“Why are we here?”
“You know why.”
“Yeah, but why are we here?”
“Proof. Curiosity. Wonder.” We continue to walk along the sandy shore. “You choose.”
“It’s just a story.”
“Every story derives from a grain of truth,” I say. “This is the exact beach from the story Mom used to tell us as kids, which means –”
“The train tracks must be here too.”
“Exactly.” My flashlight tosses a beam of light across the sand. “And –”
“Do you really think the train exists?”
I stop, listening to the crashing waves. “I guess we’ll find out.”
“And to do this you just had to bring your brother along?”
I smile, stifling a laugh at his sarcastic tone. He’s always sarcastic, usually skeptically, but always ready for an adventure.
As we continue in silence, the roar of the ocean breaking through the night, the argument could be made that it almost sounds like a train barreling down the tracks. My brother follows close behind as our flashlights sweep across the sand, searching for the mysterious train tracks.
“Are you sure they’re even here?” he asks. “They’re over one hundred years old. I’d think there’s not a trace left.” He pauses. “Or maybe they never existed in the first place.”
There’s an old story Mom used to tell us as children, one that is whispered by the older folks in town, about mysterious train tracks running along the beach, only visible at low tide. She said they were old, from the First World War, when sea levels were lower and soldiers used the tracks to transport goods. At the end of the story, she’d tell us the tracks still exist and, on some nights, the train can be seen.
“I think this trip is all just to satisfy your curiosity. There’s no proof that –”
I turn at the abrupt end of his sentence and the sound of a thud. My brother is on his stomach in the sand, shining his light straight ahead.
“Are you alright?” I rush over to help him up.
“I’d like to say I just found the proof you’ve been looking for.”
I shine my flashlight in the direction he’s been staring. The beam of light illuminates train tracks half covered by sand, running along the shore, stretching toward the rolling waves, and disappearing into the ocean.
“I knew I brought you along for a reason,” I say jokingly. “Thanks for finding these.”
The roar of the ocean transforms into a thunderous rumble. The ocean glows from beneath. The ground shakes. A giant headlight surfaces from the water. I grab my brother’s hand and pull him away from the tracks.
The old train moves along the rusted tracks, steam billowing from the chimney while seaweed clings to the wheels, hangs from the headlight. The ghostly conductor, a strand of seaweed weaved into his hat, nods in passing. Two phantom soldiers sit on the roof, cigarettes hanging from between their lips. They too give a nod as the train disappears into the night.
Nicole's Narratives 