took it in good

19:02

humor. We waited for Friday. We.

19:09

Met at the gas station. Headed out

19:11

of town around eleven at night. I

19:14

told my parents I was headed to bed

19:16

early around ten. They believed

19:18

me because most nights I spent my

19:20

room around eight to ten anyway, working

19:22

on my short stories. I

19:25

had been sending the Mouse and even received

19:27

my first rejection letters. I was

19:29

becoming a better writer and I enjoyed

19:31

it so I kept working even when

19:33

nothing was being published. I

19:35

just kept telling myself. This is

19:37

just the way it is now. Keep

19:40

working, Keep working. Keep

19:42

working. The. Rejection slips

19:45

made me feel like I was in the

19:47

game at a young age, so I never

19:49

felt too bad about it. I

19:51

carried a paperback and my back pocket

19:53

like I did everywhere I went and

19:55

still new. Testaments by

19:57

David Morale. good books

20:00

but a downer. Jim

20:02

told us he left home around nine and

20:05

told his parents he was going to stay with Chris. Jim

20:08

ended up at Chris's house, dropped his

20:10

bag in the bedroom upstairs, and

20:12

they snuck out together down the pipe outside

20:14

of the second story. My

20:16

parents had gone to bed at ten, so

20:19

all I had to do was not make any

20:21

noise headed out our front door. Elliot

20:23

never talked about home much anymore since

20:25

his stepdad moved in, so to

20:27

hear that his parents weren't home and he went out

20:30

the front door was the most we had

20:32

known about his home life in a couple of years. We

20:35

walked out to the edge of town and came

20:37

to the tracks a half hour before midnight. Jim

20:40

had a pocket full of Slim Jims. I

20:42

liked those, actually, and Chris had

20:45

the first candy bar any of us had seen

20:47

him with since the fifth grade. What?

20:50

It's reddish. I like to treat myself. We

20:53

all thought that was a good idea. For

20:55

some reason, it made us feel better about the whole

20:58

thing. I sat with

21:00

Elliot over at a tree a few feet from

21:02

the tracks. The tracks

21:04

only came around one corner on the

21:06

northeast part of Atkins. A

21:08

tunnel on the right that came through

21:11

Rook Hill spit out the tracks that

21:13

curved around the border of Atkins and

21:15

lasted for another half mile before another

21:17

tunnel took the tracks into Grover's Pass

21:20

and near Silver Lake and past the

21:22

Carter County boundary. We

21:24

were all about halfway between the two

21:26

tunnels, so the train, we all

21:28

talked about it like it would happen, not

21:31

like it should, would pass right by

21:33

us and give us plenty of

21:35

time to see it coming and going. The

21:38

night sky looked like a satin sheet

21:40

pulled taut. The stars

21:42

bright like pinpricks in the fabric.

21:45

The stars, like everywhere, I

21:47

guess, went dimmer as the

21:49

years went by in the town proper. But

21:52

out near the edge of Carter County, they've

21:54

always been as bright as that night. When

21:57

I look at the stars now, I often

22:00

think back to the night when we

22:02

finally learned that we would grow old.

22:06

I talked to Elliot under the tree while

22:08

Jim and Chris competed to see who could

22:10

throw rocks the farthest. I

22:12

still wasn't satisfied with his answers on

22:14

why the midnight special was so important

22:16

to him. Why, after

22:18

years of moving from adolescence to our

22:21

early teenage years, he never gave up

22:23

hope to go see it. He

22:26

recited the same stuff he had said at

22:28

that lunch hour, but it didn't

22:30

convince me so well, like warming

22:32

up last night's supper in the microwave,

22:34

and it never tasting as sweet. He

22:37

never did give me an answer I liked, but

22:40

I think I figured it out after he was gone.

22:44

Chris's digital Timex went off at 11.55, enough

22:48

time for us to be ready. They

22:50

put down their rocks, and Elliot and I

22:52

stood up, myself knocking off the

22:54

leaves still clinging to my 505 blue jeans.

22:58

We gathered around the center of the tracks,

23:01

where it came closest to the town in

23:03

the parabola between tunnels. We

23:06

stood there, and no one

23:08

said a word. No

23:10

one dared to. Out

23:12

of the corner of my eyes, I saw

23:14

Chris check his watch. Five

23:17

minutes late, boys. Not

23:19

all trains run on time. It

23:23

was looking down at the center of the tracks,

23:25

not at either tunnel. As

23:27

if on cue, we

23:29

felt it. I remember

23:32

the rumble in my toes, working

23:34

its way through my shins and up to

23:36

my shoulders, slowly, like

23:39

molasses creeping backwards into a tree.

23:42

The ground shook for a minute or

23:45

more before I heard anything, but

23:47

then I did, coming from my

23:49

right. I still

23:51

had my doubts about the midnight special, until

23:55

I heard the faint sound of

23:57

a train whistle. Finally

24:00

the tunnel was lit so bright I

24:02

would have believed it if you told me there

24:05

was a bonfire inside. But

24:08

it was blue. The

24:10

light poured out of the tunnel and

24:13

the face of a large train appeared.

24:16

It didn't look like a modern train but

24:18

like one I had seen in this movie,

24:21

The Train Robbers, where John

24:23

Wayne takes gold off a black

24:25

locomotive for Ann-Margaret. This

24:27

train was not black but blue but only

24:30

where the outlines of the train would have been. The

24:33

rest was there but it

24:35

also wasn't. I couldn't

24:37

quite see through the train but I

24:39

couldn't quite see the whole thing either. The

24:42

wheels turned and it came

24:44

right towards us. I

24:47

looked over at Jim and Chris but they didn't

24:49

see me. They just kept looking at

24:51

the train. I looked at

24:53

Heliot and he looked back at me just for

24:55

a second and we both turned

24:57

our attention back to the train. By

25:00

now it was within fifty yards from

25:02

it and it started to make out

25:04

the conductor. Heliot was

25:06

me. The conductor saw

25:09

us watching him and I swear

25:11

he made eye contact only with me

25:14

but the rest of the guys would probably tell you

25:16

the same thing. His hat was

25:19

comically large with vertical stripes

25:21

of blue and nothing. His

25:23

skin was pulled tight around his skull

25:26

as though another person was behind and

25:28

it grabbed the excess fat pulling as

25:30

hard as they could. What

25:33

I had not heard was that he

25:35

would not have eyes, yet

25:37

sunken caves where they should have been,

25:40

with dark caverns where the pupils

25:42

might be hiding. The

25:44

caverns looked right at us, it's a

25:46

good look. And then the

25:48

conductor pulled up his hand. The

25:50

skin so tight you could see the

25:52

individual digits of bones in the fingers

25:55

and pointed. He dropped back

25:57

at the top of his head. The

26:00

bottom jaw stayed stock still,

26:03

and inside his mouth lived the

26:05

only genuine light around. I

26:08

did not see bugs, but

26:10

I heard the most terrifying laugh crawl

26:12

out of his mouth like a man

26:14

riding out of football. I

26:18

still hear the laugh. The

26:21

conductor's car pulled past us, and

26:24

we all stood washing it as it moved from

26:26

our right to our left. Suddenly

26:29

we were looking at nothing as

26:31

the empty flat cars moved into our view. I

26:34

shook my head, tried without success,

26:36

squirred, and looked to my right,

26:39

seeing only the blue and nothing flats coming

26:41

out of the top. Then

26:44

a new car came out and clambered

26:46

down to us, followed by

26:48

nothing but more flat cars. At

26:52

this point I don't remember what I was thinking.

26:54

I simply waited until the storage car pulled in

26:57

front of me. Once the

26:59

open storage doors were directly in front of me,

27:02

I lost all sense of the universe. I

27:06

was overtaken in a swarm of blue

27:09

light and no longer stood on green

27:11

grass covered by night. Instead,

27:13

I was standing on a

27:15

wood panel's floor, looking at

27:17

a brown chest and a desk. On

27:20

the bureau was a computer screen, and

27:22

the words I could read, they were being

27:25

typed. I could see them being typed. We

27:27

were simply the end. I

27:31

panned my vision over to the left, and

27:33

a stack of thick hardcover books with my

27:35

name along the sponge, in

27:38

different vibrant colors like a rainbow

27:40

that only moved vertically. To

27:42

the right was a framed photograph

27:45

of a man, a woman, and

27:47

beautiful children. The man

27:49

looked a little like my dad, but

27:51

that wasn't my mother, and none of those

27:54

kids, three boys, two girls,

27:56

were mean. with

28:00

the desks, with the books, and with the

28:02

photographs, but I desperately wanted to

28:04

live there. Never having

28:06

considered before what my future life might

28:08

look like, I knew

28:10

instantly that this was what I wanted.

28:17

As soon as the thought crossed my mind that I

28:19

would never want to leave, I was

28:22

sucked back into reality, or

28:25

what passed from reality that night. I

28:28

was looking at the car headed to my left, and

28:31

the doors closed by themselves as it

28:33

departed from view. The

28:35

train kept rolling until it finally

28:37

disappeared into the tunnel, with a final

28:40

flash of cobalt light and the final

28:42

echoes of the conductive laugh echoing off

28:44

the walls of my head. We

28:50

stood for a while, no one

28:52

saying anything. I kicked dirt

28:55

in front of me, not because

28:57

I wanted to, but because I felt

28:59

compelled to do something. Elliot

29:02

was the first to speak. Let's

29:05

go home, guys. We

29:07

did. I

29:20

first learned that Elliot passed away

29:23

from Jim. After

29:25

middle school ended that summer, Jim

29:28

and I stayed at Atkins High School. Chris

29:31

was taken out to go to a

29:33

school his parents had hopes might end

29:35

with a football scholarship. It

29:37

did, and Elliot's stepdad moved

29:39

them away when he lost his job

29:41

at the aluminum chair factory. We

29:44

lost touch, the way old friends

29:46

always seemed to do. The

29:49

funeral was light in attendance. It

29:52

was in Dallas, 10 or 12 miles

29:54

from the Galleria where he jumped off.

29:57

Jim said he saw pictures from the scene.

30:00

and they made him cry. I didn't

30:02

need the photos to cry. I did

30:05

it all by myself before I

30:07

even made it into the funeral parlor. The

30:10

only family there was a half sister. Jim

30:13

told me that he caught up with Elliot a

30:15

couple years back on Facebook and

30:17

Elliot shared pictures of a daughter that was

30:19

in Phoenix. He

30:21

showed me the pictures because she

30:23

didn't make the funeral. It was

30:25

a cremation and Jim got the ashes.

30:29

Chris was not able to make the funeral because

30:31

he was coaching a college team. I

30:33

won't say which one, but you could Google

30:35

it. That was in the playoffs.

30:39

They lost and he was free the next

30:41

weekend to meet us in Atkins. He

30:43

told us when he arrived that he would

30:45

have come anyway, win, lose or draw. We

30:49

believed him. We

30:51

all met at Pat's pub. This

30:53

was the first drink we ever shared together. And

30:56

we purchased a fourth that went

30:58

untouched and shared about

31:00

recent successes. Chris had

31:02

his team and a new contract in negotiations

31:04

to secure him for the next five seasons.

31:07

Jim had his law practice and it kept him

31:10

shaking hands with all sorts of men and women.

31:13

He seemed to know everyone and have more money

31:15

than he knew what to do with. So

31:17

he was venturing out to other enterprises. His

31:21

newest acquisition was a drive in theater

31:23

off the border of Austin that had

31:25

been vacant for a decade that he

31:27

was going to renovate into a repertory

31:29

location. If he had to pay

31:31

out just to keep it up and he was the

31:33

only one showing up for his double features, it

31:36

would be worth it to him. I

31:38

shared news of my latest book deal. I

31:41

had finally been accepted a year after

31:43

college for the second novel I wrote.

31:45

The first was utter nonsense and

31:48

the next five books were all published and

31:50

sold well to pay

31:52

was good and I could write full

31:54

time. I still received

31:56

some rejections on my short stories, but

31:58

I didn't tell you. them that. I

32:01

also told them that Rachel had just found out

32:03

she was pregnant again and we

32:05

would be expecting our fourth child soon, the

32:08

first girl. We

32:15

made it out to the tracks 30 minutes

32:17

before midnight. I was

32:19

carrying the urn. It wasn't

32:21

really an urn, it was a cardboard box

32:23

with a plastic bag of ashes inside and

32:26

I walked over to the tree I had sat

32:28

with Elliot under. I took

32:30

a copy of First Blood with me,

32:32

mostly for nostalgia. Jim

32:34

and Chris tossed rocks. We

32:37

hung out until Chris's phone alarm went

32:39

off five minutes before midnight. We

32:42

stood in the same spot we had stood in

32:44

as kids and waited. No

32:48

train. We waited

32:50

until two in the morning, maybe

32:52

because we thought there might be a time

32:54

delay issue. Eventually I

32:56

turned to Chris and Jim and asked them

32:58

what I never had before. So

33:03

what did y'all see that night? You

33:05

mean other than a ghost train? Yeah,

33:09

you know what I mean. Chris

33:11

looked at Jim and went first. I

33:15

saw myself on a field. Lights

33:18

were shining down on me and people

33:20

filled the stands cheering. I

33:22

saw myself just like doing

33:24

what I loved, sports

33:26

instantly or the other. I

33:29

looked at Jim. You? I

33:33

saw myself making movies. I

33:35

shook my head. What? Yeah,

33:38

I saw myself making movies like

33:40

directing them and I

33:43

continued to shake my head like a bobblehead

33:45

with a loose spring. That's

33:48

impossible. You're not directing movies now,

33:50

right? No. Jim

33:53

squinted at me, the cotton of his

33:55

purple polo shirt being gently pushed in

33:57

the wind. I

33:59

saw myself writing books and having a

34:02

wife and five kids and stuff. Now

34:04

I'm doing it. I saw my

34:07

future and so did Chris, right? Well,

34:09

I don't know if I saw my future.

34:11

I just saw what I loved. Like

34:15

what made me happiest at the time. Yeah,

34:18

I'd like to think I direct all the time,

34:20

like in for the jury. I

34:22

tell them stories and direct them in my

34:24

cases. That's why I always liked

34:26

watching movies. I feel like I

34:28

use that now telling a good story. None

34:31

of it made much sense to me

34:33

thinking all these years that the midnight

34:36

special was a teller of fortunes, not

34:38

a mood ring, not insight into what

34:40

made you happy at the time. Did

34:43

any of you guys ask Elliot what he saw that

34:46

night? Chris looked at

34:48

Jim. Jim swallowed.

34:51

Yeah. What was

34:53

it? Jim took a deep

34:56

breath and let it out slowly. Like

34:58

a prisoner, he was reluctant to release

35:00

into society. I think

35:02

he knew that the longer he stalled, the

35:05

longer until he had to tell us. I

35:09

asked him a couple weeks ago, he brought it

35:11

up. He told me never cared

35:13

much about the story until his dad passed. And

35:15

it felt like a way to honor his memory.

35:18

He said he was never happier than walking with

35:20

us to see the midnight special. But when

35:23

the car pulled in front of him, he said

35:25

he didn't see anything. Like he

35:27

saw the train. He saw the storage car.

35:30

Inside was just nothing. I

35:33

mean, yeah, he said he saw nothing. And

35:36

when we walked back, he went home and

35:38

cry. He figured he just would never

35:40

have anything to look forward to.

35:42

Didn't help that his stepdad caught him sneaking

35:44

in drunk again and whipped him with a

35:46

telephone. I think all those

35:49

things in one night really did a number on

35:51

him. I

35:54

didn't say anything for a while. I

35:57

nodded along with Chris as Jim told his

35:59

story. We all looked

36:01

at each other and eventually decided it was

36:03

time to spread the ashes. Jim

36:06

did the honors, spreading them under

36:08

the tree and across the tracks. I

36:11

cried again, thinking that Elliot had

36:13

the short end of the stick. I

36:16

had heard more from Jim that past week about

36:18

the stepdad that hurt him and

36:20

it apparently was even worse when they moved

36:23

away from Atkins for a new job and

36:25

they lost that within a month. He

36:28

drank and then so did Elliot.

36:31

He never kept work down and neither did

36:33

Elliot and Elliot's marriage went the

36:35

same as his stepdads did. A

36:38

bitter divorce and custody battle that

36:40

Elliot couldn't afford. Apparently

36:43

this was the real reason they linked up again.

36:46

Jim just hadn't wanted to tell us they

36:48

reconnected over legal services he did for free.

36:52

We walked back to town where they were all

36:54

invited to stay at my house for the weekend.

36:57

Saturday and Sunday were good, but

36:59

that Friday night, walking back

37:01

from the railroad tracks, I

37:04

thought about the midnight special. I

37:07

thought about how it was supposed to show your

37:09

future, but maybe it didn't and

37:12

how dangerous it was to believe the

37:14

lie that someone knew everything about you.

37:17

To believe in yourself, not

37:19

someone else's solution for you. Maybe

37:22

I never wanted to be a writer. Maybe

37:24

I never wanted five kids. Maybe

37:27

Elliot was more than nothing. No,

37:32

I knew that was true. Elliot

37:35

was more than nothing. He

37:37

was an old friend and those

37:40

are hard to come by. You

37:42

can't make old friends. On

37:46

the way back, I heard

37:48

laughter, faint, but

37:51

sharp. Following

37:54

me. He still does. We

38:20

haven't derailed, it's just a quick word from

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our sponsor. For ad-free,

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38:31

If a train shows you how your life

38:33

will turn out, make note of what you

38:35

see, because it's going to take time to

38:37

play out. But what do you do with

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the time you have? Well, you can do

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more and put your time to good use,

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and you can learn how thanks to this

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show being sponsored by BetterHelp. A

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lot of us spend our lives wishing we had more

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time. The question is, time for what?

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use it? One thing that's

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helped me answer this question is getting

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to BetterHelp for sponsoring this episode.

39:42

Now back to the campfire. You've

39:44

trained your whole life for this last

39:46

story. In

39:55

our final tale, we visit a graveyard. Ah,

40:00

but this is no ordinary graveyard, because

40:02

the bodies buried there aren't ones formerly

40:05

of flesh and blood. No

40:07

they were once frames of steel and

40:09

iron. That's right, it's

40:11

a graveyard of old train cars. And

40:15

in this tale, shared with us

40:17

by author Seth Borgen, we'll meet

40:19

Ginny and her friends as they

40:21

stumble upon this mysterious place and

40:23

learn about the train formerly known

40:25

as the Iron Baron, a train

40:28

that still holds secrets and

40:31

horrors of the past. Performing

40:34

this tale are Jessica McAvoy,

40:37

Mick Wingert, Jeff Clement, Peter

40:39

Lewis, Mike Delgaudio, Sarah

40:42

Thomas, and Graham Rowett. So

40:45

if you're out wandering, make sure you know the

40:47

way. You don't want to

40:49

get caught on the wrong side of

40:51

the tracks. In

41:06

the woods behind my house, just off the

41:08

trail at the first big curve, the

41:10

ground disappears. An almost

41:12

90 degree incline straight

41:15

down. Four

41:17

stories, maybe five. When

41:20

you're standing at the very top looking down, it

41:22

might as well be a thousand. At

41:25

the bottom, just more of the

41:27

deepest, darkest woods this side of

41:29

the last ice age. Folks

41:32

around town called it Popper's grave because it

41:34

was the cheapest way to dispose of a

41:36

body. Just get it

41:38

rolling and it's gone. I

41:40

don't know if anyone's ever done that. It's

41:43

probably just one of those things adults like to say to

41:45

each other. Even for

41:47

us kids, Popper's grave was

41:50

serious business. Mythic

41:52

even. The last unchecked

41:55

box. The last

41:57

untouched dare left hanging in the

41:59

ether. Excalibur, jutting from its

42:01

stone, just waiting for some King Arthur to

42:03

come along. Who didn't

42:05

want to be the first kid to ride

42:08

their bike down Popper's grave? Not

42:11

me or Jaima, that's for sure. But

42:13

just about everyone else we knew did. Some

42:16

claimed to have done it, but no one

42:18

ever claimed to have seen it. That's

42:22

how we knew they were lying. That's

42:24

how we knew the day that Claude did it. He

42:26

really was the first. Claude

42:29

came over after lunch, said today

42:31

was the day and Jaima and I

42:33

followed. We made our

42:35

way along the trail, Claude walking his

42:37

bike, Jaima and I on either side.

42:41

We'd left our bikes back at my house. Where

42:43

we were going, we were not going to need

42:45

them. Nobody was

42:47

talking. Deep inside

42:49

the cool of those woods, the trail

42:52

of cicadas, the way the sunlight

42:54

flickered through the leaves. We understood

42:56

even then that we were as free as life

42:58

was ever going to allow us to be. Sixth

43:01

grade had just ended. It

43:03

was the summer of 91. I

43:06

would not live to see the summer of 92. We

43:11

left the trail at the big curve, Claude's

43:13

bike chain clicking like a movie projector. Before

43:16

long, we were at the top of Popper's grave

43:19

looking down at the world below. Hours

43:22

of rain runoff had carved out a flat

43:24

strip of clay about a foot and a

43:26

half wide that ran the whole way down,

43:28

eventually disappearing into thick primeval brush.

43:31

This was known as a shoot.

43:35

Claude positioned his bike at the top of the shoot. He

43:38

didn't look nervous, probably because

43:40

he wasn't. He was

43:42

never nervous before doing something incredibly

43:44

dangerous. It's what

43:46

Jaima was for. Jaima

43:49

was short for Jose Maria Rodrigo

43:51

for Donado, a long,

43:54

romantic name for an undersized sixth

43:56

grader with bad eyes and a tangible

43:58

fear of just about everything. He

44:01

kept his thick horn-rimmed glasses perpetually strapped

44:03

to his head with a pair of

44:05

red croquis, because he was afraid of

44:07

losing them and not being able to find his way home. He

44:10

said his parents made him wear the croquis, but

44:12

that wasn't true. He

44:14

was not a fan of Claude's antics. He

44:17

was not a fan of antics of any kind. As

44:20

far as he was concerned, the world was going

44:22

to kill us with or without our help. So

44:25

why help? No. He

44:28

was there because I was there. Sometimes

44:31

I pushed Chema to do things he would never do

44:33

on his own, and sometimes I

44:35

pulled Claude back when the fall looked too

44:37

steep. Which maybe I

44:40

should have been doing right then. That

44:43

would have done any good. Hey,

44:45

Ginny, what's that thing people put

44:47

on graves? Flowers?

44:50

No, I mean like words. An epitaph? Yeah.

44:55

Yeah. What's a good

44:57

epitaph for this? How's

44:59

this? Claude

45:02

Hoyt. He died doing

45:04

what he loved. Something

45:06

he wasn't supposed to. Not bad,

45:08

not bad. Chema? Claude

45:12

Hoyt. It was all downhill from there.

45:15

Boy, you guys are good at epitaphs. Anyone

45:17

ever tell you that before? Literally no.

45:21

Claude refocused his attention on the shoot.

45:24

Sitting there, kind of smirking at what might

45:26

kill him. Arms crossed, a

45:29

breeze rustling his sleeves, his mop

45:31

of yellow hair. He

45:33

reminded me of a flag. Not

45:35

a national flag. More like

45:38

a county fair flag. Or

45:40

a flag emblazoned with your friend who's

45:43

kind of stupid but you like him

45:45

anyway. Jeez, I

45:47

thought, he's really stupid.

45:51

And then, almost casually, he

45:53

kicked off. He

45:55

careened down the hill, his gears grinding

45:58

like dimes on a garbage disposal. as

46:00

he went. He hit the wall

46:02

of brush at the bottom and disappeared. The

46:04

sound of his bike disappeared. The

46:07

leaves and the branches he'd just crashed through

46:09

reformed and went still. Two,

46:12

three seconds later, it was

46:14

like nothing at all had happened. We

46:17

were just standing there. Is

46:20

it possible that we don't actually know anyone named

46:22

Claude and that all of this was just in our

46:24

minds? Come on. At

46:27

the most forgiving angle we could find,

46:29

we scooted down into the belly of

46:31

poppers grave gravity doing most of the

46:33

work for us. We

46:35

followed the trail of broken branches until we came

46:37

to a sudden rise in the earth. Claude

46:40

hit that rise going who knows how many

46:42

miles per hour and took flight soaring

46:45

another 3035 feet

46:47

before finally coming to a stop. There

46:50

his bike lay on its side, the

46:52

front tire spinning several

46:55

feet away draped in cool shade

46:57

hands on his hips. Claude

46:59

was just sort of looking

47:01

around. We approached.

47:04

He didn't seem to notice us. There

47:07

wasn't a mark on him. Shame

47:10

without a broken bone or two. I don't think

47:12

anyone's going to believe us. Huh?

47:16

Oh, right. In

47:18

true Claude fashion. He was already on

47:20

to the next thing. Hey,

47:23

where are we? I don't know. I've

47:26

never been to this part of the woods before. I

47:29

don't think anyone has. This

47:31

place feels weird. As soon

47:34

as he said that, I realized he

47:36

was right. It didn't

47:39

just feel unfamiliar. It

47:41

felt off in

47:44

a lot of little ways. The

47:46

trees seemed too tall. The

47:49

shade from their leaves felt more like a

47:51

storm rolling in and shade above

47:53

the sky and sun felt

47:55

too far away. The shoot

47:57

felt far away. home

48:00

suddenly felt far away.

48:04

No, they have. Chemon

48:06

edged the ground with his foot. Just

48:09

not recently. We were standing

48:11

on an almost totally grown over

48:14

set of railroad tracks. Knee-high

48:17

weeds and tree sprouts rose up around

48:19

corroded rails and spikes the same color

48:21

as the dirt. Beneath

48:23

a blanket of dead leaves, the

48:25

decomposing ties held together like frosty

48:27

mulch under our feet, but had

48:29

basically kept their shape. Chemon

48:32

went on, looking very serious,

48:35

sounding very serious. I

48:38

don't know how to tell you guys this, but these tracks

48:40

shouldn't be here. Chemon

48:43

loved history. He

48:45

loved it the way Claude loved defying odds.

48:48

History is the story of how everyone died,

48:50

he used to say. Read

48:53

the right stuff. History becomes

48:55

a how-to manual for not dying a

48:57

gruesome death. He

48:59

had a particular affinity for local history.

49:02

If something in his own backyard wanted to kill

49:04

him, he wanted to know about it. There's

49:08

only one track that runs through town. It's the

49:10

only track that's ever run through town, built

49:12

by the Central Midwestern Railroad in 1901,

49:15

and it runs east-west. This

49:17

track? Chemon adjusted his

49:19

glasses again to emphasize the point he

49:21

was about to make. He

49:24

was north-south. Claude

49:27

got that doing-math look on his

49:29

face. Meaning...what?

49:33

I don't know what it means. I'm

49:36

just saying these tracks shouldn't be here. I

49:39

looked one way, then the other. Then,

49:43

where do they go? Chemon

49:45

pointed south. I'm guessing

49:47

that way feeds into the east-west track. He

49:51

pointed north. That

49:53

way, wherever they go, they

49:55

don't ever leave these woods. that

50:01

they don't ever leave these woods.

50:04

Neither did he I could tell. Claude,

50:07

on the other hand, picked up

50:09

his bike and started walking north.

50:12

And here I was thinking nothing interesting

50:14

was going to happen today. About

50:20

a half mile later, we found a massive

50:22

chain link fence threaded with green

50:24

privacy slides. Barbed

50:26

wire lined the top. The

50:29

tracks we were following disappeared under a gate

50:31

is locked with a thick chain and the

50:33

padlock the size of one of my mother's

50:35

paperback novels. I examined

50:37

the lock. There didn't appear

50:39

to be a slot for a key. As

50:42

if the lock was designed to only ever

50:44

do one thing. And it had already done it.

50:48

We began working our way around

50:50

looking for another way in. It

50:52

was slow going. Ancient trees

50:54

grew right up against the fences edge. The

50:57

truth was, it had been carved right

51:00

out of the forest at its deepest

51:02

and darkest before our parents were born.

51:05

We eventually came to a spot where one of

51:07

those ancient trees had fallen, taking a segment of

51:09

fence down with it. Inside,

51:13

spanning roughly the size of a

51:15

football field, were two rows of

51:17

train parts lined up side by

51:19

side instead of end to end. A

51:22

real life train graveyard.

51:26

The cars were in various stages

51:28

of ruin, ranging from wrecked to

51:30

unrecognizable heaps of scorched metal. Flod

51:33

hopped up onto the fallen tree for a better

51:35

look. I'm going to be honest. I'm

51:38

not sure if finding an old train at

51:40

the end of an old train track is

51:42

the most awesome or the most boring thing

51:44

we've ever done. Surprisingly,

51:47

it was Chema who went in

51:49

first. If he

51:51

hadn't, maybe none of us would have.

51:54

Everything about the fence and where it was

51:56

located and what was inside was making a

51:59

strong argument for getting the hell away from

52:01

there. But he

52:03

didn't. And we followed.

52:06

Because that's the way with three

52:08

friends. Where one of you goes,

52:11

the other two follow. Uncharacteristically

52:14

giddy, Jaima made a beeline for the

52:16

train's engine. It can't

52:18

be. There's just no way.

52:22

He rubbed away some soot, revealing

52:24

faint stenciled lettering underneath. You

52:27

guys are never gonna believe this. This

52:29

is the Iron Baron. The

52:32

Iron Baron. When

52:34

it became obvious those words meant nothing

52:36

to us, Jaima added. It's

52:39

famous. How does

52:42

a train become famous? You

52:44

ever hear of the Hindenburg, the Titanic?

52:47

Yeah, like that. In

52:50

1911, Jaima explained, the

52:53

Iron Baron, the crown jewel of

52:55

the central Midwestern railroad, was taking

52:57

its regular Western route when it

52:59

came up on a notorious troublesome

53:02

curve known as D'Lahan's Cut. Instead

53:05

of slowing down like it was supposed to, the

53:08

Iron Baron sped up. However

53:11

fast it was going, no one knows for

53:13

sure, the Iron Baron jumped

53:15

its tracks at D'Lahan's Cut, like grape

53:17

shot fired from a cannon. Cars

53:20

went flying, twisting, tumbling,

53:22

barreling across a mile and a

53:24

half of craggy Baron land before

53:26

finally coming to a stop. Some

53:29

of the cars burned for a while until there

53:31

was nothing left that would burn. The

53:34

others, they didn't do anything. Just

53:37

sit there, still as pictures. Middle

53:40

of nowhere, middle of the night. Helped

53:43

in to arrive for two whole days.

53:46

Not that there was anyone to help. Of

53:49

the 123 passengers and crew, the

53:52

official word was no survivors.

53:55

The unofficial word eventually got

53:58

to the point where what was left. simply

54:00

couldn't be counted. Chema's

54:02

exact words were, you can't

54:05

count the berries after they make the

54:07

smoothie. I looked around.

54:10

No footsteps in the dirt. No

54:12

litter in the scrub grass. No

54:14

graffiti tags on the cars. No

54:17

sign that anyone other than us had

54:19

ever been here. This

54:21

might be a dumb question, but

54:24

what's all this doing in my backyard?

54:27

That I literally couldn't tell you. The

54:29

crash didn't happen anywhere near here. He

54:32

shrugged. My guess is that the

54:34

railroad just wanted to put it somewhere no one would ever find

54:36

it. I thought about how

54:38

Popper's grave first got its name. The

54:41

cheapest way to dispose of a body.

54:44

Just get it rolling, and it's gone.

54:48

At this point, Claude's interests

54:50

matched Chema's. They

54:52

stood shoulder to shoulder, transfixed on

54:54

the wrecked engine, fixated on

54:56

whatever morbid series of events was playing

54:58

out inside their boy brains. The

55:01

kind where it's all right what happens,

55:04

because the people involved aren't really people.

55:07

Weird. It is weird I

55:09

grant you, but that's not even the weird part.

55:12

The weird part was what they found right inside

55:14

there. Chema pointed to

55:16

the engine car. The

55:18

engineer and firemen were tied up. Their throats

55:20

cut to the bone, and the furnace was

55:22

so loaded with coal it was still hot

55:24

when the rescue crew showed up. Which

55:27

means... Claude

55:30

took a step closer and pressed his hand against

55:32

the side, as if some of that heat might

55:34

still be in there. Which

55:36

means someone wanted what happened to

55:39

happen, and went to an

55:41

awful lot of trouble to make it happen. Do

55:45

they know who? Nah, some

55:47

passenger or some employee. There are some

55:49

theories. Whoever it was, they assume

55:51

they died right along with everyone else. Seems

55:54

like an awful lot of work just to die.

55:57

Man, you guys are crushing those epitaphs.

56:01

Claude grinned at me. I

56:03

did not grin back. I

56:05

had just about hit my limit. I

56:08

wanted to go. Graveyards are

56:10

cool and all, but this place was

56:12

too many graveyards at once. No

56:15

one had buried the bodies. This

56:18

place, it felt like the opposite

56:20

of hollowed ground. With

56:22

the tall trees growing up and over the

56:24

high fence walls, it felt like we

56:26

were standing at the bottom of a giant aquarium

56:29

filled with human fizzling. Yes,

56:33

I wanted to go. Instead,

56:35

Claude began winding his way between

56:38

the cars. Jama

56:40

followed. Reluctantly, I

56:43

followed Jama. Standing

56:45

in between two particularly devastated

56:48

passenger cars, Claude let out

56:50

a whistle. Boy, it

56:52

sure must have been something. Yeah,

56:55

a crime scene. I

56:57

get that. I get that. He

56:59

obviously did not get that. But

57:03

I mean, if you have to go, what a

57:05

way to do it, right? Going

57:07

that fast, hitting that

57:09

past hell, bed for

57:11

steel, taking flight, soaring

57:13

into all that darkness. I

57:16

don't know. I'd kind of like to know what it's like.

57:20

That can be arranged. It

57:23

was a voice that didn't belong to any of

57:25

us. That didn't belong

57:27

to anyone we knew. That

57:29

didn't seem to come from anywhere in particular.

57:32

Close and far away at the same

57:34

time. In the air, the

57:37

trees, the other side of the fence, the

57:40

inside of our own heads. A

57:43

sharp, crystalline voice, like

57:45

a shirt of glass slicing through a

57:47

vein. It was the worst sound I'd

57:49

ever heard. In

57:51

fact, it already has. A

57:55

pair of arms reached out of the passenger car

57:57

behind Claude. Hands that were

57:59

too pale. and fingers that were too

58:01

long coiled around him yanked and he was

58:03

gone before the sound he was making could

58:05

become a word. The

58:07

time it takes to blink, Chima and

58:10

I were staring at two tennis shoe

58:12

prints in the dirt and an open

58:14

door leading into an empty train car.

58:19

I looked at Chima. His

58:21

eyes were dinner plates. The

58:24

rest of him struggled to reject what his eyes had

58:26

just shown him. Is it

58:28

possible we don't actually know anyone named Claude

58:30

and that all of this was just in

58:32

her minds? Somehow

58:35

I wasn't feeling anything. It

58:38

was like I was in empty room because

58:40

all of the terror in the world had

58:42

wedged itself into the doorframe. In

58:45

the meantime, echoing off the walls of

58:47

that empty room was the inescapable fact that if

58:49

it had been one of us, Claude

58:51

would already be on that train. I decided

58:54

to act while that was still possible. Come

58:57

on. I took down Chima's

58:59

shirt just enough to let him know we were

59:01

doing this and I ran for the door leading

59:04

into the passenger car. Right

59:06

behind me was Chima. Because

59:09

that's the way with three friends. The

59:12

second we were inside, the light was

59:14

different. The air was

59:17

different. The train was

59:19

moving, metal gliding along

59:21

metal beneath our feet. The

59:24

door we just entered through was sealed

59:26

tight, black night whooshing past on the

59:28

other side of the window. Don't

59:30

ask me how, but somehow

59:32

we expected this. This,

59:35

stepping up from a sun blanched train

59:38

graveyard and onto a moving train, was

59:40

always going to be the next thing

59:42

that happened in our lives. The

59:46

car was filled with men, women, and

59:48

children just casually going on about their

59:50

business, chatting to one another,

59:53

reading, smoking, drowsing.

59:57

The men wore boater hats, cravats,

59:59

and The

1:00:01

women had lace collars and hats

1:00:03

plumed with feathers. Girls

1:00:06

with ringlets and boys in short pants

1:00:08

and knee socks slept, shifted in their

1:00:10

seats impatiently or tried their best to

1:00:12

do whatever their parents were doing. Chema

1:00:15

waved his hand in front of a man's face. They

1:00:18

couldn't see us. They couldn't

1:00:20

hear us. Is this

1:00:23

our now or the era then? I

1:00:26

think this is something in between. What

1:00:28

happens if you touch one? What happens

1:00:31

if you touch one? I

1:00:33

put my hand on the shoulder of the woman closest

1:00:35

to me. She didn't

1:00:37

react. More than that,

1:00:40

she seemed incapable of

1:00:42

reacting like a hall of

1:00:44

president's robot made out of skin and

1:00:46

bone instead of rubber and gyros. A

1:00:49

thin trickle of blood oozed out of the woman's

1:00:51

ear. If the woman was

1:00:53

in pain, could feel her own blood

1:00:55

making its way down her neck. She

1:00:58

couldn't react to that either. I

1:01:00

told Chema. Yeah, this

1:01:02

guy's bleeding too. They

1:01:04

all were, we soon realized. Only

1:01:07

a little, dabs and dribbles of red here

1:01:09

and there, but their own blood

1:01:11

was as invisible to them as we were.

1:01:15

Oh, you came. It

1:01:18

was the same voice from before. A

1:01:21

man wearing a navy blue conductor's tunic

1:01:23

with brass buttons and gold trim stood

1:01:25

at the far end of the car.

1:01:28

I have to say, that's a

1:01:30

little surprising. I took

1:01:32

a step forward. Chema was

1:01:34

right behind me, his eyes perched over

1:01:36

my shoulder. Where's

1:01:39

Claude? Oh, is that his

1:01:41

name? Not that

1:01:43

it matters. Do you not

1:01:45

think the world was capable

1:01:47

of profound darkness before it

1:01:49

was inhabited with creatures with

1:01:52

names? There is

1:01:54

no power in a name, you see. Only

1:01:57

blood. long,

1:02:00

pale hands that pulled our friend into

1:02:02

this place, reached into a waistcoat pocket,

1:02:04

and pulled out a pocket watch. He

1:02:07

studied it, then looked back at us. But

1:02:10

I'm getting ahead of myself. Normally

1:02:13

a virtue in my line of work.

1:02:15

Today, however, we have

1:02:18

a very strict schedule to keep.

1:02:21

His hands, they weren't just

1:02:23

long. They were

1:02:25

too long. Too many

1:02:27

knuckles. His arms

1:02:30

were too long. His

1:02:32

torso. His smile had

1:02:34

too many teeth. Each

1:02:36

eye had two pupils. The

1:02:38

irises mashed together like infinity symbols.

1:02:41

Things you might not notice unless you

1:02:43

were really looking. Maybe

1:02:46

he was human once, but now, like

1:02:48

everything else in this place, he was

1:02:50

something in between. He

1:02:53

put away his pocket watch. If

1:02:56

you must know, he is with

1:02:58

two very diligent central Midwestern employees

1:03:00

at the moment. I can't imagine

1:03:02

him being in better hands. J-M

1:03:06

and I looked at each other. The

1:03:08

engine. You, however,

1:03:11

I don't have anything for

1:03:13

you, except maybe free passage.

1:03:15

Not that you'll want any part

1:03:18

of where this train is going.

1:03:20

We're not as scared of you. I

1:03:23

admired that Chema got the words out, but

1:03:25

it was hard to believe him. If

1:03:28

Claude were here, I would have

1:03:30

believed him. Too dumb to be scared,

1:03:32

even in a situation like this. He

1:03:36

wasn't here. And wherever he

1:03:38

was on this train, I couldn't

1:03:40

help but think he'd finally found something

1:03:42

that terrified him. Do

1:03:45

you see all these people? The

1:03:48

conductor gestured to the passengers with

1:03:50

his spidery fingers. They

1:03:53

are not scared, either.

1:03:56

But that won't change what's going to

1:03:58

happen to them. Sorry,

1:04:00

what has already happened to

1:04:02

them? Speaking

1:04:04

of which, lots to do. I

1:04:07

must be off, but do enjoy

1:04:09

the ride. He tipped

1:04:11

his cap and disappeared through the door behind

1:04:14

him. We followed. Only

1:04:17

a few seconds passed before we were in the

1:04:19

next car, but there was no sign of the conductor. Again,

1:04:22

we were surrounded by passengers, casually

1:04:25

killing time between two points on

1:04:27

a map. Though

1:04:29

they were just as oblivious to their injuries, these

1:04:31

passengers were a little bit more battered

1:04:33

than the last. A

1:04:36

little bloodier, a little bit more

1:04:38

bruised, the bruises deeper shades

1:04:40

of red and purple. And

1:04:42

judging by the vibrations beneath our feet, the

1:04:45

train was moving just a little

1:04:47

faster. A woman pointed

1:04:49

at something on the other side of her window for

1:04:51

a child sitting next to her to see. The

1:04:54

woman's glove was blood soaked, the

1:04:56

finger bent in an impossible direction. The

1:04:59

window was as black as volcanic glass.

1:05:03

Whatever it was that they were seeing, the

1:05:05

little girl smiled with red teeth. In

1:05:08

the next car, the wounds were even more pronounced,

1:05:12

red arm bones bursting out of sleeves,

1:05:15

glossy burns, eyeballs

1:05:17

crushed inside their sockets like chewed

1:05:19

gum, a little boy chasing

1:05:21

another little boy, brothers maybe,

1:05:23

bolted down the aisle. We

1:05:26

pressed to the sides to let them pass. The

1:05:29

second little boy's jaw bone dangled from his

1:05:31

face by a single tendon. Shima

1:05:34

couldn't look away, couldn't move. Hey,

1:05:38

Shima? Yes? He

1:05:41

just stood there, transfixed, his

1:05:43

arms pressed to his body, staring

1:05:45

at the boys. They

1:05:47

were tussling at the far end of the car, the

1:05:50

jaw bone flopping around like a fish in a

1:05:52

boat. Got any epitaphs

1:05:54

for us? Um... He

1:05:57

looked at me, sort of surprised to see

1:05:59

me there. there. Back to the

1:06:01

boys. Then back to me.

1:06:04

Oh, Jenny McCovey

1:06:07

and Chema for tomorrow. Let's

1:06:10

fly next time. Remember

1:06:12

to tell Claude that one. He

1:06:15

nodded. Me took a

1:06:17

deep breath and pressed forward. In

1:06:20

the dining car, the passengers injuries were

1:06:22

so severe it was impossible to differentiate

1:06:25

between their skin and the meat on

1:06:27

their plates. Utterly

1:06:29

unaware of their mutilated forms,

1:06:31

they chatted with one another.

1:06:33

They drank. Orcs

1:06:35

clinked. The train was

1:06:38

moving so fast the windows rattled. Eyes

1:06:41

forward, our arms pressed to our

1:06:43

sights. We weaved our way through

1:06:45

the mangled waitstaff as they served and

1:06:47

reselled glasses from the aisles. The

1:06:50

man smoking a cigar was missing his head from

1:06:52

the bridge of his nose up. What

1:06:55

was left looked like a bowl filled with

1:06:57

wet strawberries. With each

1:06:59

pull on the cigar, blue smoke blossomed

1:07:02

out of the strawberries. We

1:07:04

were almost to the next door when we heard

1:07:06

the conductor's voice somewhere behind us. We

1:07:09

stopped. Children, I

1:07:12

am about to give you the

1:07:14

best advice you have ever received

1:07:17

in your entire life. He

1:07:19

was at the other end of the car

1:07:22

leaning against the doorframe, his watch cupped in

1:07:24

his tendril fingers. How

1:07:26

had he gotten behind us? There's

1:07:29

still a time to get off.

1:07:32

Stay back, freak show. Stay

1:07:34

back. Have I done anything

1:07:36

to stop you? Have I

1:07:38

impeded your progress in any

1:07:40

way? Who's letting you ride

1:07:42

for free? In fact,

1:07:44

if memory serves, I was the one

1:07:47

who told you where you could find

1:07:49

your friend. If memory

1:07:51

serves, you're the reason he's here

1:07:53

in the first place. The

1:07:55

conductor shrugged and smiled his

1:07:58

grotesque smile. I

1:08:00

merely escorted him through a door he

1:08:02

was going to walk through anyway. Believe

1:08:06

me when I say I've done

1:08:08

far worse than that in

1:08:10

my time. Yeah, you made the

1:08:12

door! The conductor's

1:08:14

smile vanished. That's

1:08:17

right. I did. Bart

1:08:20

and paid for with the blood of

1:08:22

123 souls. Well

1:08:27

it will be 123 when all's said and done. You

1:08:32

know, I could just as easily make it

1:08:34

125. His

1:08:38

smile returned. But what

1:08:40

are we talking about? Really three

1:08:43

cherries on my Sunday when one

1:08:45

would suffice? How vulgar.

1:08:48

What would people say about me? I

1:08:51

made the door, yes, and you

1:08:53

walked through it willingly even though

1:08:55

you were terrified right down to

1:08:58

your marrow of what you might

1:09:00

find on the other side. I

1:09:03

admire that. And you've

1:09:05

come this far. I admire

1:09:07

that. And you're terrified

1:09:09

right now, right this second,

1:09:12

more terrified than you ever

1:09:14

thought possible. Yet here you

1:09:16

are, staring

1:09:18

into an abyss at the bottom of

1:09:20

the abyss, completing whole

1:09:23

sentences standing on your own

1:09:25

two feet. Astonishing, really.

1:09:27

And all I'm trying to

1:09:29

do is reward all that

1:09:32

courage. So

1:09:35

hear me. It's

1:09:37

too late for your friend. It's

1:09:40

not too late for you.

1:09:43

We're not leaving without Claude.

1:09:46

The conductor shrugged again. There's

1:09:49

an old saying in the railroad business.

1:09:52

I think it applies. Running

1:09:54

out of track always wins

1:09:56

the argument. He turned

1:09:58

and slept through his door. We

1:10:01

pressed on. The last

1:10:03

car separating us from the engine was the coal

1:10:05

car. The only way

1:10:07

through was over. We

1:10:09

opened the last door and were nearly knocked over by

1:10:11

the blast of air. In front

1:10:14

of us, the ladder on the back of

1:10:16

the coal car looked a hundred miles away. Below,

1:10:19

a track word like the blades of

1:10:21

a blender. One ill-timed

1:10:23

bump. One misjudged

1:10:25

movement. We were liquid. Because

1:10:28

he'd do it for us. Because

1:10:30

he'd do it for us. I

1:10:33

leapt onto the coupler, pushed off, and

1:10:35

grabbed for the ladder. The

1:10:37

train was vibrating so violently, the

1:10:39

metal felt electrified. Literally

1:10:42

holding on for my life, I

1:10:44

pulled up, swung my body over the lip of

1:10:46

the car and landed in a bed of shaking

1:10:48

coal. When Chema tried to

1:10:50

do the same, the train jerked and his hand

1:10:53

missed the ladder. I grabbed

1:10:55

his wrist, his wild momentum pulling him too

1:10:57

far in one direction and then the other.

1:11:00

He was just about gone from my grip when one

1:11:02

of his feet caught a rung. Then,

1:11:04

his free hand. Together,

1:11:06

we hoisted him onto the car. Somehow,

1:11:10

we were still alive, and the only thing

1:11:12

separating us from Claude was a bed of

1:11:14

coal the size of a slip and slide.

1:11:17

All we had to do was get to the other

1:11:19

side. Considering how far we'd

1:11:21

come, it seemed like nothing. We

1:11:24

were wrong. The train

1:11:27

was moving so impossibly fast at this

1:11:29

point that the dancing sheet of black

1:11:31

rock had no tangible surface. It

1:11:34

was like trying to crawl across the inside of

1:11:36

a giant popcorn popper. With

1:11:38

each movement, we were just as likely to go

1:11:40

under as move an inch. And

1:11:43

still, the train found more speed. 20,000

1:11:47

tons of steel hurtling along the tracks like

1:11:49

a flat stone skipped across a pond, bouncing

1:11:52

like a plane taking flight. Moments

1:11:55

of weightlessness lifted us up in the air,

1:11:57

slammed us back in, and lifted us up

1:11:59

again. Up ahead,

1:12:01

smoke and sparks plumed out of the iron

1:12:03

baron's stack. Inside the

1:12:06

cab glowed a hellish orange. Everything

1:12:09

else in every direction was the darkest dark

1:12:11

I'd ever seen. Somewhere

1:12:14

out there in all that darkness was

1:12:16

D'Lahan's cut, waiting, waiting

1:12:19

for what had already happened to happen.

1:12:23

I could feel how close it was, as

1:12:25

if the cars were already burning, as

1:12:28

if the wind whooshing past my ears were the screams

1:12:30

of 123 dying

1:12:32

passengers, the smell of their coppery

1:12:34

blood filling my nostrils. No,

1:12:38

we were not going to make it. The

1:12:41

conductor knew that, had

1:12:43

always known that. The second

1:12:45

he pulled Claude out of our world and

1:12:48

into this one, it was already too late.

1:12:51

He'd left nothing to chance. Damn

1:12:54

him. Chemo was

1:12:56

just a little bit ahead of me,

1:12:58

scrambling furiously to pull himself forward, going

1:13:00

nowhere. Just before the train

1:13:02

left the track for what I knew would be the last

1:13:05

time, I wrapped my arms around him,

1:13:07

pitched our combined weight, and rolled us over

1:13:10

the side of the car and into the

1:13:12

endless blackness. We

1:13:14

landed on the ground with about as much

1:13:16

force as rolling off the couch. The

1:13:19

dirt beneath us was hot and dry.

1:13:23

The dirt stopped. I

1:13:25

opened my eyes and found myself staring

1:13:27

into a blue summer sky. Next

1:13:30

to us loomed the twisted, rusted

1:13:32

out, sun-baked husk of an empty

1:13:34

coal car, its wheels half-sunk into

1:13:36

the earth and brimming with weeds.

1:13:40

Are we dead? Do you feel

1:13:42

dead? A little. We

1:13:45

pulled ourselves to our feet. I

1:13:47

think that means we're alive. We

1:13:51

were back on our side of the door, back

1:13:54

in the train graveyard, back

1:13:56

among the rows of derelict cars. No

1:13:59

time to get away. past. With

1:14:01

the exception of Claude, our lives

1:14:03

were exactly where we'd left them. Just

1:14:07

a few cuts and bruises and a

1:14:09

thin layer of soot covering our skin and

1:14:11

clothes for our trouble. In

1:14:13

the next row over, the conductor casually

1:14:15

stepped off of the caboose. The

1:14:18

dark ritual begun nearly a

1:14:20

century before was finally complete.

1:14:24

Back in the real world, he looked human

1:14:26

again. On the outside,

1:14:28

at least, he looked

1:14:30

at his normal hands, his

1:14:32

normal arms. He was

1:14:35

pleased. He saw us

1:14:37

watching him and called out. Hello

1:14:40

there. I'm glad you

1:14:42

decided to take my advice. He

1:14:45

looked around. I say,

1:14:48

what year is this? Oh, you

1:14:50

know what? On second thought, don't tell

1:14:52

me. He opened his

1:14:54

pocket watch, nodded and tucked it

1:14:57

back into his vest. I

1:15:00

want to be surprised. Besides,

1:15:02

it doesn't really matter.

1:15:04

I'm a fast learner.

1:15:07

With that, the conductor strolled

1:15:09

away, whistling a little tune.

1:15:13

He left the graveyard through the downed section of

1:15:15

the fence. The whistling

1:15:17

faded away like a train disappearing into

1:15:19

the horizon on its way to a

1:15:21

new town. And then the next, and

1:15:24

then the next, and then the next.

1:15:29

We told our parents and the

1:15:31

police only what they were going to

1:15:33

believe. That we'd found

1:15:35

a train graveyard deep in the woods. That

1:15:38

inside the graveyard, a man dressed

1:15:40

in a conductor's uniform grabbed Claude, dragged

1:15:42

him into one of the train cars,

1:15:45

and disappeared. Even

1:15:47

that sounded unbelievable, but

1:15:49

they found the graveyard, along

1:15:51

with four sets of footprints, one

1:15:53

belonging to an adult and Claude's bike.

1:15:56

That's all they found. That's

1:15:59

all. they were going to find because they didn't

1:16:01

have the slightest idea what they were looking for.

1:16:05

I hadn't seen Chema for about a week when he

1:16:07

asked me to meet him at the library. Typical

1:16:10

Chema coping strategy. He'd been reading

1:16:13

and rereading anything he could find

1:16:15

on the Great Iron Baron Crash of 1911.

1:16:17

I found him huddled in

1:16:19

front of a microfiche reader in a part

1:16:21

of the library I'm pretty sure only he

1:16:24

knew about. I pulled up

1:16:26

a chair. He started working without

1:16:28

looking away from the screen. According

1:16:30

to the Iron Baron's manifest on the

1:16:32

night of the wreck, the conductor's name

1:16:34

was John Ott. He pointed

1:16:37

to the name on a list of the dead. It

1:16:39

is assumed he died in the crash. His body

1:16:42

was never identified, but a lot of the bodies

1:16:44

were never identified. And if he

1:16:46

was ever seriously considered a suspect, there's

1:16:48

no word of it in the papers. John

1:16:51

Ott. I

1:16:53

rolled the name over in my mind. John

1:16:56

Ott. John

1:16:59

Ott. Knowing

1:17:02

his name didn't change anything.

1:17:04

They made him no more or less

1:17:06

real to me. No more

1:17:08

or less human. No more

1:17:11

or less evil. It

1:17:13

didn't make what he took from us any

1:17:15

more or less of a cosmic violation. Naming

1:17:18

a mountain doesn't make it a

1:17:20

mountain. The same goes for

1:17:22

oceans, hurricanes, monsters.

1:17:27

There's no power in a name, he'd said.

1:17:30

Only blood. Which

1:17:32

means we know who he is

1:17:35

and where he is and what he's

1:17:37

come here to do. And if

1:17:39

we tell anyone, it's beds with arm straps

1:17:41

till we're 18. There's

1:17:44

more. Oh, great. Chema

1:17:47

turned the knob on the microfiche

1:17:49

reader, sending ancient news pages whooshing

1:17:51

across the screen. He

1:17:53

stopped on a sepia photograph of a hollow

1:17:55

eyed man wearing a miner's hat, holding

1:17:58

the dead body of our friend. the

1:18:01

wreckage of the iron baron smoldering in

1:18:03

the background. Unlike

1:18:05

learning the conductor's name, I

1:18:07

was pulverized by the realness

1:18:10

of Claude's death. It

1:18:12

probably didn't show, but I always found

1:18:15

something reassuring about all the stupid chances

1:18:17

Claude took. No matter how many

1:18:19

ridiculous things we saw him do, he never

1:18:21

broke a bone. He never needed

1:18:23

stitches. He never chipped a tooth.

1:18:25

The basic fact that he was still above

1:18:28

ground and walking the earth always made me

1:18:30

think that maybe the world

1:18:32

wasn't the death trap I was afraid it was. Well,

1:18:35

he's below ground now. Yeah.

1:18:39

Where do you think they buried him? Chema

1:18:42

let out a long, defeated sigh.

1:18:46

Who knows? An

1:18:49

unmarked grave in some potter's field, probably.

1:18:52

A popper's grave? He

1:18:54

nodded. A popper's grave?

1:18:57

I couldn't look away from the picture, as

1:19:00

if looking away was the same as leaving

1:19:02

him behind a second time. The

1:19:04

caption read, Rescue workers

1:19:06

seen here with unidentified crash

1:19:09

victim. No reference

1:19:11

was made as to why the victim's hands

1:19:13

and feet were bound. True

1:19:15

to form, Claude died without a

1:19:18

mark on him, smirking

1:19:20

at oblivion. A

1:19:22

week ago, that picture didn't

1:19:25

exist and was taken

1:19:27

almost a century ago. Both

1:19:30

things were true. A

1:19:32

week ago, Claude was alive, and

1:19:35

he was decomposed earth six feet

1:19:37

below an unmarked grave. Both

1:19:40

things were true. And

1:19:42

then I realized something, the person

1:19:45

I was the week before, wouldn't

1:19:47

have been capable of. On

1:19:49

both sides of the door in the train graveyard

1:19:52

in the woods behind my house, Claude

1:19:54

Hoyt had been reduced to a

1:19:56

headline. In between, however,

1:19:58

not a Nothing was written.

1:20:02

There, a train hurdles through a

1:20:04

perpetual night. Passengers

1:20:06

that are already dead live

1:20:08

forever, waiting for a stop

1:20:10

that never comes. Inside

1:20:14

the engine, a 13-year-old kid who shouldn't be

1:20:16

there in the first place is smiling because

1:20:18

he knows his friends are coming to pull

1:20:20

him back if the fall is something he

1:20:23

isn't going to survive. And

1:20:25

just because we hadn't done that

1:20:27

yet, that doesn't mean we

1:20:29

weren't going to. I

1:20:32

didn't say anything for a while. What

1:20:35

is it? You're

1:20:38

not going to like it. Judging

1:20:40

by the look on his face, he knew

1:20:43

what I was going to say. He

1:20:45

knew what we had to do. He

1:20:47

knew where we had to go. No,

1:20:51

he didn't like it. He

1:20:53

didn't like it at all. But

1:20:56

that's the way with three friends. Where

1:20:59

one of you goes, the other

1:21:01

two follow or

1:21:03

die trying. Do

1:21:10

you know what a prairie meeting is? There's

1:21:13

no earthly reason why you should. The

1:21:16

only reason I know it is because it's

1:21:18

the kind of thing you pick up knowing

1:21:21

Chema Fortunato. Where he

1:21:23

picked it up, who knows? A

1:21:25

prairie meeting sounds sort of pleasant, isn't

1:21:28

it? Something along

1:21:30

the lines of Laura Ingalls and Johnny

1:21:32

Appleseed drinking spiced tea in a sunny

1:21:34

meadow somewhere. But that's

1:21:37

not what it is. Not even

1:21:39

close. A prairie meeting

1:21:41

is what they call it when

1:21:43

two trains traveling in opposite directions

1:21:45

along the same clock collide. How

1:21:48

do you go about untangling a thing like

1:21:50

that? How do you go

1:21:52

about turning that rack into two separate and whole

1:21:55

trains again? You can't,

1:21:57

right? On a molecular

1:21:59

level, seems to me, some

1:22:01

collisions can never truly be undone.

1:22:05

The same goes for people. When

1:22:07

we first met Claude, he'd just moved to

1:22:09

our street. Instead of

1:22:12

unpacking boxes or looking for new

1:22:14

friends or exploring or doing any

1:22:16

of the other perfectly reasonable things a kid

1:22:18

might do when they're the newest new kid

1:22:21

in town, he wanted to see

1:22:23

if he could jump from his new roof to

1:22:25

his new pool and live. Shama

1:22:28

and I just happened to be walking

1:22:30

past, not really heading anywhere. When we

1:22:32

saw this kid with wild blonde hair

1:22:34

standing on his roof in a bathing

1:22:37

suit, knees bent, arms

1:22:39

stretched back like wings. What's

1:22:42

he? He's not. And

1:22:46

then he did. He

1:22:48

jumped, silently disappearing from sight.

1:22:51

We threw down our bikes and ran to the

1:22:53

backyard. When we got there,

1:22:56

the water was roiling and the kid from

1:22:58

the roof was now standing on the cement

1:23:00

lining the pool, dripping lead and knocking water

1:23:02

out of his ears, beaming. Made

1:23:05

it. It wasn't even close, really.

1:23:08

Why did you do that? I've never

1:23:10

had a pool before. That

1:23:12

is not an answer to that question. But

1:23:15

it was the only one he was going to get.

1:23:18

The kid threw on a t shirt, stepped into a

1:23:20

pair of flip flops and started

1:23:22

walking. Come on, I

1:23:25

heard the pizza shop downtown as a pizza that's

1:23:27

so spicy, you have to sign a waiver before

1:23:29

they let you order it. Wide

1:23:32

eyed, not fully comprehending what had

1:23:34

just happened. We followed. And

1:23:37

we've been following Claude Hoyt ever

1:23:40

since. Even now

1:23:42

that he was dead. The

1:23:48

day Chama told me the conductor's name, the

1:23:50

day we sat and stared at the photograph of our

1:23:52

friend's dead body, the day we knew we had to

1:23:55

go back through the invisible door and the train graveyard,

1:23:57

the sun was low in the sky when we were

1:23:59

in the dark. we finally left the library.

1:24:02

Half the sky was clear blue, the

1:24:04

other half orange. On

1:24:06

the orange half, the darkening tree line looked

1:24:08

like it was on fire. I

1:24:11

wanted to go to the train graveyard

1:24:13

right then. Shama wanted to wait. We

1:24:16

needed to prepare, he insisted, to

1:24:19

learn as much as we could about what we were up against.

1:24:21

To choose our moment instead of letting the

1:24:24

moment choose us. Just

1:24:26

because he was right, that didn't mean I

1:24:28

wanted to hear it. Every

1:24:30

second we left Claude in the in-between place

1:24:33

was the universe on a tilt. Every

1:24:36

second the conductor was in our world

1:24:38

was a ticking bomb. Nothing

1:24:40

in our lives is ever going to make

1:24:42

sense ever again. What does

1:24:44

being ready for what we're going to do even look

1:24:46

like? That is how I feel every

1:24:49

day of my life. But

1:24:51

I always leave the house eventually. We

1:24:54

passed the presto freeze, long lines

1:24:56

snaking from its two windows. The

1:24:58

red picnic tables jammed with bodies. The

1:25:01

life and laughter faded away behind us. The

1:25:05

fireflies were out. The

1:25:07

melony sweetness of fresh cut grass

1:25:09

hung in the air. None of

1:25:11

it got through. Summer

1:25:13

wasn't summer anymore. We'd

1:25:16

put our hands through the paper mache

1:25:18

of reality and felt what was on

1:25:20

the other side. The world before that

1:25:22

was like a dream. All

1:25:26

right. We tried it Claude's

1:25:28

way. We'll try it your

1:25:30

way this time. My way

1:25:32

funny. Where was my way

1:25:34

when I ran into a train graveyard like a

1:25:36

kid and it was Christmas? Well,

1:25:40

where was Claude's way when I pulled you off

1:25:42

the train leaving our best friend to die

1:25:44

alone. For about a

1:25:46

block, nothing was said. Then

1:25:49

Chema bumped me with his shoulder. In

1:25:52

case you didn't notice, we're alive because

1:25:54

of you. I bumped

1:25:56

him back in case

1:25:58

you didn't notice. We

1:26:00

are kids. We

1:26:02

left it at that. We

1:26:05

walked the rest of the way in silence. We

1:26:08

started preparing. Chema

1:26:13

went about learning everything he didn't already

1:26:16

know about the original Iron Baron

1:26:18

crash. From there, he

1:26:20

would work his way out unearthing everything he

1:26:22

could about who, or what, we were

1:26:24

up against. The man who

1:26:26

in 1911 told the Central

1:26:29

Midwestern Railroad that his name was

1:26:31

John Ott. My

1:26:33

checklist included studying a book Chema

1:26:35

went to great lengths not to

1:26:37

touch. He brought it to

1:26:39

my house in a brown paper bag and slid the

1:26:42

bag to me with his foot. He

1:26:44

belonged to my grandmother. I think it'll help. The

1:26:47

book was ancient, bound in

1:26:50

cracked oxblood leather, and smelled like

1:26:52

smoke. It was

1:26:54

called Rivers of Time, Oceans

1:26:56

of Blood, written

1:26:58

by Unknown, transcribed

1:27:00

by Unknown. Jesus,

1:27:04

Chema. Was your grandmother a

1:27:06

bruja? My grandmother was born

1:27:08

in Santa Fe and watches Willa fortune.

1:27:11

I looked at the title, then back

1:27:14

at Chema. If my

1:27:16

eyebrows could talk, they would have said, are

1:27:18

you for real? Chema

1:27:20

shrugged. Maybe

1:27:23

she was bruja adjacent. I

1:27:25

tried handing the book back to Chema. You

1:27:28

should probably read this. This

1:27:30

seems more like your kind of thing. He

1:27:33

jumped back. You

1:27:35

don't know me at all. There's no way I'm reading

1:27:37

that thing. I don't even like going

1:27:39

to sleep knowing it's in the house. In fact, that

1:27:41

book is yours now. I'll handle this

1:27:43

side of the veil. Chema

1:27:45

waved his arms, indicating the tangible

1:27:48

world. And you'll

1:27:50

handle that side of the veil. He

1:27:52

pointed in the general direction of the

1:27:54

train graveyard. Over

1:27:57

the next week, I read Rivers of Time, Oceans of

1:27:59

Blood, written by Unknown. oceans of blood

1:28:01

four times. What

1:28:03

it did more than anything was put into

1:28:05

words what felt true when we were searching

1:28:07

for Claude in the in-between place. That

1:28:10

blood is the currency of the universe.

1:28:14

The more you ask of the universe, the

1:28:16

steeper the bill. Slicing

1:28:18

a pig's throat can keep your family alive

1:28:20

during a brutal winter. Opening

1:28:23

a doorway through time and space, something

1:28:26

like that just might cost you a

1:28:28

passenger train full of blood. Maybe

1:28:31

that's where the term an arm and a leg came

1:28:33

from. And that

1:28:35

was just to open the door. To

1:28:38

complete the ritual, the traveler needs

1:28:40

blood from the other side. A

1:28:43

life for all. Perhaps

1:28:46

John Ott hadn't counted on the central Midwestern

1:28:48

railroad going to such great lengths to erase

1:28:50

the iron baron from the face of the

1:28:52

earth. Perhaps he hadn't

1:28:54

counted on it taking 80 years for

1:28:56

the life he needed to come along. It

1:29:00

did. As for how

1:29:02

Chema and I were going to get back into the

1:29:04

in-between place, I was hoping there was

1:29:06

at least one more thing John Ott

1:29:08

hadn't counted on. You

1:29:10

see, if there's one thing I

1:29:13

know about boys, I

1:29:15

assumed he'd left the door open behind

1:29:17

him. In fact, I

1:29:20

was betting everything on it. We

1:29:25

never called Claude's dad Mr. Hoyt.

1:29:28

The first time we met him, he said to us, you

1:29:31

don't have to call me Mr. Hoyt. I'm

1:29:33

just Claude's dad. Ever

1:29:35

since then, all we ever called him was

1:29:38

Claude's dad. To this day,

1:29:40

I don't have the slightest idea

1:29:42

what his name actually is. Going

1:29:45

somewhere around then, our parents playing

1:29:47

trivial pursuit together became a pretty

1:29:49

regular thing around the house. In

1:29:52

the two weeks following Claude's disappearance, it

1:29:54

wasn't at all surprising that no one

1:29:57

felt like playing. What

1:29:59

was surprising? at least to me,

1:30:02

was that on day 15, they

1:30:04

did. Claude's dad came

1:30:06

over around 7.30pm. He and my

1:30:09

parents sat down at the kitchen table and

1:30:12

my mom popped open the box. I

1:30:15

stood watching from the entranceway. It

1:30:17

seemed too soon for board games, too

1:30:21

soon for patterns and laughter. As

1:30:24

long as Cheyma and I had Claude's rescue

1:30:26

to plan, we didn't have to grieve.

1:30:28

But the adults sure

1:30:30

didn't know that. Yet,

1:30:32

there they were, rolling dice,

1:30:35

eating white cheddar cheese popcorn, my

1:30:37

dad needling Claude's dad for not

1:30:39

knowing anything about sports. You

1:30:42

can't just say Lou Gehrig every time it's a

1:30:44

sports question. Why not? I

1:30:47

know for a fact the answer to at least one of

1:30:49

the questions in that box is Lou Gehrig. It'll

1:30:51

be right eventually. My

1:30:53

mother stifled a laugh. He's

1:30:57

got you there, Kevin. Yeah, it's

1:30:59

a little thing I like to call strategy.

1:31:02

Maybe you should look into it the next

1:31:04

time you're not watching sports. You're hopeless. You're

1:31:08

hopeless. That seemed

1:31:10

like a strange thing to say to a

1:31:12

man whose only kid disappeared 15 days

1:31:15

ago. And again, there

1:31:17

was a lot about adults that didn't

1:31:19

make sense to me. When

1:31:21

you're an adult going out of your mind with grief,

1:31:24

maybe there comes a point when a few

1:31:26

patterns and a little laughter is exactly what

1:31:28

gets you through the day. I

1:31:31

took a few steps into the kitchen. Hey,

1:31:34

Jen, feel like playing? I

1:31:36

shook my head. I'm sorry

1:31:38

to interrupt game night. I

1:31:41

just wanted to ask Claude's dad if he's heard

1:31:43

any news. News? News.

1:31:47

About Claude. For

1:31:49

a moment, Claude's dad looked like he was

1:31:51

trying to remember the lyrics to an old

1:31:54

song. His bemused smile

1:31:56

just sort of hung there. Then

1:31:59

faint recognition clicked in his eyes.

1:32:03

Oh, yeah, Claude.

1:32:06

He nodded a few times. So

1:32:09

did my parents. Like

1:32:11

yeah, that name does sound

1:32:13

awfully familiar. Right,

1:32:16

Claude. I

1:32:18

do hope they... I

1:32:21

hope. And then

1:32:23

he trailed off. What

1:32:25

I was seeing wasn't avoidance or

1:32:28

denial. In a

1:32:30

very real way, Claude's dad

1:32:32

only vaguely remembered having a

1:32:34

son. My parents

1:32:36

only vaguely remembered that their daughter saw

1:32:39

her best friend get abducted by a

1:32:41

stranger in the woods two weeks before.

1:32:44

I looked around the room. We

1:32:46

were surrounded by evidence of Claude's

1:32:49

existence. A dozen pictures

1:32:51

of him were stuck to the refrigerator door.

1:32:54

There were pencil marks on the door frame where

1:32:56

my parents recorded our heights on our birthdays. On

1:32:59

a telephone pole outside, I could see

1:33:01

one of the thousands of missing posters

1:33:04

Claude's dad hung all over town the

1:33:06

day after Claude disappeared. For

1:33:08

Christ's sake, he was answering to

1:33:10

the name Claude's dad. But

1:33:13

for whatever reason, Claude's realness

1:33:15

and the realness of his

1:33:17

disappearance were draining from their

1:33:19

minds. For the

1:33:22

wedge. My mom pulled

1:33:24

out a fresh card. That

1:33:26

disease was combated with a vaccine first

1:33:28

made from the pus of cowpox sores

1:33:30

in Oh,

1:33:33

I know this one. I know this one. It's right on

1:33:36

the tip of my brain. I don't

1:33:38

think he knows this one. I'll give you a hint.

1:33:41

It's not Lou Gehrig's disease. I

1:33:44

backed out of the room, leaving the

1:33:46

adults to their perfectly lovely summer evening.

1:33:49

Not a care in the world. Lucky

1:33:52

them. Jama was at

1:33:54

the library. Of course he was.

1:33:57

He jumped when I touched his shoulder. Of

1:34:00

course he did. I told

1:34:02

him what just happened Yeah,

1:34:05

my parents had something to that effect as well.

1:34:07

How come we remember? Maybe

1:34:09

that's part of the ritual Maybe

1:34:12

because they haven't been where we've been maybe

1:34:14

John Ott wants us to remember speaking

1:34:18

of which Jama

1:34:20

swiveled towards his microfiche reader and

1:34:22

sent images flying across the screen

1:34:25

I've been going through old headlines all week 1911

1:34:28

1910 it was a crazy time industrialization

1:34:32

mechanization Badly made

1:34:34

machines becoming more and more a part of

1:34:37

daily life with almost no oversight or safety

1:34:39

standards Look at this some

1:34:41

new disaster just about every day He

1:34:44

stopped scrolling The Great

1:34:46

Fire of 1910 also known

1:34:48

as the devil's broom 90 dead Beneath

1:34:52

the headline was a photograph of a forest

1:34:55

reduced to cinders and a bathtub where a

1:34:57

house once stood In

1:34:59

the corner of the picture a group of

1:35:01

onlookers passively take in the devastation

1:35:04

Shama pointed to an onlooker who was staring at

1:35:07

the camera instead of what the fire had left

1:35:09

in its wake thin

1:35:11

frame thin face a wastecoat

1:35:14

and a watch that

1:35:17

smile The picture was

1:35:19

too grainy to tell for sure if that

1:35:21

was the conductor from the Iron Baron, but

1:35:23

it couldn't be ruled out either Jama

1:35:26

scrolled again The

1:35:29

Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire March 25th

1:35:31

1911 146

1:35:35

people burned and trampled to death In

1:35:38

the picture a seemingly endless row of

1:35:41

open caskets lined up side by side

1:35:43

in a warehouse Burned

1:35:45

rigor mortis limbs jutted out of the

1:35:48

caskets People were

1:35:50

passing by in a sad procession looking

1:35:52

for the remains of loved ones Except

1:35:55

for the one face looking at the

1:35:57

camera instead smiling Cradling

1:36:00

his pocket watch in his slender

1:36:02

hand. More scrolling.

1:36:05

A month after the Triangle Shirtwaist

1:36:07

fire, the SS Lusitania sinks off

1:36:09

the coast of Cape Point. Chema

1:36:13

pointed to a face in the crowd. More

1:36:15

scrolling. Four days later, a

1:36:18

passenger train in South Africa derails while

1:36:20

crossing a bridge, killing 31, injuring just

1:36:22

as many. Chema

1:36:26

pointed to a face in the crowd. John

1:36:29

Ott, traveling the world, mastering

1:36:32

his craft. A

1:36:34

virtuoso in a new medium. Killing

1:36:37

lots of people all at once. Letting

1:36:39

progress take the fall, and then

1:36:41

just casually walking away. Chema

1:36:44

nodded. Who knows how

1:36:46

far back it goes. We just know

1:36:48

where it ends. I don't think we

1:36:50

do. I don't think he

1:36:53

came here because he was done. I

1:36:55

think he came here because he was bored.

1:36:59

And he's a fast learner. Wordlessly,

1:37:01

Chema and I stared at the monitor.

1:37:05

We thought about bullet trains, crowded

1:37:07

subways, airplanes loaded

1:37:09

with jet fuel, nuclear

1:37:12

reactors. The

1:37:14

murky face stared back. If

1:37:16

we looked at it long enough, I fully

1:37:18

expected it to wink at us. What

1:37:22

I said next went without saying. I

1:37:25

said it anyway. We're running

1:37:27

out of time. The

1:37:32

next morning, my parents were glued to

1:37:34

the news. A train

1:37:37

had derailed 10 miles west of us. Not

1:37:40

a passenger train. A freight

1:37:42

train loaded with hazardous

1:37:44

materials. Chemicals I

1:37:46

couldn't pronounce, let alone spell. Some

1:37:50

of the cars had ruptured, leaking their contents

1:37:52

into the ground. Others

1:37:54

were burning. Throwing black, poisonous

1:37:57

smoke into the air. that?

1:38:00

What did they just say about the water? Is

1:38:02

our water safe to drink or not safe to drink? I

1:38:05

don't know. You were talking there.

1:38:07

They said it again. What'd they say? They

1:38:09

said the crash poses no threat to the water

1:38:12

table. Oh, that sounds like

1:38:14

something you tell people when the water table is

1:38:16

not fine. And they haven't said anything about

1:38:18

the air. When my

1:38:20

parents noticed that I was watching and

1:38:22

listening from the next room, their tones

1:38:24

and body language changed. Lightened.

1:38:28

Parents lie for all sorts of reasons.

1:38:31

The scariest is when they're scared and don't

1:38:33

want you to know it. Oh,

1:38:36

hey, sweetie. My

1:38:39

mom was going to great lengths to put a

1:38:41

bounce in her voice. Didn't

1:38:43

know you were up. My dad

1:38:45

turned the volume down to zero. Same

1:38:49

old news. Why did they even call it the

1:38:51

news? They should just rename it bad news. Am

1:38:54

I right, sweetie? Everyone was

1:38:56

sweetie. All of a sudden, here's

1:38:58

an idea counter programming called good

1:39:01

news. Who'd watch bad news when

1:39:03

they can watch good news? Right,

1:39:05

sweetie? He wasn't

1:39:07

saying real things. And

1:39:09

I wasn't listening anyway. Instead,

1:39:12

I was focused on the now

1:39:14

silent television screen. The

1:39:16

camera panned from our local channel 33

1:39:19

news anchor live on location to a

1:39:21

shot of burning tank cars, then back

1:39:23

to the news anchor. For

1:39:26

a fraction of a second, long

1:39:28

enough, I assure you, the camera

1:39:30

landed on the face of an eyewitness. Only

1:39:33

he wasn't witnessing the unfolding

1:39:35

catastrophe. He was looking

1:39:37

directly into the camera. Smiling,

1:39:40

basking, the conductor john Ott

1:39:42

was looking directly into my

1:39:45

living room directly

1:39:47

into my eyes. Anyway,

1:39:50

I my dad

1:39:52

stood up awkwardly and blankly looked around

1:39:54

the room. I have to

1:39:56

go to work. Bye, sweetie. My

1:39:59

dad was already gone. My mom lost

1:40:01

again in images of a

1:40:03

derailed train pumping poison into

1:40:05

our backyard. There was a knock at

1:40:07

the front door. It was Chema.

1:40:11

What he said next went without saying. He

1:40:14

said it anyway. It's

1:40:16

time. I ran upstairs

1:40:18

to my room, grabbed our gear, and we

1:40:20

were almost out the door when my mom stopped us.

1:40:24

Where are you kids going? No, just

1:40:27

out. Unless there's

1:40:29

some reason we shouldn't. She

1:40:32

looked at the television screen, then

1:40:34

at us. The television screen.

1:40:37

Us. She threw a

1:40:40

hollow smile on her face. No

1:40:42

reason at all, sweetie. Everything's

1:40:44

fine. Just fine. Come home

1:40:46

when the streetlights come on. Okay? I will.

1:40:49

When I

1:40:51

said that, I didn't know it was a

1:40:53

lie, but I knew it might

1:40:55

be. We

1:40:59

entered the woods. We left

1:41:01

the trail. We made our

1:41:04

way down into Popper's grave. We

1:41:06

followed the overgrown railroad tracks to the

1:41:09

train graveyard. We pushed

1:41:11

through with a police tape. We

1:41:13

went to work. Though

1:41:15

devastated in the wreck, the Iron Baron's

1:41:17

engine car was basically in one

1:41:20

piece. We climbed in

1:41:22

and cleared away decades of dried leaves

1:41:24

and debris. I reached

1:41:26

into my backpack and took out

1:41:28

a battery operated, handheld blacklight that

1:41:30

I got at the store at

1:41:32

the mall that sells crystal unicorns,

1:41:34

decorative swords, and battery operated handheld

1:41:36

blacklights. What if it's not

1:41:38

here? It'll be here.

1:41:40

I switched on the blacklight and waved

1:41:43

it over the engine floor. The

1:41:45

light revealed two faint clouds of

1:41:47

incandescent turquoise where the conductor slit

1:41:49

the engineers and the fireman's throats.

1:41:53

Next to the clouds, the blacklight illuminated

1:41:55

a circle about the size of a manhole

1:41:57

cover. Inside the circle, was

1:42:00

a triangle, both drawn

1:42:02

using the engineer and fireman's blood.

1:42:05

Like I knew it would be. Like

1:42:08

I needed it to be. The symbol

1:42:10

was still intact. I

1:42:12

propped the black light up on the brake handle, purple

1:42:15

light flooding the floor. We

1:42:17

sat down, the circle and triangle symbol

1:42:20

dimly glowing between us. What

1:42:23

now? Now, all

1:42:25

we have to do is knock on the door.

1:42:28

You say that, but why do I have the feeling

1:42:30

that you're talking about something that isn't knocking? Yeah.

1:42:35

I took a long sewing needle out of my

1:42:37

backpack. I'm going

1:42:39

to need some of your blood. I

1:42:42

know it. Not a lot. Just

1:42:45

a puncture in one of your fingers. I

1:42:47

have to do it too. Chema

1:42:49

slipped his glasses up over his forehead,

1:42:51

closed his eyes and pinched the

1:42:54

bridge of his nose. It

1:42:56

was the physical act of Chema attempting to

1:42:58

keep an open mind. Okay.

1:43:00

Just so I understand. He

1:43:02

took his hand away, his glasses falling back

1:43:05

into place. We

1:43:07

knock on the door. He

1:43:10

made air quotes around the words knock and

1:43:13

door. Then what? Then

1:43:16

we should be back in the in between place. Sure.

1:43:19

But when? John

1:43:21

Ott was trapped in the in between place

1:43:23

for 80 years before we came along. How

1:43:25

can we be sure we're going in after

1:43:27

he snatched Claude, but before the crash completes

1:43:29

the ritual? You're going to love

1:43:32

this. I guarantee you I am

1:43:34

not. Before I, I

1:43:37

made a stabbing motion with the needle. We

1:43:40

have to use our hearts to tell

1:43:42

our blood where we want to go.

1:43:45

Santa Cialo, you really got yourself

1:43:47

an exact science there, haven't you?

1:43:49

News flash, you're the one

1:43:51

who told me to read a book

1:43:54

called Oceans of Time, Rivers of Blood

1:43:56

that you got from your grandma. Plus

1:43:59

what? Carl Sagan? It's not

1:44:01

a science at all. I

1:44:04

was losing him. Actually, I

1:44:06

couldn't believe he'd made it this far. If

1:44:10

we were going to do this, I needed to

1:44:12

give him something real to hold on to. To

1:44:16

be honest, I needed it too. I

1:44:19

know you liked that Claude took all

1:44:21

those stupid chances. But

1:44:24

do you know why Claude liked to

1:44:26

take all those stupid chances? Chema

1:44:29

shook his head. I asked

1:44:31

him about it once. We

1:44:33

were at that allotment where they're building all those new

1:44:35

houses. They had just cleared the

1:44:37

trees. It was just a

1:44:39

big, muddy field then. They

1:44:42

hadn't even dug the artificial ponds yet. The

1:44:45

only thing they'd built was part of the sewer system. About

1:44:48

every hundred yards or so, there were

1:44:50

these half-buried cement bunkers with metal grates

1:44:52

on top. Claude

1:44:55

being Claude, he decided he was

1:44:57

going to go into one, crawl through the pipe, and come out

1:44:59

the next one. So,

1:45:02

he went in. Some

1:45:04

time passed, then more

1:45:06

time passed, then

1:45:08

a lot more. And

1:45:11

then I thought, what in the hell am I

1:45:13

going to do if he gets stuck down there? What

1:45:16

if he's already stuck? What

1:45:18

if saving his life hinges on what I do right

1:45:20

now, and I'm just standing here? What

1:45:24

if it starts to rain before anyone can figure out how

1:45:26

to get him unstuck? It

1:45:28

would serve him right, dying down there. Saves

1:45:31

everyone the trouble of having to buy a casket and dig a hole. Well,

1:45:35

some number of excruciating minutes later,

1:45:37

he popped out of the grate

1:45:40

on the other side, like it was nothing. I

1:45:43

don't remember exactly what I said, but it was something