The Beast on the Tracks

by Amy Cross

  The recording, once it began to play, was somewhat inconclusive. The boys claim to have picked up the sound of the mysterious phantom train, but – amidst a lot of noise and static – this reporter heard a sound that could have been caused by almost anything. Was it a ghostly locomotive? Sure, maybe, but equally it could have been a plane passing overhead or perhaps a car on a nearby road.

  The boys insist that they also saw the train as it thundered along the disused track, but – when asked for proof – they unfortunately had to admit that their cameras hadn't worked. That's a common excuse when ghost-hunters fail to come back with the goods, and both Hunt and Nair eventually admitted that they'd need more evidence if they had any chance of winning over a skeptical public. For now, file this report firmly under 'Doubtful'.

  “Excuse me,” a nearby voice says, “but you're not allowed to use mobile telephones in the reading room.”

  Turning, I see that the old man is glaring at me. I want to tell him that I'll be quick, but then I realize that he's actually right. I mumble an apology as I slip my phone away, and then I start gathering the newspapers together. I'm exhausted after staying up all night, but I'm also totally wired. So wired, in fact, that I promptly manage to drop all the papers, which of course causes the man at the next table to sigh.

  “Sorry,” I murmur as I gather the newspapers up and carry them out.

  By the time I reach the reception area, my mind is racing and I'm genuinely not sure what to think. I can't quite believe that there's some kind of ghost train running through Sobolton, but at the same time I can't deny what I saw during the night. There are supposed to be no trains on that line, but one raced straight through and killed Debs. I'm starting to think that maybe I've stumbled into something that I genuinely can't understand. If that's the case, though, why are Richard and I the only ones who know about the train? Why isn't the whole town up in arms?

  “Can I help you?” the librarian asks.

  I turn to her, and for a moment I consider telling her everything. Finally, however, I mumble an apology and hurry out to the street. If I'm going to have even the slightest chance of setting my head straight, I need to figure out the truth about how it all started.

  My head is a mess again. Not linear. The memories are flooding back.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Milly

  Five years ago...

  “Mom? Are you okay?”

  Stopping in the doorway, I see Mom sitting on the sofa with her head in her hands. I was in my room a moment ago, but I came out when I heard a series of sobbing sounds. I already knew that Mom was the only other person in the house, and now I see that she seems to be weeping. I guess she's still not over what happened to Dad.

  I want to ask again if she's okay, but the question seems kinda dumb so I turn to go to the kitchen.

  “Why didn't you do something?” she asks.

  I freeze for a moment, and then I turn back to see that she's staring at me with wild, tear-filled eyes. My bottom lip trembles, as if my body desperately wants to speak but my mind is empty.

  “Surely there was time to do something,” she continues. “I looked it up online, those chipping machines don't move that fast. And don't they have some kind of emergency stop button? You said you were real close when it happened, Milly. Why didn't you stop it? Why didn't you save your father's life?”

  “I... couldn't,” I reply.

  “Yes, you could have!” she hisses, her anger stepping up a notch. In some ways, I've been expecting her to say something like this over the past few weeks. “You're not an idiot, Milly, so why didn't you help him?”

  “I just couldn't,” I tell her, somewhat lamely. “It just... didn't happen like that.”

  “So how did it happen?” she asks. “Because right now, I'm struggling to understand how an intelligent, grown young woman saw her father getting drawn into a chipper, and somehow she couldn't do a single thing to stop it or to help him. Wasn't he shouting for help?”

  For a split second, all I can see is Dad's head being ground away by the chipper, and I hear the echo of his screams.

  “Did you just stand there like an idiot and watch?” Mom asks.

  I try to think of some other answer, perhaps a lie, that might get her off my back, but I quickly realize that there's no point. She's angry, and she's right to be angry, and I'm way too late to come up with a convincing excuse.

  “Yes,” I say finally.

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes, I stood and watched,” I tell her. “I didn't mean to, but I was just -”

  Before I can finish, she gets up from the sofa and storms toward me. I turn to run, but she grabs me by the collar and slams me into the wall so hard that the nearby cabinet rattles.

  “You stood and watched?” she sneers.

  “Not like that!” I gasp.

  “Then what did you do?”

  “I tried to help,” I stammer, “but I just couldn't do anything! The chipper was too strong, and too powerful, it was just... unstoppable!”

  “You could have stopped it by pressing a button!” she screams.

  “I didn't want to!” I scream back.

  As soon as I've said those words, I know that there's no way back. I can see the shock in her eyes, as if – despite all the prodding and yelling – she never actually thought that I'd say what I just said. I can feel her grip on my collar starting to loosen, and sure enough after a moment she lets go and takes a step back. It's as if my moment of utter honesty has somehow pulled the plug out at the bottom of her soul and let all the anger drain away.

  “It was like being in a different world for a few minutes,” I explain, or try to explain. “Out there, in the forest, it was like I was a million miles away from anywhere else. Didn't you notice the sky that day, Mom? The whole world was different and it was getting into my head. It was like... what I was seeing was the only right thing. Anything else would have been unnatural. The chipper was strong and powerful, like a god, so it seemed only proper that it should consume something that was weaker. Does that make any sense at all?”

  I wait, but she's simply staring at me as if I'm completely insane.

  To be fair, she might have a point.

  “I think the chipper is a god,” I continue finally, “or it represents a god, or it's linked to one somehow, or somehow it stands for something that's so much bigger than our petty little world.” There are tears in my eyes now, tears of pity as I stare at Mom and see that she doesn't understand. I want to help her. “The best way I can explain it is that the metal on the chipper seemed to be singing to me, it seemed to have its own frequency. It was vibrating like... like... like you know when a train goes along a track and the metal kinda hums? It was like that. And the hum from the chipper was somehow controlling me. I don't mean I wasn't responsible for my actions, because I was, I just mean that the hum was an influence and -”

  Before I can get another word out, Mom slaps me hard on the side of the face.

  I let out a shocked gasp, but I don't slap her in return. I guess, deep down, I feel as if I deserved to get hit.

  “Leave,” she says, her voice trembling with anger and sorrow.

  “Mom...”

  “Leave this house,” she continues, and now her voice is hardening, “and don't ever come back. Do you hear me? This is not your home anymore.”

  “Mom, please,” I reply, as tears run down my cheeks, “I wasn't lying. I was just trying to tell you how it really -”

  She slaps me again, harder this time. I briefly close my eyes as the pain burns in my cheek. When I open my eyes, I somehow know that Mom's right. I have to get out of here.

  And that's when I feel it.

  An urge.

  A desire.

  A sense that I have to kill my mother right now. It's the exact same thing that I felt in the forest when Dad was caught in the chipper. It's as if something is reaching out to me and twisting my thoughts, turning me into a bad person who wants to finish the job by ki
lling my other parent. In a desperate attempt to fight back, I clench my fists.

  “If you ever come back,” she continues, “I will go to the police and tell them what you just told me. They will lock you away in some kind of mental institution, and then most likely you'll be charged with manslaughter or some other crime. Do you understand? The rest of your life will be ruined, Milly, and they'll probably stick wires into your head and try to electrocute you back to your senses, but it'll be too late. All of that will happen if I ever so much as see your face again.” She hesitates, still staring at me. “Do you understand?”

  I swallow hard, and now my eyes are achey from all the tears. My fists are still clenched, and I'm digging my fingernails into the palms of my hands in one final attempt to resist the burning need in my heart.

  Finally I turn and hurry out to the hallway, and from there I rush out of the house. I tell myself that I can come back later and try to make Mom see sense, but for now all I can think is that I have to get as far away as possible. It's as if my bones are shaking, as if they'll only stop shaking if I get away from this house. No, that's not quite right. They'll only stop shaking if I go out to the forest.

  As I run along the street, sobbing wildly, all I can think is that I have to get away from people forever. I just came so close to killing Mom, and I can't ever risk that happening again.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Milly

  Today...

  I lift the gnome next to the back door, and I immediately spot the silver key resting in a patch of dirt. After all this time, Mom still keeps a spare in the exact same place.

  I reach out and take the key, and then I get to my feet and step toward the door.

  ***

  She's asleep.

  I don't know exactly what I expected to find. It's been five years since I saw Mom, since I was in this house, since I came anywhere near Eden Hills. In the intervening time, I've often told people that I live in the Eden Hills area, but that's always been a convenient lie. I figured I'd never come back here, that I'd moved on, and I always took care to stay away from the center of town so that there was no chance of accidentally seeing Mom. I guess I never realized that eventually I'd have to come back here in order to figure out what's wrong with me.

  Mom's sitting upright on the sofa, with her head tilted back, and she's snoring. She has a laptop perched on her knees, but the screen is blank. There's a cup on the table nearby.

  So far, my mind feels pretty empty too. I was worried that I'd feel the urge to kill, as soon as I stepped through the door. I guess that's why I'm here, really; I want to test whether the forest really can reach out to me and make me do bad things. Is that what happened with Dad, and with the people who I killed later? Or am I just making excuses for my own innate sense of evil?

  Mom stirs slightly, but her eyes don't open. Does she know, on some subconscious level, that I'm here?

  I briefly consider leaving, but then it occurs to me that maybe I should try to use the power of my mind to make Mom wake up. I don't want to do something lame like clear my throat or go over and touch her shoulder, so instead I stare at the side of her head and use my mind to tell her to wake up. She looks so much older than before, and more frail, and her hair is wiry and wild. She looks like she hasn't had the best time over the past five years, but that's understandable. As I stare at her, I listen to the sound of my own voice getting louder and louder in my head, until my thoughts are screaming two words over and over again and trying to force those words into Mom's mind.

  WAKE UP!

  Her eyes flick open.

  I instinctively take a step back and wonder whether it's too late to run.

  Mom turns to me, but she doesn't scream or panic. She blinks a couple of times, and then she starts to turn away before finally looking at me again. It's almost as if she thinks I'm a ghost.

  I wait.

  She has to speak first.

  I don't know what I'd say.

  Several minutes pass, with Mom simply staring at me. I desperately want her to break the silence, but I guess maybe she's feeling the same way. Or maybe she just thinks that if she stares at me for long enough, eventually I'll disappear. I wouldn't blame her for feeling that way, and I'm starting to think that maybe I should just turn and walk away. Then this whole visit would just be a brief mistake that I could pretend never happened.

  “It's really you, isn't it?” she says finally.

  I don't know how to respond to that.

  “When it's not you,” she continues, “and I'm just imagining it, you're only there for a moment or two. And you look younger, you look how you did the last time I saw you. Now you look older, and thinner. It's really you.”

  “I mean... Yeah, Mom,” I reply. “It's really me.”

  “Why are you here?”

  I feel those words cut into me, right to the bone.

  “It's been a while,” I point out.

  “That's not an answer. Why are you here?”

  I look around, hoping for inspiration. The house seems so dull and gray now, as if all the life seeped away after Dad died and I left. What has Mom been doing here for five years? Just sitting around, slipping in and out of sleep?

  “You haven't changed much,” I say, hoping to buy some time. Why didn't I try to come up with some fancy speech on my way over? “It still looks -”

  “Why,” she says firmly, “are you here?”

  I can't tell her, can I? I can't admit that I'm here to see if I feel the same urge to hurt her. To kill her. Instead, I take a step forward, and I feel a flicker of relief at the realization that I still feel like me. Maybe I'm a normal person after all. Maybe there's no magic ghostly forest thing controlling my emotions.

  “I haven't changed my mind,” she says. “Every word that I said before, still stands now. I will give you one more chance to leave, but if you're not gone in the next two minutes I will call the police and -”

  “I remember,” I reply, cutting her off. “You don't need to say it again.”

  “Then why are you here, Milly?”

  “I had see if...”

  My voice trails off as I feel something stirring in my chest. Is it sadness, or anger? Or is it something that's been brought back to life by some other power? Whatever it is, it feels the same as it felt when I was in the house before, and when I was in the forest, and I swear it's starting to get stronger again.

  The sofa creaks loudly as Mom gets to her feet.

  “The clock is ticking!” she barks sharply. “Do you think I won't do it, Milly? Do you really think my threats are empty? I will have you locked away before you know what's happening, and then I will make sure that they throw the key away!” She limps over to the phone on the dresser. “I should have done this years ago,” she continues. “I don't know what possessed me to ever let you go like that, I guess I just hoped you'd do us all a favor and die in some ditch somewhere.”

  “Mom...”

  She lifts the receiver and reaches down to dial, as I step closer.

  “You're a piece of work, Milly,” she says, “and -”

  “No.”

  I put a hand on her arm, holding her hand back so that she can't hit the 9 button. As I do so, I'm shocked to feel that she's so very frail, but any pity or sympathy is quickly washed away by the knowledge of what I have to do next. Even as I feel Mom trying to pull her hand away, I know that I have to finish what I started five years ago, and that this time I can't let anything stand in my way. In fact, if I'd just obeyed the call of the forest at the time, the past five years might have played out very differently.

  “Let go of my arm,” Mom says firmly, as if she thinks she's talking to a child.

  “I'm sorry,” I reply calmly, “but first I have to finish my task.”

  As I see the fear enter Mom's expression, I also feel the irresistible call of the forest – or of something in the forest – telling me that this time I have to do the right thing. I guess I was a fool to ever think that I had an
other choice. This has been my destiny ever since I first heard the call of the forest, and the thing about destiny is that you can't only embrace half of it. You either ignore it, or you go all in.

  For the first time, I'm going all in.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Milly

  Five years ago...

  I guess I should be glad that the cops in Sobolton are so completely incompetent. After all, if they actually followed the rules, I'm sure they wouldn't have left the wood chipper out in an unmonitored yard near their station. And I wouldn't have been able to drag it away, all the way out here to the forest.

  Letting out a gasp of pain, I slump down on the forest floor. I must have dragged the chipper three miles already, and my arms are aching like crazy. I know I need to get on with the job, that I have to have the chipper in place before morning, but for a moment I can only sit and rest. When I went to fetch the chipper, I was filled with the sense that I was doing the right thing, that I was freeing something powerful. Now, for a few seconds, I find myself wondering whether I might just be fooling myself.

  In the moonlight, out here in the forest, the chipper looks like... Well, like just a wood chipper.

  Reaching out, I touch the chipper's cold metal side and I feel nothing. No vibrations, no energy, no nothing. I sit up and look toward the blades, which of course are now completely still. Is there still some of Dad's blood left on the edges, or is that just rust? It's hard to tell in this light, although for a moment I feel as if I'm staring directly into the cold, lifeless face of a god. Is it right that I want to see this god in full flow again, that I want to see it roaring and screaming and spitting out blood and bones? Or should I find some satisfaction in its face as it is right now?

  I crawl around and reach into the chipper's mouth, until my fingertips touch the blades. I know how to make this god speak again, but I also know that I need to be able to give it something in return. When I wake it up, I need to have something it can eat.