A Pleasant Fiction

Every once in a while I like to pretend that I can actually write. Not commentate on world events or the voices in my head, but that I can actually create an interesting and creative work. Today was one of those days.

I probably won't do this very often, but I really kind of wanted to do it today. So I've put it in with an extended entry link so that those of you here only for my commentary and political/current event thoughts won't have to scroll through the whole thing.

In the meantime, I'm going to indulge my fantasy:

The Great White Light

This is essentially a rewrite of story that I wrote during my senior year of high school. Some things will have changed but not too much.

Jim sat quietly on his seat watching the trees whip past his window. The rhythmic pounding of the massive connecting rod along with the rapid-fire exhausts of the engine were slowly lulling him to sleep. The fog was ever so gently filling in between the trees giving the whole forest a quiet, almost serene, appearance. It looked like a Gil Reid painting as they made their way through the night on the Long Pond Branch.

Jim was a fireman. It was his responsibility to ensure that there was a nice even fire going in the firebox at all times. His job was much easier tonight than most nights - this engine was equipped with an automatic stoker. All Jim had to do was to occasionally take a look in the firebox and maybe place a heel of coal in the corner.

They were rolling along with a 40 car transfer run. Nothing real important or exciting. It was just a normal nighttime run.

Until they suddenly felt a jerk. Frank, the engineer, knew immediately what had happened.

"Get the spare knuckle ready there Jim. Think we just busted one," he said as he applied the brakes to bring the train to a halt.

Jim was less than thrilled. The cab of the engine was nice and warm. It was downright cold out there tonight.

As the engine crawled to a stop, Jim clamored down the ladder and dropped to the roadbed below. He immediately started to swear as he sensed the steepness of the grade he was on. They must have been further up the line than he thought. He knew from the shape of the roadbed that they were in the middle of the swamp along Long Pond. One wrong step or slip could send him tumbling down into the snake infested cold waters below.

Jim began to make his way back to broken knuckle. About 20 cars or so back, he found the conductor already there having come up from the caboose.

"Nice clean break," said the conductor. "Should be fairly easy to fix. I'm guessing we only lose 45 minutes to an hour gettin' this done."

"Well, let's get up to the front and get the spare down," sighed Jim.

And the two men began the walk back to the front of the train.

Jim was naturally a quiet man. He wasn't a man to engage in conversation just simply to hear someone talk. He liked being alone in his thoughts. He still harbored dreams of someone - anyone - recognizing his intelligence for what it was. But he also knew that it wasn't likely to happen. He was a fireman. That was his pigeonhole, his lot in life. And he had grown to accept it.

One of the things Jim had noticed on his walk back to the broken knuckle was how still everything was. The fog seemed to absorb everything. There was no sound, seemingly no life, anywhere around. It was almost a spooky stillness.

As Jim and the conductor began the walk back to the front of the train, Jim heard a foghorn. It was off in the distance and very faint to be sure, but it was distinctly a foghorn.

But then Jim started thinking. Other than Long Pond, there really wasn't any water around. Why a foghorn with no water?

"Did you hear that?" Jim asked.

"Hear what?" replied the conductor.

"The foghorn."

"I didn't hear no foghorn. Why would there be a foghorn around here? It ain't like there's any water around that could have a boat with a foghorn."

"Yeah, I know. Musta been imagining things."

But he knew that he had heard it. It just didn't make sense.

So he continued to walk in silence, thinking about mysterious foghorn. Where was it coming from? What was it?

He was so engrossed in thought that it startled him to feel a pressure against him. A vibration really. Like the kind comes from a truck going past outside your house. It's a sound, but one that you feel more than you hear. That was what grabbed Jim.

It was a deep sound. Very deep. And it was all around as it was nowhere around. It was on him as it was far away.

Jim's eyes started darting, looking for something, anything, to materialize between the trees. But all he could see, no matter how hard he looked, was the all-enveloping mist.

Suddenly, they were back at the engine. Almost immediately Jim relaxed and climbed up into the cab to grab the broomstick and the spare knuckle.

"You OK, man?" asked Frank.

"Uh, yeah. I think so. I musta been hearing things down there. Kinda got me worried a bit, ya' know?" replied Jim.

"Yeah, these woods at night can be pretty frightening sometimes. Take it easy man. There ain't nothing out there 'cept some trees, frogs and fog. Don't let it get to ya' You'll get hurt that way."

"I know, Frank. I know. Just got to clear my head, that's all."

And with that he passed the knuckle down to the conductor and climbed back down to the steep, rocky roadbed.

Suspending the spare knuckle in the middle of the broomstick, Jim and the conductor each lifted an end of the stick onto their shoulder and began the trek back, the conductor leading; Jim following.

As they started walking, Jim heard that lonely wail of the foghorn again.

"You hear that?!?" Jim yelled.

"Hear what?"

"That foghorn."

"There ain't no foghorn, man. None. Give it up already."

Jim started to feel a bit of panic welling up inside. What was that out there. He couldn't see anything. He willed himself to see something. Was that a man coming out of the woods? Or was it some kind of animal? What kind of monster could be coming out of those trees?

And then the pressure began again. That same vibratory pressure. Was it to the left? Or was it to his right? What's that behind me? It seemed to be getting louder, more intense. It was right there but he couldn't see anything.

And then he heard the foghorn again. Twice this time. It seemed to be a bit closer this time, but he still couldn't see anything. He kept looking, looking for anything. The panic was becoming intense. It just kept growing.

Then, that low sound suddenly sped up. Jim's head began to snap over to his right, over towards the woods when he suddenly lost his footing.

Down he went, right on down the roadbed, hitting his head several times. And as he lay there in the cold wetness of the swamp, he felt the ground begin to shake. The sounds were now incredibly loud, all around him. Whatever it was, it was about to take him. It was there and he felt himself slowly slipping into unconsciousness.

Just as he was about to completely lose it and go totally unconscious, his world lit up. It was the brightest light he had ever seen and it was coming towards him like a runaway freight train.

"God has come for me," was his last thought before Jim slipped into the slumber of unconsciousness.

As he slowly started to open his eyes, Jim noticed that everything around him was white. White was all that he could see in every direction.

"This must be heaven," he thought.

But then as his eyes began to focus, he realized that he was looking at ceiling tiles. He was in a white room, with a white ceiling, on a white bed, with a white floor.

"He's awake now," a voice called out.

Slowly Jim realized that he wasn't dead, he was in a hospital.

Frank walked in and took a look at his fireman.

"Man, you gave us a hell of a scare. We thought you were dead for sure."

"I thought so, too," Jim replied. "What was that out in the woods? Did anyone ever figure it out? I can't go back out there at night without knowing what that was."

"Well," said Frank. "Turns out that the Pennsy was testing some new fangled diesel engine over on their tracks. We had forgotten that they even had tracks over there. They almost never use them, so they figured that they were the ideal place to test 'em."

"So that growl?" Jim trailed off.

"That was the diesel engine."

"And the foghorn?"

"Their electric horn."

"But what about the light? I thought for sure that God had come to take me."

"Turns out you come down right where their track turns to head away from us again. It was coming straight at you, but then it turned off and went away."

"Oh, man. You have got to be kidding me."

"Nope, Jim. That's what it was. So, when you think you're going to be coming back to work?"

"I don't man. I don't know," he replied as he turned over to go back to sleep.