#traintober2022

[hazel-of-sodor]

Day 12-Poltergeist:Once a Railway man...

Day 12-Poltergeist

Other Stories

Once a Railway man...

Edward was sitting contentedly in the Wellsworth yard, or he would be if it wasn't for all the clay dust. Edward was by no means a vain engine, but even for him this was too much. From flange to funnel he was covered in the pale powder, and if he was honest, it was beginning to itch. 'Hopefully my crew will be back soon' he thought with a sigh. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the warmth of the sun rather than his irritating coating.

His attempt was pleasantly foiled by the sensation of a sponge being vigorously applied to his bufferbeam.

He opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of the sponge moving seemingly on its own, attacking the dust as if it had personally offended it. A rag floated a foot or two away from it and a bucket of soapy water sat off to the side.

"Good morning Mr. Charlie," Edward smiled happily.

The rag was distinctly unimpressed, flick towards, well all of him really, with disapproval.

"The twins I'm afraid. They managed to knock over one of the hoppers while I was next to it."

The rag flicked angrily towards the cab.

"They went to wash off before washing me."

Edward chuckled as the rag managed to radiate sheer disdain.

"I'm rather glad if I'm honest." The sponge paused its attack and the rag tilted as if in question. "It fell just behind my cab and I'm afraid they got the worst of it. Had they tried to clean me first...well I'd probably have been better off before."

The rag seemed to accept this and began to scrub again.

"Does the misses know you've escaped to come clean your old engine?"

The rag flicked towards the water spicket, where a floating bucket was being filled.

"A most thrilling date then."

The rag flicked his running board playfull, and Edward chuckled softly.

A few moments later, "If it's not too much of a bother..."

Water flicked onto his nose in reprimand.

"Yes, yea I know it's not a bother to ask for something I want, but it's still polite to ask nicely."

The rag and sponge paused expectantly.

"Would you mind getting my face first? It's beginning to itch something awful."

The rag and sponge dropped back into the bucket which floated onto his footplate. He felt warmth in the shape of a large calloused hand grip the bufferbeam, then his front dipped slightly as if someone had pulled themselves up onto it. The dust showed footprints now, as if a larger pair of boots stood on his footplate.

The second bucket set itself down by his driving wheels, a rag leaping out of the buckets at them with determination.

"Hello Mrs.Sand," Edward felt the sensation of a smaller, cooler hand pat his side affectionately. A brush flew out of the cleaning shed and came to a stop in front of Edward's face. Soon it was being used to carefully clean around Edward's eyes. "Thank you for this," Edward sighed in relief as some of the itching spots were soothed. "I know this is nowhere as nice as..."

Edward was interrupted by the sensation of a large warm hard gently pressing against his cheek. Edward happily leaned into his old Driver's touch.

[ryan1014n2]

Traintober Day 6: Cat

(ft. whatever the other two drawings are)

[synthetic-rust]

[ inktober + traintober • day 31 ]

“The end”

[joezworld]

Mountain Spirit

Traintober 2022 Day 4 - Spirit

 Summary - Culdee Fell was a lifeless rock, until Godred fell down it.

-

The Mountain was never given much thought. Its snow-capped peak towered over the land in such a totally dominating way that the Islanders thought that not even God could have put it there. It was, as more than one man put it, “bigger than life, and older than sin.” It had always been there, and was about as lively as, well, as a rock. 

Man often wondered if the rest of the world was alive. After all, so much was already; animals, plants, machines, and so on. It made a comforting amount of sense, to assume that one was not alone in their own world. Natural events, such as storms and floods, growth and bloom, were all attributed to some form of life. Gods created thunder, encouraged the plants to grow, and responded positively to prayers and sacrifices. 

In some theologic structures, everything had a god, no matter how minor, while others simply believed that there was a spirit inside each and every thing ever put upon the earth. 

On the Island, however, divinity was not something the Islanders put much stock in. 

Yes, in some years, a rain dance may bring a good harvest, or a standing circle would appease the river spirits and prevent flood, but just as often, the harvests would fail or be lean, and the river would burst its banks anyways. To blame this to any number of gods, or just one for that matter, seemed almost foolish - what were they, humble farmers and fishers, doing to attract such attention? 

Until the Catholic & Anglican churches came, many years later, the gods were relegated to idle gossip, the mental wanderings of the terminally superstitious. Orry, King of the Sudrians, slayer of the Manx, and Starstrider of legend, was closer to godly status than any rain shower or bad harvest. 

So, as they lived their lives, The Mountain was never something that occupied their minds for very often, in the same way that one does not actively contemplate oxygen or gravity. It was merely there. It was never anything beyond that. It wasn't alive. It was never a god.

Much like divinity, early Islanders did not put much stock in the concept of “because it’s there.” The Island would produce many great warriors, men of industry, fishers, farmers, scientists, and vicars, but few explorers would come from those whose lineage stretched to the time before King Orry’s wars. The mountain, with its imposing snow cover, high winds, and enticingly easy-to-climb faces, would remain unexplored until the age of Queen Victoria. 

When Man eventually came to The Mountain, Machine was soon behind him. A small line of narrow steel, the first of several, stretched towards the Mountain and the settlement at its base. Man soon found that the peak of the Mountain had never been surveyed, and charged forth with abandon, much to the bemusement of the Islanders. 

Man returned, starry-eyed from the incredible sights He had seen. It must be shown to the world! He cried exuberantly. And we can charge for it!

Only after improvements had been made, of course.

It was not feasible, Man argued, to walk to the beauty of the summit. A better solution must be found, He said. 

And so there was. Men, accompanied by animals, slowly trekked their way up the Mountain, a triple ribbon of shining steel in their wake. They reached the summit shortly after the turn of the new century, and introduced Engines to the uncaring, unfeeling, un-living Mountain. 

The Engines were young, and brought with them all the foibles of the young - arrogance, cowardice, ignorance, blind courage. They rolled up and down that mountain with no care, no thought, no knowledge of the danger that the Mountain posed them. That the only thing keeping them in the land of the living was a sextet of metal-on-metal contact patches the size of a sixpence. 

It was an ignorance that would last a scant month. 

-

In years to come, the now-eldest of the Mountain Engines would lie, and say that Godred had survived his final trip down the mountain, and due to lack of funds, was parted out over the following years, giving his life for the others. 

That lie was based on the idea that there was any Godred left to salvage. 

-

Men said a short prayer - to whomever they thought was listening - and carted away what little remained. Godred watched them go. 

He was aware, in a quite detached nature, that he was dead. 

What do I do now? He asked himself, not sure of the answer. 

He tried the sheds, drifting down the mountain and through the walls like… well… like a ghost. His fellow Engines were silent, sad, in some cases weeping. They couldn’t see him, and after a short while, he departed, feeling altogether worse about his situation. 

He missed his passengers, and drifted about the platforms next. 

But they were shut. 

“CLOSED DUE TO UNFORTUNATE ACCIDENT” read a sign posted on the station door. 

It was unfortunate, he thought. And remained, hoping that one day the People would come back. 

After half a season, it became clear that they might not. Godred felt sad, and slightly guilty. It was my fault, he thought, and he left the station with the first snow. 

Despondent, he drifted up and down the mountain until the snow left, not sure of what to do with himself. Eventually, he came to rest at the top, near the summit station. The winds whipped and howled, but he paid it no notice for many days. 

Eventually, the snow melted, and the clouds began to part each morning. He watched as the sun shined through him each morning like he wasn’t there. Each afternoon he drifted around the station, trying to remember what it felt like to be full of life. 

One morning, before the dawn, he thought he heard a whistle, deep in the valley. The wind had grown especially cruel recently, making strange sounds as if punishing him for ignoring it, so he pushed it out of his mind. 

Then it came again, much closer this time. 

The sun rose over the mountain. Man and Engine alike said it was one of the most beautiful sights in all of God’s creation. 

Godred didn’t care. To him, there was nothing more beautiful than seeing a workman’s train climbing up the mountain. 

-

Just a few days later, the first passengers arrived at the top, and Godred nearly wept in joy. I hadn’t ruined it all! He cried, although nobody could hear him. 

-

That night, as the last train left, and the sun slipped below the horizon, Godred felt at peace for the first time in his death. As darkness spread across the land below, he closed his eyes, and slowly began to descend, not down the mountain, but instead into the rock itself. 

-

The mountain had no life of its own. It had never been alive, nor had it ever taken one. The first to die on its slope had been not Man, nor Beast, but Engine.  

As the Engine descended through the rock, He understood. 

The mountain was now a graveyard, of one. 

And every graveyard needed a guardian. 

Godred and The Mountain ceased to be separate, and instead became One.

-

Many decades later

Culdee and Catherine sat at the summit station, very shaken. Nobody else had noticed, as they ascended the Devil’s Back, the tremble in the rails. It wasn’t the wind, or a shake of the ground, but instead the rails very much giving way. They’d sounded the alarm (screamed it, really) and cleared the section in record time. Alaric and the workmen had come all the way up with the Truck, and they’d found that a rail had snapped completely in two. 

“I don’t want to alarm you any further,” The permanent way foreman said over the radio. “But if you’d been a touch longer you’d probably have torn the gripper rail out of the sleepers and gone over.”

The driver, fireman, and guard all collectively thanked whatever god they held dear, but Engine and Coach knew better. 

They had started tipping. The gripper rail had come off. 

-

“What saved us?” He asked Catherine, as they sat outside the Summit station much later that night. 

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “We almost ended up like Godred…”

“Don’t remind me…” He didn’t particularly want to contemplate tumbling all the way down the Devil’s Back. 

For a moment, all was silent, before a particularly strong gust of wind picked up, whipping its way past the two. 

Don’t worry Culdee, Came a voice that seemed to be carried on the wind. I’ll keep you safe. 

All the water in the Mountain Engine’s boiler might as well have flash-frozen to ice. “Please tell me you heard that.” He pleaded to Catherine. 

“Yes.” The Coach’s voice was scarcely a whisper. “What-who- was that… him?” 

“Godred?” 

The wind seemed to laugh for a moment. “Yes. I’m here. Always.”

And then it was still once again. 

Try as they might, Culdee and Catherine couldn’t help but believe what they heard. 

And every night after that, before they went to sleep, they looked out at the mountain, and somehow knew that Godred would keep them safe. 

[dieselstooyou]

Day: 8 Disgrace

"I may be the black sheep of the familly, but I can still do great things, right?"

(I know I'm late >:()

[lswro2-222]

Traintober Prompt 14: “Rest in Pieces”

It was a warm, sunny afternoon on the island of Sodor. Edward was having a nap in a siding at Wellsworth Station while his crew were on their lunch break. All of a sudden, the old engine woke with a start. He gasped aloud and he shook and shivered as if it was the middle of winter. BoCo, who was waiting with a train at the platform nearby, noticed this.

“Goodness, Edward, are you alright?” he asked, concerned.

“O-oh,” the blue engine said after taking a few deep breaths. “Y-yes, BoCo, I’m fine.”

“You are not fine, you’re shaking like a leaf. Was it another one of your dreams?” the green diesel asked in a quiet, yet firm tone. It was a bit of an open secret among the engines that sometimes Edward would have dreams about very unpleasant things. It wasn’t something he liked talking about with others, but BoCo was an exception. The steam engine looked down sadly at his buffers, and that told BoCo everything he needed to know. “What was it about?” he asked gently.

“It… it would take too long to explain,” Edward sighed softly, still not making eye contact.

“Oh dear,” BoCo said sympathetically. He was about to say something else to comfort his friend, but his guard’s whistle blew before he could. “Bother that guard… When I get back to the shed tonight, we’ll talk about it, alright?”

“Alright,” replied Edward, still a bit shaky.

“Good. I’ll see you later,” said BoCo as he began to pull out of the station. Edward sighed as he watched BoCo set off with his train. He wished his friend could have stayed with him, but he knew they both had work to do. He put on a brave face as his crew returned from their break, not wanting to worry them.

It was already dark by the time BoCo reached the shed that night. Edward was glad to see him. His dream had been weighing on his mind all day, making him very tense. He waited in silence while his friend’s crew shut off his engine for the night and said their goodbyes. Once they were gone, BoCo looked over at Edward.

“Tell me everything,” he said softly.

Edward took a deep breath to center himself and recounted his dream.

“It began simply enough. I was running along down a long stretch of track, pulling a train behind me. The sun was high, the wind rushed past, everything was lovely. But, all of a sudden, I started to feel a pain. ‘Driver, something’s wrong. We need to stop,’ I called, but there was no reply. I realized my cab was empty. I couldn’t feel anyone on my footplate anymore. The wind turned bitterly cold, stinging my face as I ran on, faster and faster. The pain just kept getting worse, spreading all throughout my body. I tried to stop myself, but I… I couldn’t. I heard a crack, and felt my crankpin snap in two. Then I felt a wobble, and two of my wheels flew out from under me. It kept going like that, parts of me breaking and coming apart as I rushed down the line alone. I screamed and begged for someone, anyone, to help me, but no one came. There were no people, no other engines, just me, unable to do anything as I literally fell to pieces. I don’t even think I crashed. I just kept going and going until… until there was nothing left of me.”

BoCo’s eyes were wide at the vivid description. “Oh, Edward, that’s… that sounds horrible,” he said once his friend had finished.

“It… it was. It felt so real, BoCo, I…” Edward trailed off. He shuddered again at the memory and blinked away a few tears. “I’m sorry, I know it’s silly to be so shaken by something that didn’t actually happen. I shouldn’t let it affect me so much, but…”

“Hey, none of that,” BoCo soothed. “It’s not silly at all. Nightmares wouldn’t be called ‘nightmares’ if they weren’t frightening. No one’s judging you for that.”

“I just hate feeling so helpless.”

“You’re not helpless. You’re one of the most capable engines I know, nightmares or no nightmares. And when things do get to be too much, well, you know you’ve always got me.”

Edward glanced over at BoCo. Seeing his dear friend’s warm, sincere smile, he felt like the weight he’d been carrying all day was finally lifted from his mind.

“Yes,” Edward replied with a small smile of his own. “I always have you.”

[fraiserabbit]

Day 5: Out of Service

“How much longer? I’ve places to be! Things to do!” she cried.

“Calm your farm!” One of the workers laughed, standing up and dusting off his jeans. “It’s only been a week.”

as i’ve already said Billie gets restless if she’s not doing anything for a long time, so what better way to put this prompt to use?

based off this photo of K190:

[proteusofthehills]

bored in class, doodled bertram! does this count for traintober?

[ttte-paint-shop]

Traintober Day 28: Whistles While You Work

[bcubedarts]

traintober day 2 frosty rails babeyyy “mirroring a later incident in the united states the spirit of the engine was thrown several yards away from the accident trying very desperately to crawl away and finish its task though heavy snow and ice stopped poor henry in his tracks”

[brhater]

Traintober2

January 1913

Whiff knew that the management of the Sodor and Mainland railway was having financial trouble, but he didn’t know it was this bad. He had gone in for maintenance two weeks ago, and now his right side cylinder had cracked while he was pulling an importuned goods train to Vicarstown. As he limped along in agony, he started to ask himself some important questions. Questions like  “How would Emily get through with the Boat train to Kirk Ronan?” and “why did this have to happen?” but most importantly, “where did the mangers go wrong in the running of the company?”

As he sat there not being able to move, fog from the sea began to roll in. Then he heard it—a piercing whistle from up the line. Whiff was confused, for the whistle was not one he recognized. The whistle sounded again, much closer this time. Then he heard the voice: it was a soft, melodic tone, but it still carried a wisdom. “Be at ease, my child. Help will be here shortly, and you will live to work for a long time to come.” it whispered. “W-who are you?” Whiff asked his voice quivering with each syllable. “Oh, you silly boy.” the voice giggled softly “you should know who I am, but be assured that I mean you no harm.” The realisation hit him, and he breathed, “you’re the Lady!” “My my, aren’t you a smart child.” She chuckled and continued,  “but now I have to bid you farewell.” Whiff caught a glimpse of gold in the fog, but before he could look any closer, he saw Samson approaching.

[hazel-of-sodor]

Day 30-Vengeance:The Setup

Day 30-Vengeance

Other Stories

The Setup

November 1991

The inspector strode forward angrily. "No Hatt! You have forged, bribed, twisted, and stolen your way to far too many engines as is. He is ours, and we're taking him back, and that's the end of it."

It had finally happened, the North Western region had won. The first of the new year, There would once again be a North Western Railway. Forty years and they had failed. Sodor had resisted all but the most meager of attempts to bring them to heel. Their primarily express engine had been built in the twenties.

He was not going to allow them another victory. He strode into the shed, practically shaking with anger. Hatt and the North Western's number one followed his men.

"Diesel 10! We're leaving." He called. The large engine opened his left eye lazily. "Of course, sir." He purred. "I will be ready to leave as soon as my crew returns. Where am I taking you?"

The inspector grit his teeth. "Your crew will not be joining us. They have been summarily dismissed. You will be pulled behind my engine."

The warship raised an eyebrow. "Dismissed? Oh that is interesting. May I ask the reason for their abrupt termination." The diesel sounded like a lion lazing about after his meal. Wondering if the wounded animal before him was worth the chase.

"Aiding and abetting in the theft of British Rails property.”

"Oh?" Even now he didn't have the arrogant diesel's full attention.

"Yes. I intend to find out just how many fugitives your crew helped escape to this infernal island while you supposedly stood watch." 

Diesel Ten had been thought to be the chink in the North Westerns armour. An engine to help them catch all the others escaping to Sodor. A constant reminder to the engines that British Rail was the future, and they were the past. The fools at Crovan's Gate had even fitted him with an illegal hydraulic claw on his roof. Which had only enhanced his intimidating appearance. Only to find out his crew had been assisting in the very act they were meant to stop.

"And after?" The smug thing sounded as if it was merely considering whether it wanted fires with its lunch.

"That depends on what we find." The threat was clear.

The diesel finally focused its attention fully on him. It starred for a long moment. "No. I think not." Then closed its eyes again.

"You don't have a choice," the inspector snarled, striding forward angrily. He was stopped by a dark chuckle.

Everyone in the shed turned to find the sound coming from the tank engine.

"Is something amusing you, Caomhnóir." The inspector said mockingly. 

The engine chuckled harder, It had a distinctly unfriendly edge to it. "Even now you don't understand."

"What? That our engine turned traitor? I'm quite aware of that, thank you." The inspector snapped.

The blue engine smiled maliciously, and the inspector suddenly was reminded there was nothing small about him compared to a human.

"10's crew preferred using his B cab."

"Yes." He snapped. An odd habit, but hardly amusing.

"The controls for the claw are in his A cab."

The inspector was confused for a second then paled.

The sound of the tank engine's laughter was somehow drowned out by the sound of hydraulics activating.

------

Vicarstown's relatively quiet morning was shattered by screaming. As workers ran towards the shed, something came flying out of the shed, impacting on the tin siding with a horrific clang.

The workers stopped as the object moaned. The screams coming from the shed were joined by maniacal laughter. The workers glanced at each other nervously. Out of the dust, splinters, and chaos strode Stephen Hatt, not a hair out of place.he stopped and knelt by the man that had been thrown.

"Try not to move, inspector. The doctors will be on the way soon." He nodded at the workers, who fled towards the nearest phone.

"You did this." The inspector rasped. 

Hatt raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid he's not my engine. One of the screams from within the shed was cut off by the sound of splintering wood. One of the inspector's men slid to a stop in the dust, pieces of the shed wall all around them.

"Stop him." He wheezed.

"Do you really think he will listen to me?"

The inspector sighed resignedly. "Pocket."

Hatt gently reached into the man’s coat pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.

He glanced over it, finding the ownership papers for the warship currently reigning hell within the shed.

"Are you sure?" he asked, pulling a pen from his own coat.

A door on the side of the shed was slammed open as another man lost the dangerous game of keep away. Another barely dodged the snapping claw.

"Yes. Now get ahold of your engine."

Hatt signed the paper then turned and stood. "Diesel 10!"

The shed suddenly fell silent, then quiet puffing as the number one shunted the warship forward, seemingly unbothered by the carnage around him.

"You called Mr.Hatt?" The diesel asked ominously. One of the men trembled within the grasp of the claw.

Hatt held out the paperwork. The diesel set the man back on the ground, almost gently. 

The massive claw carefully gripped the edge of the paper, and swung it where he could read it. He was quiet for a moment as he read.

"I assume this means you'll want me to stop scaring the steamies then, sir?"

"Oh heavens no." Stephen said chuckling, "trying to show you up keeps them on their toes and out of trouble. As long as it remains safe, scare away."

The diesel grinned, "with pleasure sir."

"Why?" The inspector rasped.

The warship looked at him like an insect he was considering whether to crush under his boot or not.

"You tried to scrap my baby sister at only ten years old. Despite my class's best efforts, only the intervention of Caomhnóir saved her. We owed him a debt, one that seemed like we would never get the chance to repay. When you came looking for volunteers to spy on Sodor, I had my chance to pay him back, and see my sister again."

"Getting one over on us didn't hurt either." The inspector guessed.

"Honesty? That may have been the best part."

"Thomas." Hatt interrupted, "Take our new engine to the works. Once he's been looked over, see that he's painted in the colors of his choice."

"Yes sir." Thomas peeped happily and rolled off.

"That one scares me," the inspector admitted.

"I would hope so, he threw you across the yard."

"That one too."

In the distance ambulance sirens could be heard. 

"They were never enemies were they?" The inspector asked at last. 

"He would not have lasted long if they were."

The inspector sighed, the plan had been a setup from the start.

[houseboatisland]

i'm gonna see this challenge through if it kills me! it's gonna kill me

our first prompt, "moon"

this story has everything. escaping death, angst, brake van butlers, gay engine crews...

[joezworld]

Electric Evil

Traintober Day 12 - Poltergeist

So, for context here, I stole took inspiration for most of this from the Extended Railway Series on the Sodor Island Forums (not for the first time and not for the last), and as usual, I've put some tweaks on it to make it better. #humble

Here I based a lot of this on ERS Novel 2 - The Peel Godred Railway, and while I recommend reading that, it's not required for this.

-

Summary - The DC Electric Line dies a violent death, and something rises out of it. Godred keeps it off his mountain.

-

1 - Nature

Those who believed in such things thought the very Valley was having its revenge on the rails.

It was not an entirely unreasonable belief. The Valley had not been consulted, nor did it want, the input of Man on how to conduct itself, and yet Man imposed his viewpoint anyway. 

The first rails to reach the fortified Peel of King Godred was a small one, coming from the western coast. They were not of issue to the Valley. 

Their small line worked with nature, inching along tight cliffs, running around mountains, and poking through gaps in the rock. Their service was first-rate, and the Valley’s People could soon move both themselves and their goods to markets far away. The Valley might have even enjoyed this - if one were to put stock in those sorts of beliefs - and caused no trouble for the second railway. 

The second railway only touched the Valley on its edges. Its rails ascended The Mountain, reaching for the heavens. It courted the mountain, edged along it, never daring to defile it. The Valley paid it no notice, even as The Mountain slowly but surely became One with the rails.

The third railway, however, did not please The Valley. Its rails charged northwards, up to the base of The Mountain and then beyond, caring more for the River than it did for the Valley. This was a slight, but one that the Valley was willing to overlook. 

What the railway brought with it, however, was an abomination. A massive blight on its natural order. A huge, noisy, dirty, stinking industrial plant that took ores from outside the Valley and processed them into Refined Aluminium, leaving equally huge piles of filthy, dirty, stinking refuse as a waste product. 

The Valley disliked waste. It disliked aluminium, and by extent, it disliked the railway that served it. Its dislike grew as the first railway suffered and died as a result - their careful and meandering path to the sea was too small and too slow, and they lost even the most loyal passengers, slowly siphoned away by the bigger rails.  

If the Valley disliked the railway, then the River was furious. The construction of the plant required massive amounts of Electricity, a new and unwanted evil that required nothing short of total damnation of everything around it, as a sacrifice.

Up and up the dam went, towering into the air until it seemed like it might touch the sky. The River raged, furious at having its path disrupted. The Valley seethed at the itching feeling of the huge structure. 

During all of this, the Mountain was ambivalent. Man had lived here for hundreds of years - it was them who had ascribed life to the Valley and the River, and had built the Mountain Railway. To live in Harmony with them would be better for all involved, it soothed.

The Valley ignored the Mountain, and the River flooded its banks in displeasure. 

Then Man fully damned them both. The huge concrete and earth structure was complete, and the River was soon fed into it. 

And into it

And into it

And into it

Until there was no longer a River and a Valley behind the concrete, but a massive lake, made purely for man’s needs - a total damnation of nature, as a sacrifice at the demonic altar of Electricity. 

The railway that ran up the mountain was powered by Electricity. Now tied together in both circumstances and rage, the River tried to flood it, and the Valley tried to collapse the land around it. 

Man was multitudinous, and whenever they tried, a hundred men, or a thousand, would arrive, and right their wrongs. 

The Mountain chastised them. Are they not Of This Land? It asked as the two cursed the railway, the plant, and the Men who worked on them. Are they not worthy of our care?

No. Responded the Valley And The River. They tried again, but Man stopped them. 

And again.

And again. 

Man simply persevered, expanding His mind through the concepts of “reinforcement”, “retaining walls”, “flood prevention”, and “embankments.” By the end of the first decade, the River was in check, and the Valley was unable to continue its crusade. 

While the Mountain watched with concern, River and Valley waited for a time to strike. 

They needn't have bothered; the denizens of the rails retaliated against themselves. 

-

2 - Steel

The Valley Railway has had two lives - the second is still being lived, but the first died a long and unhappy death, done so by its own buffers. 

Man was inexperienced in the ways of Electricity - they knew not how such technology would apply to the field of steel wheel to steel rail. They brought in a set of locomotives three - one of each power type, and named them for the Lakes around the Mountain that fed the River. 

Loey Machan - The strongest and largest. An express locomotive with delusions of grandeur, his line had sold him after the line he was to lord over was cancelled. Instead of a fresh start, he thought the Railway to be an exile - banishment from his own personal Kingdom of Heaven, thrown instead to the wolves and the sheep and the peasantry - who were altogether worse than the beasts. 

Poll-ny-Chrink - The middle engine. Neither the smallest or the largest, she was the youngest of a family of coal haulers, sold off during unfavourable economic times. Hard work was in her very being, and she arrived fairly aglow at the prospect of more challenging duties. 

Dubbyn Moar - The runt. Tiny even by the standards of the time, she was surplus to requirements - a third engine on a ¾ mile horseshoe of a line that did well with two. She knew her position and size acutely, and would’ve had self-consciousness issues on even the kindest railway. 

This was not the kindest Railway. Tucked away in the valley, far from notice of Men with Hatts - obsessed with Steam as they were - they worked alone, in the long shadows of the Valley, their complaints silenced by the rushing roar of the River. 

Left to his own devices, Loey Machan felt that he needed to re-establish his dominance by any means necessary. In the long shadows and loud silences, he turned himself from a fallen god into a tyrant king. 

Slowly, with equal parts bad luck, stupidity, and sociopathic insidiousness, Loey ground down the cheer and stability of his fellow engines. He believed that by turning them against themselves, he could engineer some kind of fiefdom, where he ruled over his serfs with an iron will. 

Instead, he created an emotional horror show, with himself at the center. 

Dubbyn Moar, now known as Maude, was his first target. He exploited her weakness, her doubts, and her size. Convinced of her own uselessness, she became moody and withdrawn. The engines of Steam and of Mountain, who knew not of what was going on behind their turned backs, assumed she was but a misanthrope and labelled her “Miserable Maude.” It soon became a self-actualising name. 

Poll-ny-Chrink, nicknamed Polly, found herself alone in the world. Gone from a family of loving 11 to a hateful group of 2 drove her to the edge. As Loey pushed Maude to new lows, Polly drew into her own shell, believing the whole world to be as cruel and miserable as Loey claimed it was. 

Finally, there was the mad king himself. Loey Machan was too stupid to understand the danger he put himself in, and too cruel to contemplate it if he was. In his quest to be the leader of a line where he was already “E1”, he drove away any emotional stability, any meaningful relationships, any hope of having friends. When he finally declared himself “King”, one sleep-deprived night during the war - where a stray German bomb “nearly” demolished him, he was already gone. In declaring himself King, he believed his own bullshit: that the world was cold and cruel, and the strong must crush the weak. 

Loey was at his peak in that moment, and although he didn’t realize it, it was lonely at the top; nobody arrives alone and remains sane.

-

Far away but yet so close, the Mountain watched with concern. It could do nothing to help the Railway, and so merely kept the engines on its Railway as far from Loey as it could.

-----------

3 - Starstrider

Peace almost came to the Railway. 

In the late days of the sixth decade of the twentieth century, an engine arrived on the Railway. He was strong, contemplative, quietly charismatic, and surplus to the mainland’s requirements. The Men In Hatts - different ones, still obsessed with Steam, but in a much more frantic way - recognized his ability to calm the demons that plagued the Line. They thought that there were three such problems, not realizing that exorcising Loey would purge the evil from the rails. 

They named this new engines after one of the greatest warrior kings in the Island’s history - Orry,  he of the famed Ogmudsaga. Said to bring peace and security to the Island†, the Men hoped that the engine could do the same. As he was prepared for his first train, they quoted a historical text. “Starstrider had arrived.”

And arrive he did. 

Sure of mind, free of heart, and generous with patience, the great Starstrider worked hard to undo what had been done - he brought happy news of one of Maude’s sisters surviving into preservation, and helped Polly through the guilt of being the only one of her kind to live. 

With each passing day, the Starstrider brought more joy, and banished more fear and hate. The silencing roar of the river no longer covered hissed insults and vague threats, but brash laughter and cheery jokes. Smiles were common for the first time in decades. 

Loey was furious. He had become so high on his own supply that he had forgotten that his castle had been built atop sand. A king that rules through fear will inspire fealty and obedience. A king that rules through respect will inspire loyalty and love. 

To borrow human expressions, Maude and Polly wouldn’t have pissed on Loey if he were on fire, but they would have triple-headed a train with Orry through the gates of hell.

Naturally, the Tyrant King of the Valley could not allow this to stand. His castle began to slip, the mortar cracking as the sand shifted underneath it, and he worked like mad to keep everything as it had been.

Orry matched him wheel-turn for wheel-turn, and it seemed like he would eventually besiege Loey’s castle and send it tumbling to the ground, freeing Polly and Maude once and for all. 

Privately, the engine with a saint’s patience and a king’s heart even hoped that Loey himself could be brought kicking and screaming into the light some day.

But it was not to be. 

One rainy night, on the front of a heavy double-headed train, Loey failed with a pop and a bang. Was it really an accident, or was it more? No one will ever know for certain. Polly was insistent, perhaps at Loey’s urging, or perhaps her natural stubbornness, and the heavy train set off with her alone leading it.

It would never make it to the bottom of the line.

Halfway down the Valley, the train overcame the brakevan on a steep hill that ended at a sharp curve. A double load of aluminum ingots ran wild, and the train ended in a mangled pile between the rails and River, with what was left of Polly at the bottom. According to the tear-stricken Men who told Orry, forty cars worth of ingots had come loose and acted like buckshot through an animal - there was truly nothing left, other than shredded metal. 

For Orry and Maude, this was a loss the likes of which they had never felt before. Polly was theirs, in every way that could possibly matter, and sudden destruction like this… was pain indescribable. 

Then there was Loey. 

Somewhere, deep inside his faltering mind, two wires that had no business being near each other crossed and sparked. In a moment of soulless and cruelty-laden pseudo-genius, he took this as a positive - claiming with sociopathic bombastity that he was fated to have avoided the accident. That the accident would have happened regardless of who had been pulling, and his exclusion from Polly’s horrible demise was simple and undeniable proof of his betterness. He was invincible. He was eternal. He was a god! The proof is right here!

There was, for a brief moment, true and total consideration on Orry’s part of figuring out a way to kill him, but Maude’s already fractured emotional state shattered like glass before that could happen. As Starstrider worked to rebuild his promised peace and security, the Tyrant King was banished to the top shed, deep within the plant’s shunting yard, well away from everyone else. Inside there, his miniature Saint Helena, he planned and he plotted ways to escape, to make his triumphant return to His Kingdom. 

Locked away, inside the little shed that was barely bigger than he was, kept busy with shunting work in a yard that was bright even in the darkest night, and isolated from the line by a tunnel connecting the plant and top station to the rest of the Line, Loey Machan went quite mad. 

--------

4 - May Day

As Loey went mad, and Orry worked to fix what could never be, the Valley and the River plotted. 

There were many lakes that fed the River. Over the years, Man had defiled and damned them like they had done to the River, mostly for sport fishing purposes. One of these reservoirs, known as Corloey, was directly in line with the largest of the many damnations - the one that powered the horrible stinking plant and the Railway.

It was a natural reservoir, and Man had done little more than reinforce what was already there, but they had done that nearly 60 years ago, if not more. The reinforcements were primitive, and had destabilized the layers of soil and clay that had held the hills together for millenia untold. 

Working together, well out of the Mountain’s sight, the River and Valley worked together to weaken the bonds between clay and soil, until something eventually gave. 

On the first of May of the seventy-ninth year, the clay and the soil separated. Thousands of tons of dirt, trees, grass, and soil crashed down into the water of the Corloey reservoir. Its banks burst almost instantly, and fifty feet of water roared along the cackling River, down the gleeful Valley, destroying all in its path. 

The dam was strong - far stronger than it had any right to be  - and as the water hit it, slightly weakened by its mad charge down the miles of Valley, it held. 

But it was only so tall. 

A blue wall surged over its top like the waterfall from hell, and erased everything in the Valley below from existence.  

The Peel of King Godred was saved from the worst of it - the great King had built his keep at the top of a small hill, surrounded on all sides but one by steep Valley. It was in that Valley that the River ran, as did the Railway, which tunneled under the town rather than skirt the edges like the River. The Plant was there too, and the dam. When the water destroyed all but the dam, the city survived - the annual May Day fete meant that even the citizenry were in the town square, and they watched the water surge below them. 

For a brief moment, Orry had given a sigh of total relief when the reports came in. Loey was not allowed around passengers, and with the May Day traffic biased towards people and not freight, the Tyrant King was likely gone - destroyed under unimaginable tonnes of water as his yard was erased by the hand of God. 

Then the rescue train returned - a stranded passenger train behind it, powerless after the wires went dead. It was not Maude who was uncoupled, but instead the Tyrant himself. 

She failed, He explained, his shock already wearing off, insanity already taking its place. I was beseeched to take her train for her. Last I saw of her, she was in the yard.    

In the yard. 

The deep emptiness that opened in Orry’s heart that day would never truly go away, and his indomitable spirit finally broke as he listened to Loey prattle on about divinity and invincibility. Words were shouted, threats of murder issued, and the two Kings were separated, each one foaming at the mouth. Orry declared himself done with Loey, and the Island in general. The Man in the Hatt granted his transfer to the line of his brothers, and Starstrider departed, his spirit broken. 

Meanwhile, the Tyrant King was jubilant. He’d driven off the interloper and reaffirmed his claim as King of this line. In his mind, power was all that mattered; The fact that he ruled over naught but dust never occurred to him. 

They eventually reattached the wires to mains electricity, and the Tyrant King was allowed to roam his empty kingdom, shuttling trains of refuse from the reclamation site at the tunnel portal to the junction with the main line. By all accounts, these were the happiest days of his life.

Meanwhile, at the Mouth of the River Tid, the Man in the Hatt made a choice - the dam would be rebuilt, the plant as well; that much was out of his control. The dam owners had offered him a choice: keep the frequency of electricity that flowed through the Line now - one that was out of date and falling out of use on the mainland, or upgrade to the Standard Frequency of the Future?

If Loey had been the one reduced to scrap under the water, and it was Orry and Maude cleaning up the mess, the Man may have changed his mind - might have kept their Direct Current. 

But all that was left was the Mad Tyrant King. 

The order was placed, to a company in America, for Alternating Current equipment, the newest available. 

Loey’s days were numbered. 

His power was, quite literally, about to be turned off.

------------

5 - Sic Semper Tyrannis

Loey found out about his forced abdication, and reacted accordingly, frothing at the mouth and howling invectives at anyone and everyone. Men soon avoided him altogether, afraid of straying too close to his drooling maw - being eaten was a suddenly real fear. 

Eventually, they turned the power off and left him on a siding - steam engines were infinitely better than an insane electric, and the final days of Loey’s life were spent hurling powerless insults at Scottish Twins who said worse to each other in loving jest.

Like Polly and Maude before him, Loey’s life ended violently and suddenly - the Ninth Engine was storming away from the rebuilding site, a heavy train of spoil and waste behind him, and a thick cloud of smoke and swears above him. There was a sudden snap, and the unbraked train parted at a broken coupling just behind the tender. Twenty-five cackling and screaming wagons roared down the grade leading towards the yard, the brakeman leaping for life. A quick thinking shunter threw a lever in panic, and the train was diverted away from the works site. Towards Loey. 

The Mad Tyrant bellowed claims about his invulnerability until his last breath. 

The railway sold what was left of him for scrap and used the proceeds to buy clothes for children who had lost theirs in the flood. It was the first time in years that he had been of any use to anyone. 

---------------

6 - Poltergeist

The Valley and The River felt the great evil snuff out. They had been infuriated by the failure of the flood. Clearly another means of revenge must be chosen. Pooling their great power carefully, they reached out, finding the faintest of threads connecting this world to the next, and they pulled.

The Mountain bellowed at them in horror, but they ignored it. 

Slowly, but surely, an evil presence began to become known in the yard outside of Peel Godred. 

It was an evil, machiavellian, scheming, plotting, altogether stupid presence. One that cared not for who you were or where you’d come from. All it wanted was to cause trouble, and re-establish itself as King of the Valley.  

It wandered around, searching for lives to ruin. 

First it tried the city, but as it approached the walls it began to feel pain - an unfamiliar sensation, and it turned and left. It was too idiotic and maddened to see the Norse Runes carved into the city walls glow with great power. 

King Godred may be long dead, but his city he still protected. 

-

Next he tried the rails that led up the mountain. His cloudy memories showed them to be stupid, and quiet, and purple. 

He hated purple things. 

He made it less than a wheel’s-turn onto the Mountain Railway, when the very ground shook. 

Far away, in a university on the coast, a machine tuned for earthquakes started vibrating as a small earthquake rumbled out of the Valley. 

He suddenly found himself flying through the air, as though He’d just been struck by a massive hand. He crashed into the far wall of the Valley, his incorporeal form bending and twisting in pain as he laid there, his infernal power drained in an instant as he tried to stay in this realm. He succeeded, but only just. 

STAY OFF MY RAILWAY

The voice boomed in such a way that every hill, tree, and babbling brook for miles around could hear it. Elsewhere on the Island, other creatures that straddled the line between life and death jumped at the sudden sound. 

The ground shook

The air shook

The very fabric of the veil between the two worlds shook

A sense of massive and untapped power emanated from the mountain, like a piece of heavy electrical equipment coming to life. 

The Valley and the River suddenly knew great fear. 

THIS ENDS HERE

The voice thundered down into the Valley and River. It promised great pain if they ever did so again. 

Godred may have been long dead, but his railway he protected. 

-

†Awdry, W., & Awdry, G. (1987). ORRY, KING*. In The Island of Sodor: Its people, history and railways (pp. 109–110). essay, Kaye & Ward. 

[dieselstooyou]

Day 1: Moon

Spooky ghost on the old bridge.

[lswro2-222]

Traintober Prompt 26: Overgrown

Violet doesn’t know exactly how long she’s been here, but she knows it’s been a long time.

The shed is still standing, by some miracle, but there are holes in the roof and the walls that have popped up over time. Some were made by harsh weather, others were made by animals seeking shelter, others still appeared gradually as the wood of the shed decayed. Either way, the seeds of plants and the spores of mosses have made their way in through these holes. Violet knows this because every time she wakes up from another long sleep, she can feel that they’ve grown. Her idle body makes an excellent trellis for them to climb as they reach ever upward towards the slivers of sunlight that come through the holes and cracks in the roof. As new stems and vines snake their way around and through the spokes of her wheels, old ones fall and become food for the ever-growing carpet of roots and moss beneath.

She hates the way it feels. Engines are built to move, they aren’t meant to be still for anywhere near as long as she has been. The plant matter feels like chains binding her where she stands, chains which only grow longer and stronger with time. The longer she stays here, the more green chains spring from the earth to shackle her to the ground. They weave their way through her wheels and coil along her rods and pins, gradually slithering through her body. Alone in near-darkness and silence, she sometimes thinks she can feel the plants growing, moment by moment, centimeter by centimeter. Crawling, itching, tightening their hold on her and threatening to drag her down into the soil. In her nightmares, they do just that, burying her in earth and decay as they rapidly grow around and through her.

If she could only turn her wheels, she could break them, shake them off, be unfettered once more…

But she can’t. In order for that to happen, she needs water, coal, a fire… a person. She needs someone, anyone, to open that door and set her free. But, as her creeping chains grow longer and tighter with each passing day, that seems more and more unlikely to happen. So she stays, and they grow, an ever-present and ever-increasing reminder that she has been forgotten.