Fright Train
3
FRIGHT TRAIN By Harry Kyriakodis Clouds framed the moon the night that found James Frettle at the controls of southbound Freight 234. Jim was substituting for the engineer usually running the assortment of freight cars to Chester through the seventy miles of wilderness. Yet Jim, who at 65 was CSX's oldest engineer, wasn't feeling comfortable that night. "God, what am I doing here, in the middle of nowhere at night?" he thought. "I hate these m idnight runs... I'm a day engineer. Everybody knows that. I haven't taken a night run in ten years." The miles of s hiny track seemed to go on forever to old Jim. At times, the engineer's eyes would become transfixed by the two streaks of steel relentlessly gliding towards him and occasionally reflecting the moon's light. In addition to this, the steady hum of the diesel's motors would often lull Jim into a hypnotic daze, causing his mind to wander. Before this state could cause him to neglect his duties, Jim would snap out of it, vigorously shaking his head and rubbing his eyes while cursing at himself. He checked the oil and temperature gauges of the diesel and looked across the dim cab at his fireman, Tom Drossy, napping in his chair with his arms folded across him. Although Jim knew Tom should be gazing out of his window at the endless track ahead as Jim was, he couldn't blame his temporary partner, for Tom (like so many other trainmen) was overworked and often slept on the usually quiet night runs. "Better not be any punks playing chicken tonight, or nuts driving through the crossing guards," the engineer thought uneasily. Jim had reason to worry, for he knew that most railroad mishaps occur during the night, when visibility is poor. And he wasn't used to night runs. Jim was a day engineer for several decades, and a good one. At night, however, the darkness played tricks on his aging eyes and mind. The nervous man wondered how long he could tell the tricks from the truth. Tom stirred in his seat as the train r eached the slight incline of Pereson's Hill. Jim wished to talk to his fireman, or at least have him awake and alert, but he couldn't bring himself to rouse Tom, w ho had so m uch to do when the train wasn't moving. Besides, Jim didn't want to admit that he was afraid of the dark. On the far side of Pereson's Hill, the long train's speed was pushing seventy. Jim knew that he would reach Blindman's Curve in only six miles, so he slowed the train down to fifty-five. "Blindman's Curve" didn't much bother the engineer; he had safely run hundreds of trains through the turn during his long career, and no one had ever had even a minor mishap there. It was called "Blindman's Curve" only because someone felt that that was a fine name for the bend. "What's that!?" Jim almost cried aloud as he saw a flash of light about a mile in front of the train. His hand tightly gripped the brake lever, which when fully applied could barely stop the train in such distance. "There shouldn't be any other trains on the track. Maybe it's a kid playing chicken; but this is miles from civilization." All this went through Jim's head in a split second until he realized that he had been fooled by a trick of nature. What Jim really saw, to his
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Transcript of Fright Train
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FRIGHT TRAINBy Harry Kyriakodis
Clouds framed the moon the night that found James Frettle at the controls of southbound Freight 234. Jim was substituting for the engineer usually running the
assortment of freight cars to Chester through the seventy miles of wilderness.
Yet Jim, who at 65 was CSX's oldest engineer, wasn't feeling comfortable that night."God, what am I doing here, in the middle of nowhere at night?" he thought. "I hatethese midnight runs... I'm a day engineer. Everybody knows that. I haven't taken anight run in ten years."
The miles of shiny track seemed to go on forever to old Jim. At times, the engineer'seyes would become transfixed by the two streaks of steel relentlessly gliding towardshim and occasionally reflecting the moon's light. In addition to this, the steady hum of the diesel's motors would often lull Jim into a hypnotic daze, causing his mind towander. Before this state could cause him to neglect his duties, Jim would snap out of
it, vigorously shaking his head and rubbing his eyes while cursing at himself.He checked the oil and temperature gauges of the diesel and looked across the dim
cab at his fireman, Tom Drossy, napping in his chair with his arms folded across him.Although Jim knew Tom should be gazing out of his window at the endless track aheadas Jim was, he couldn't blame his temporary partner, for Tom (like so many other trainmen) was overworked and often slept on the usually quiet night runs.
"Better not be any punks playing chicken tonight, or nuts driving through the crossingguards," the engineer thought uneasily. Jim had reason to worry, for he knew that mostrailroad mishaps occur during the night, when visibility is poor. And he wasn't used tonight runs. Jim was a day engineer for several decades, and a good one. At night,
however, the darkness played tricks on his aging eyes and mind. The nervous manwondered how long he could tell the tricks from the truth.
Tom stirred in his seat as the train reached the slight incline of Pereson's Hill. Jimwished to talk to his fireman, or at least have him awake and alert, but he couldn't bringhimself to rouse Tom, who had so much to do when the train wasn't moving. Besides,Jim didn't want to admit that he was afraid of the dark.
On the far side of Pereson's Hill, the long train's speed was pushing seventy. Jimknew that he would reach Blindman's Curve in only six miles, so he slowed the traindown to fifty-five. "Blindman's Curve" didn't much bother the engineer; he had safelyrun hundreds of trains through the turn during his long career, and no one had ever hadeven a minor mishap there. It was called "Blindman's Curve" only because someonefelt that that was a fine name for the bend.
"What's that!?" Jim almost cried aloud as he saw a flash of light about a mile in frontof the train. His hand tightly gripped the brake lever, which when fully applied couldbarely stop the train in such distance.
"There shouldn't be any other trains on the track. Maybe it's a kid playing chicken;but this is miles from civilization." All this went through Jim's head in a split second untilhe realized that he had been fooled by a trick of nature. What Jim really saw, to his
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chagrin and relief, was the moon reflecting off some water pooled between the tracksahead--a phenomenon which happened only with the moon directly above and ahead along stretch of track. He gave a nervous laugh and mumbled, "stupid me... I shouldknow better."
The engineer settled down and earnestly, apprehensively, stared at the tracks again.
Once more, the shining steel spellbound Jim from time to time, and it was all he coulddo to awaken himself from these mini-trances. "God help me," he thought. "Daytimerunning doesn't do this to me. It's light out; I look at the scenery. But at night, it's dark...Everything's the same. It's good that I'm going to retire soon. I'm getting too old for this."
Mile after mile went by until the train began to turn at Blindman's Curve. To Jim, thelong bend was like any other railroad curve. "But what if," he slowly muttered, "what if tonight... No!! I won't let it get to me." And with that he shook his head and resumedhis somber engineer's gaze out the window. He was about to rub his eyes but checkedhimself, not wishing to take them off the tracks for even a second.
The curve soon ended, with no expected disaster. Jim quickly checked the gaugesand increased the engine's speed. The rest of the trip would be quiet, taking himthrough Carvelle, a tiny weary community, and then to Listerton, tinier and wearier still.
Tom gave a loud snort next to the engineer. But Jim didn't notice, his eyes riveted tothe bright rails, his ears filled with the engines' soft drone, and his mind in a fog. Asusual, he snapped himself out of it, then looked at the fireman and wondered how longago the man had snored so loudly. It seemed like hours to old Jim.
When he turned back to the tracks, he was terrified to see the silhouette of a truckand tanker moving much too slowly over an unguarded crossing just ahead. Instantly,Jim's left hand grabbed the air horn cord above his head and his right hand wrenched
the brake lever fully on. Jim's legs and shoulders moved to brace him, but fireman Tom,rudely awakened from his nap, was violently thrown against the window in front of him.Sparks lit up the night as the brakes on every car ground on the steel wheels. Abovethe horn's wail, Jim's ears picked up the thunder of 68 freight cars banging together asthe slack in their couplers became nothing. Yet the heavy train lumbered on, near fullspeed, its momentum carrying it closer to the gasoline tanker directly ahead.
Jim numbly stared at the reflection of his train's headlight on the silver tanker, hismouth open in a silent scream and his mind reeling as he envisioned the explosive firewhich would engulf the crushed cab, incinerating him and his hapless fireman, as wellas brilliantly lighting up the surrounding countryside. The engineer was soon blinded bythe brightness of his own light coming at him. Then the impact occurred, and Jim felt
the diesel lurch and saw the flash of the tanker exploding before him.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Jim caught sight of Tom and silently apologized to himfor neglecting to blow the train's horn before approaching the crossing. Yet Tom wasnot at all dazed with what was happening, but was again sleeping in his chair. "What atime to sleep" thought Jim, as he prepared to die in the imminent inferno. Yet there wasno deafening roar, no flames or heat, and no death. The train rolled on as before. Jim
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looked at the fireman and wondered how long ago the man had snored so loudly. Itseemed like hours to old Jim.
Jim suddenly realized he had imagined the whole incident: tanker, collision and all.
The man sighed relief and chuckled to himself. Then he shook his head and rubbed
his eyes for several seconds, while whispering "boy oh boy" over and over. When helooked back up, all Jim Frettle could see was the bright, ever-growing word "TEXACO"on the tanker stalled on the tracks ahead.
