Beyond the Tracks

Written by Alvin Su from Louisiana, USA

The train rumbled under us, the clanking sounds of the wheels against the tracks making a steady cadence. I was sitting next to Dad, staring out the window at the blur of trees and fields. We were on our way to Grandma’s house—she’d been talking about baking me cookies and teaching me how to knit like she always had done when we visited. The thought of her soft hands and the smell of cinnamon rolls made me smile. But then my head started to throb. 

At first, it was just a dull ache, like someone was pressing their thumb against my temples. I rubbed my forehead, but it didn’t help. The ache grew worse, like a sharp stone lodging behind my eyes. 

"Are you okay?” Dad asked, glancing over at me. His eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"Yeah," I lied, though I could barely focus on his face through the pain in my head. 

I blinked hard and looked back out the window. The trees that had been flying by only seconds ago now seemed to stop, frozen in place. The sky outside didn’t look quite right either—it was too dark, like dusk had arrived all of a sudden, even though it was still early afternoon. 

"Dad," I whispered. "Look at the trees." 

He didn’t answer. I turned to him, but he was staring straight ahead, his hands resting on his lap. 

"Dad?" I tried again, louder this time. 

He didn’t even blink. 

I started to feel panic rise in my chest, like I was trapped inside a dream I couldn’t wake up from. The train screeched, sharp and loud, a sound that pierced through my ears. I looked out the window again. The fields had shifted; instead of familiar green patches, there were giant black shapes, like shadows stretching across the land. 

The train shook, its metal frame groaning as though it were alive, fighting against something I couldn’t see. 

"Help," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "What’s happening?" 

But Dad still didn’t answer. His face was pale, his eyes were wide open, and he didn’t seem to notice me. His fingers twitched slightly, like they wanted to move but couldn’t. 

The air inside the train grew thick and heavier. It smelled like dust and old metal, like something was breaking apart in the walls. My headache slammed into me, and I pressed my hands to my temples, hoping it would stop.

Then the walls started bending. It was slow at first, like they were made of rubber. The seats were stretching too, and I could see the metal framework of the train twisting like it was being pulled in all directions. 

"Stop!" I screamed. "Stop!" 

The train lurched again, but this time, everything inside it went black—pitch black—so dark that I couldn’t see anything, not even Dad. 

I tried to scream again, but nothing came out. 

The darkness pressed in on me, thick and suffocating, like I was trapped in a void. My breath quickened, and my heart pounded in my chest as panic clawed at it. I fumbled for the seat in front of me, my fingers trembling as I reached out, but there was nothing—no seats, no walls, no Dad. Just an endless, stifling blackness. 

Then, a whisper. 

A soft, rasping sound that seemed to come from all directions, curling around my ears like fingers. 

"Come closer." 

I froze. The voice was familiar but distorted, like it had been stretched too thin, pulling itself across the dark space, warping with each syllable. It sounded like her. Grandma. But something was wrong. The voice was too thin, too breathless, as if it had been pulled out of a hollow chest. 

"Come closer." 

I couldn't move. I wanted to scream, but my throat felt dry, like it had been scraped raw as it tightened with each shallow inhale. I could feel my fingers digging into the floor beneath me, trying to ground myself, but there was nothing solid anymore. Only darkness and the oppressive weight of something... waiting. 

I didn’t know how long I had been in the void when the train finally jolted again, a violent lurch that made my stomach flip. The lights flickered on, dim at first, like they were struggling to ignite. When they fully flared to life, I gasped. 

I was no longer on the train. 

I was standing in a small, dimly lit room. The air was thick with dust, and the walls – once white – were now stained with dark smudges, like old fingerprints smeared across the surface. The floor beneath me was cracked and uneven, the kind of place no one would visit willingly. It felt like an abandoned house, the kind where you’re not supposed to be inside and exploring. 

I turned in a circle, trying to understand what had happened. Where was Dad? Where was the train? I reached for my phone, but it wasn’t there. My pockets were empty, and the world around me felt... off. Like it was a place I wasn’t meant to see. 

And then I saw her. 

At first, I thought it was Grandma. But this... this woman wasn’t my Grandma. She was bent over in the corner of the room, her back hunched unnaturally. She held something in her hands, but I couldn’t see what it was. I wanted to scream, but again my voice was stuck in my throat. She turned her head slowly—too slowly—and I saw her face. 

Her skin was pale and stretched tight, like it didn’t quite fit her skull. Her eyes were wide, too wide, with dark circles underneath them. Her mouth was open in a grotesque grin, revealing teeth that were too sharp, too jagged. There was something almost animalistic about the way she looked at me, as though I were the prey, and she, the predator. 

"Grandma?" I whispered, but even to my own ears, it sounded strange. My voice didn’t even sound like mine, in fact. It sounded distant, as if I were speaking from underwater. 

She didn’t answer back. 

Instead, she moved —jerkily, like her limbs were stiff, uncoordinated. She made a low, guttural sound, like a moan, and the air grew colder with each step she took toward me. Her feet shuffled across the floor, leaving behind dark, sticky marks that glistened in the dim light. She got closer—too close. 

I wanted to run, but my legs felt heavy, like I was wading through thick mud. My breath came out in short gasps, and I turned to look for an escape, but there was nothing. The room seemed to close in on me, the walls pressing tighter, the floor sloping in strange directions. 

"Stay," she whispered, the voice now unmistakably her. Grandma. But it was wrong, so wrong. 

I turned, frantically scanning the room. There—through the window, I saw something. A shape, standing just beyond the glass, watching. It was moving. 

I stumbled toward the window, my heart drumming. I didn’t care what was out there. I needed to get away from her. I needed to escape whatever this place was. 

As I reached the window and peered out into the darkness, the figure outside stopped. It was a tall shape, too tall, too thin—like a shadow that had been stretched beyond recognition.

And then it smiled. At me. 

The chill in the room deepened, crawling beneath my skin, freezing me in place. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. The shadow raised a hand and tapped on the glass, one slow, deliberate tap at a time. 

I turned back to face the room. The woman was closer now. Too close. I opened my mouth to scream, but before the sound could escape, she lunged. 

Her hand grabbed my wrist, cold as ice, and I felt a shock shoot through my arm. Her skin felt like rotting paper wrapped around brittle bones. The smile on her face widened, impossibly wide, and her teeth glinted in the dim light. 

"Welcome home," she hissed. 

The room tilted again, but this time it didn’t stop. The walls caved in, folding toward me, twisting like they were alive, and everything around me spun into a spiraling vortex of shadow and screams. 

And then… nothing. 

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the train. The rhythmic clacking of the wheels beneath us was the only sound I heard. I looked around. Dad still sat next to me, his face calm and peaceful, like nothing had ever happened. 

But something felt different. I looked out the window. 

The trees were gone. 

All I could see was a vast, empty landscape—black and silent, stretching out into infinity. The train was still moving, but I wasn’t sure where we were headed anymore. 

I looked back at Dad. His eyes were wide open, but he wasn’t blinking. I could still hear the whisper. 

"Come closer." 

And I knew, deep in my bones, that I would never make it home.