Grade Crossing

“As I was saying,” said the Realtor, “the rent is so reasonable because the apartment contains certain architectural peculiarities. But it is a large unit, in excellent condition, with many exciting features.”

The two-story, brick building sat on a long, tree-lined, suburban cul-de-sac with fifteen other identical dwellings. They looked to be around forty years old, but most were in good repair.

A group of East Indian children were playing kickball across the front lawns of two adjacent properties. A couple of Hispanic kids rode their bikes on the sidewalk, and an Asian girl, silky black hair shimmering in the sunlight, walked down the street, a pink backpack over her shoulders. Several vehicles turned onto the court, mostly newer, mostly SUV's. A two-door sports car drove by like a bass amplifier, pounding out the rhythm of a hip hop beat.

Casey Jay looked up at the second floor balcony. He didn't have any expectations, the apartment was renting for half the going rate, but he felt he owed it to himself to at least see it.

They climbed the inside stairs to the upper landing. The doorway to the apartment before which they now stood stretched from wall to wall and from floor to ceiling and was arched at the top.

“This looks like the entrance to a tunnel,” Casey Jay said.

The Realtor unlocked the door and it swung inward on large iron hinges. Beginning at his very feet, a set of railroad tracks ran down the center of the apartment and into a hallway that was also arched like a tunnel. The tracks were inset into the floor like a grade crossing, and parallel to the tracks was a full sized crossing gate. The ceiling seemed higher than he would have thought possible from the outside.

“Yes,” said the Realtor, “the dimensions in this unit are quite deceiving. You can see why we have trouble renting. The general contractor swears this was not in the original blueprints. City officials inspected the building. But when the developer first went to show the apartment, this was how they found it. There is no explanation. There was no way to get the heavy equipment up here to remove the tracks without tearing down the entire structure. But please, before you say anything, just look at the rest of the apartment.”

Casey Jay assented, not believing what he was seeing. However, the apartment really was surprisingly beautiful. The expansive front room opened up to the right of the tracks with the far wall encompassing the French doors that opened onto the balcony that he had seen from outside. The front room boasted hardwood floors and crown moldings. To the left of the tracks was the spacious dining room with built in butler's pantry and buffet. The adjacent kitchen was outfitted with the latest thing in soapstone counters, stainless steel appliances, and slate tile flooring.

Following the tracks down the hallway, he entered the commodious master bedroom. The tracks lay embedded in the parquet floor and continued through the bedroom until they ended abruptly at the western wall of the apartment. Through a conventional door on the right was a huge walk-in closet beyond which was the mosaic tiled en-suite master bath, complete with state of the art vessel sink, walk in shower and infinity whirlpool tub. A refreshing cross breeze was coming in through the open windows, which let in the bright and cheery afternoon sun.

Either I'm nuts or I'm missing something, thought Casey Jay, but in fact, he liked trains. As a child, one of his fondest memories was when his family would drive out after dinner in the Rambler station wagon to the cathedral-like Joliet train station that stood at the junction of a north-south and east-west line. He would play among the high wooden benches in the nearly deserted antique station, study the timetables, and talk to the ancient black baggage master. The highlight was certainly the mammoth, rolling, freight trains.

Many wonderful vacations started from the station when his family would travel west to visit relatives for the summer. He remembered going cross-country on the old Santa Fe Super Chief like it was yesterday. This led to his present day hobby of model railroading, and he owned a rather impressive O scale layout with vintage Lionel rolling stock from the 50's and 60's.

“I'll take it,” said Casey Jay.

The rental truck had been returned and Casey Jay gathered up the last of the pizza that he and his friends had not eaten. With the help of his “crew” the big pieces of furniture were in place. His bed was set up with the headboard against the south wall of the bedroom to the left of the tracks. His friends, after their initial surprise, liked the tracks and thought it somehow suited Casey Jay. One friend suggested that it would make a great pick-up line. He could tell a girl that he liked cabooses.

Casey Jay was just about to call it a night when bells started to ring. Red warning lights flashed, and the crossing gates came down. The front door opened by itself and with a push of air and a noise like an approaching tornado, a Burlington Northern diesel, headlamp shining, bell clanking, rumbled into the room through the arched tunnel-like doorway. Its green and yellow expanse filled the apartment as it headed down the hallway. The front engine was followed by a second engine facing backwards. Car after car passed through the room: tankers, reefers, boxcars, hoppers, and gondolas loaded with cargo containers that said HANJIN and “K”LINE on their sides. After several minutes of shuddering madness, the last of the consist rolled down the hallway. The clacking of wheels faded slowly away. The front door swung closed, and the crossing gate raised its now silent arm.

Some sort of auto-hypnotism, he thought. Power of suggestion. Too many anchovies on the pizza. He surveyed the tracks and the surrounding right-of-way. No grease marks, no scuffing of the hardwood. He followed the tracks down the hallway and into the bedroom. The wall where the tracks ended was completely smooth and without a mark.

The next day, Casey Jay broke down his moving boxes, and took a few minutes to relax on the denim sofa. He laid his head back against a cushion and must have closed his eyes, because he was suddenly jolted upright by the clanging of bells. Once again the red lights flashed as the gate came down. With a piercing whistle, an Amtrak locomotive exploded out of the hallway pulling a string of silver passenger coaches, a club car with observation deck, a dining car, and baggage carriages out through the open front door.

Casey Jay went downstairs and knocked on the door of his downstairs neighbor. A woman's voice called, “Who is it?”

“I'm your new neighbor from upstairs.”

Slowly the door opened inward, Casey Jay could see the chain tightening. A very attractive woman in her mid-forties with strawberry blond hair peered out. She was wearing a plush, white, terrycloth robe.

“Hi, I'm Casey Jay. I moved in yesterday and just wanted to introduce myself.”

“My name is Kathy. Welcome to the building,” said the woman.

“Thank you,” said Casey Jay. “Umm, I was just making quite a bit of noise in my apartment and I wondered if it was bothering you.”

“No,” said Kathy, “I didn't hear a thing.”

“Are you sure?” asked Casey Jay. “Being a new tenant, I didn't want to disturb anyone.”

“Oh, no,” replied Kathy, “you've been very conscientious. I watched you and your friends moving in yesterday, but after that I haven't heard a peep.”

“Well, I'm very pleased to meet you,” said Casey Jay. “I won't take up any more of your time.”

“Not a problem,” said Kathy. “See you around.”

Casey Jay returned to his apartment through the tunnel-like front door. He stood looking at the railroad tracks before his feet and the silent, upright crossing gate. He had work in the morning and wanted to finish setting up his new home. He had been in bed for a couple of hours when he was awakened out of a dream he couldn't remember by a deep thrum and the now familiar bells. A narrow-beam white light appeared and a diesel locomotive slowly emerged through the arched bedroom doorway. Casey Jay felt like he was drowning in sheer weight. He heard a metallic screeching, and as the behemoth approached the wall, with a series of echoing booms, it ground to a dead stop before the foot of his bed.

He reached over and turned on the bedside light on the nightstand. The blue engine with yellow Chessie cat painted on its side idled loudly, as if it had all the time in the world. Thinking quickly, Casey Jay grabbed his cellphone and pointed it at the cab of the engine. At that exact moment, a hiss of hydraulic steam puffed out, filling the room.

Casey Jay hit the speed dial for the Realtor.

“This is Casey Jay,” yelled Casey Jay into the phone. “There's a goddamn train in my room.”

“What's going on?” said the Realtor “It sounds like there's a goddamn train in your room.”

“There's a goddamn train in my room!” shouted Casey Jay.

“I'll call you in the morning,” said the Realtor. “Try to get some sleep.”

As if on cue, the dynamo idled up and with a jerk began to back out of the bedroom. Casey Jay watched as the headlamp receded, until it went dark and the bells from the front room fell silent.

The next morning the Realtor came over to the apartment. The digital photo that Casey Jay had snapped the night before did indeed appear to be a picture of a train, but the cab was dark and nothing could be seen inside. The picture was hazy as if seen through gauze, and somewhat out of focus as if taken by a quaking hand.

Casey Jay proceeded to the local historical society with the notion of finding out if the apartment had been built over an old Indian burial site, or once used as a hobo camp, or haunted by the ghost of a murdered conductor, but none were the case.

Back in his apartment, Casey Jay unpacked the last of the moving boxes. When the bells began to clang, it almost came as no surprise. The red warning lights flashed hypnotically, the gate descended, the arched tunnel-like front door swung open on its iron hinges.

“Enough is enough!” said Casey Jay. “This can't be real.”

He ducked underneath the crossing gate and stood defiantly on the railroad tracks. A low, plaintive whistle sounded as a Metra commuter train loomed through the archway.

After the body was discovered the next day by the Realtor, the coroner's report read in part as follows:

The deceased displayed signs of blunt trauma, massive contusions and severe lacerations consistent with major vehicular and industrial accidents. As of this date, the exact cause of death remains unknown.