Trainwreck on Five Tracks

By Michailia Graham

A Woman fighting for recognition in a male-dominated industry. A Teenager rallying against an industry of death. A Mother pushing to find her daughter. All these stories are in 'Trainwreck on Five Tracks'; a short story collection by Michailia Graham. A touch of horror, a touch of the unreal, and a touch of science fiction, all put together in one place. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michailia Graham
• Release date: Sep 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393250654

Michailia Graham

Michailia Graham lives in Kingston, Ontario. When not writing, she is usually on the internet or drinking copious amounts of coffee. 

Book preview

Oak Street

She reached for her coat, holding a wrinkled paper.

I'm just going to get that parcel, she yelled across the room, hoping that her fiance would hear her.

Wait, he called back. Wait. I can drive you there. I have a car for a reason you know. The man jingled his keys, echoing in the hallway.

I like walking. The girl frowned. Besides, I don't want to depend on you driving me everywhere. I can get to the post office with my own two feet, Andrew. She had to admire his tendency to worry, but simple errands called for simple means. His shoulders relaxed, admitting defeat.

Be safe. Did you charge your phone?

Pretty sure. The girl in actuality didn't remember; however, Andrew would insist on driving her if her phone hadn't been charged. Besides, Ellen was pretty sure it was charged. I'm going to be taking a new route this time.

Not the main road? The main road, while efficient, had 5 crosswalk stops. That was 5 too many for Ellen. She shook her head, struggling to get her coat and reply at the same time.

I wanted to change it up, like taking a scenic path. That map thing on my phone told me to go down some suburbia street. I think Oak? Turn left on Oak onto Queen. Then walk down Queen until eventually the post office shows up.

Are you sure that's the route? You can call me if you get lost. As he said this, Ellen was already reaching for the door, paper in tow. The door jammed as it was prone to do. She rattled it before relenting. Andrew, as he was prone to do, twisted it methodically. The door popped open.

I'll be fine, she whispered with a smile.

The scenic route was, by and large, much nicer to walk besides than drab apartment buildings. Tiny bungalows were spread in even formation on the street leading up to Oak. All had small gardens or quaint decorations, ranging from statues to just solar lights. Ellen quietly hummed. She had definitely picked the correct choice, as travelling on the main road she would have been nearly run over by now. Her phone read out a time of 2:33 and a charge of 45 percent.

Finally, the signposts said Oak Street and Southeast Avenue. Ellen turned, grey and green houses awaiting her on the left and right respectively. The first thing she noticed as she walked along the sidewalk were those small helicopter seeds she used to throw as a kid. They scattered softly as she kicked them. 'The street's namesake,' she thought. Almost halfway there, she paused to check her map app. 44 percent. Looking up, she could see the community garden, less well maintained than the picture perfect houses at the left side of the street. Beyond it, she could just barely make out a field that stretched out into a rather large hill.

A resident raked his yard. He was older, perhaps even retired, but still spry enough to do yard activities. As the older man raked, he noticed Ellen down the street.

Morning stroll, huh? He seemed chipper.

Yeah, just taking a detour. Going to the post office, she said, her voice the only thing you could hear on that quiet street.

Continuing down the street, Ellen walked, looking for the next left. Any second now, she thought.

Past the field. Past the garden.

A signpost came into view. Southeast Avenue and Oak Street.

That can't be right, she whispered to herself. It was the same house she had just walked beside. The same lawn gnomes, the same cars, and the same old man raking.

Morning stroll, huh? The pleasant voice didn't falter, despite repeating it just minutes ago.

I suppose so, she replied warily. She didn't pause, though. Instead of looking up at the older man, she flicked through her phone.

The lock screen said 2:34, and a charge of 44 percent.

That couldn't be right. At all. She checked, no, double checked the map route. The small arrow pointed up the street she walked, and beyond it, to the post office. Then how did she get back onto this street? As Ellen walked, the arrow followed her steps, all the way until where the turn was. That's when she looked up briefly, just enough that she was staring the raking man once again.

Morning stroll, huh?

Ellen looked at the old man, wide-eyed.

You asked me that already. Twice.

He said nothing, attending back to the leaves.

She must have looped back at least a dozen times before stopping herself. Her phone kept the time at 2:34, and the battery persisted at 44 percent.

It all seemed unsettling.

Ellen sat down on the sidewalk, across the street from the lawn gnomes.

Apprehensively, she dialed Andrew.

Hello?

Andrew? Andrew, it’s Ellen. I think I’m lost, or something. The old man was still raking, and Ellen tried to push paranoid thoughts out of her mind. Can you come pick me up?

Oh, oh no, yes I can. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Where are you?

I’m on Oak Street, across from the house with all the gnomes.

Garden gnomes?

Yup. I think the house number is 17.

And she waited. Helicopter seeds scattered about in the midst of the spring breeze.

Thankfully, her phone rang.

Are you here yet? she asked, looking around the empty street for a sign of anything."

You said 17, right? 17 Oak?

Yup.

Where are you? His tone grew increasingly nervous.

I’m here. Are you sure you’re at the right house? Or street?

Yeah, the one with the gnomes. The gnome that has a little hammer and a workbench.

Sure enough, that detail was lost on Ellen. She glared straight ahead at the little gnome and its little hammer.

Where are you?

I’m here.

Static exploded in her ear for a split second, making her jerk the phone away from her ear.

In that split second, her service was gone.

The phone went flying into the lawn of the gnomes, mostly in rage and mostly in frustration.

Are you serious?! she asked nobody.

Hell. That was the only logical reasoning behind what was happening.

She was in Hell.

The only logical thing Ellen could think of was to go around the street itself. Maybe it was built on an ancient burial ground, or maybe a ghost was possessing the asphalt. Either way, the looping business needed to stop.

Her feet padded into the community garden, complete with a derelict play structure that no doubt had seen several generations of children. The field, which was the home of said play structure, also had a gigantic mound jutting out the middle, with what looked to be an electrical panel in the side of it.

It was all so odd. Instinctively, Ellen reached into her pocket for her phone, knowing full well she chucked it into a yard. Fingertips grazed its plastic case, which vibrated in her hand as she grazed the power button.

No way, she said, holding it in front of her face. Clear as day, was her phone, and of course it still showed the same power and same time as before.

By the time she reached the end of the field, where she should have stepped onto the other street, she was already facing the old man.

Morning stroll, huh? He resembled an animatronic, raking and occasionally looking towards the street, tipping his hat and spouting his catchphrase.

How do I leave? she asked.

He continued his programmed motions, which she had watched at least thirty times.

She had brainstormed several scenarios that could feasibly get her out.

Stealing a car, while not on any kind of bucket list, was one. She thought, in a possibly delirious mindset, that her being stuck was caused by speed.

Maybe there was some way of going a certain speed to get her out of a certain time.

However, either due to bad luck or the hellscape, there was only one car parked on the side of the road.

And of course, it wasn’t unlocked.

Ellen decided that as she was already committing one crime, so more wouldn’t be as much of an issue.

The old man, who raked and raked, had his garage open. He was also extremely unattentive.

The hammer smashed into the driver’s window, allowing her to unlock the car and get in. The keys still in