The Railroad Bridge Phenomena It was all too real.

Dingy shoes stirred through the pines needles and tumble weeds that lay compacted between the railroad boards, kicking them about absentmindedly. Fingers clutched at the fabric of a jacket as I pulled it tighter about my body, although the air was mid-seventies the temperature within me seemed colder than humanly possible. It seemed impossible that a place that was filled with recollections of laughter and adventure was so startlingly haunted now; but only when the shadows touched it and the pines turned to oaks and elms. It began just over a year ago; when I first experienced these horrific episodes. It always began the same, and it always ended the same. It had happened to me at least a dozen times. I knew now the precise sequences of events, and every bend in the wood and every nail gone missing from the incidents and the countless sunny days Id spent tanning, swimming, and diving off the railroad bridge. To say I knew it like the back of my hand would be an understatement, for I had never sat and watched my hand like I had the great vista that belonged to that bridge. This cliffs rose at both ends, blocking in the bridge over the water, waning out any possible view you could have had other than out over the lake. When the sun reflected off the hillsides and waters it was a priceless view, but when it sank below the horizon I was down by the lake standing in the shadow of the secluded bridge. There were no rope swings and friends nearby, it was only me. My hands would clutch the hem of a cotton nightgown, crisp and white; the only thing visible in the dead of the night. It is always starless and moonless, and I would simply stare at the dark ripples that moved over the lake. Sometimes I would dip my feet in, stirring my toes through the water but I began to anticipate what would happen next and each time its arrival shortened. There was never rain and it was never to cold, but in the eerie silence which was foreign to the lake I knew its reality was nonexistent. A noise would strike, and I would swear it to be a clock. But it never was, as I would recognize the bright beam of light that was the train as it began moving towards the tracks. I would abandon the lakeshore and with bare feet scramble across thorns and rocks, unfeeling of their sharp nips. A desperate hope clung to me, as though that train was my last ticket to survival. When I first had this dream, I believed I would make it upon one of the carts; I never do. I would reach the tracks just as its last cart turned about the hillside, vanishing into the cliffs and moving far too quickly for me to catch. Try I would though, feet flying beneath me and heels pushing off against the rocks and boards still unfeeling to their touch in my desperate pursue. But, it would be fruitless and would result in the ragged breath that fell from my throat in shallow gasps. Now, I would see them. Ivory masks, floating in the darkness, with gruesome expressions and the sharp clink of metal sounding against the wrought iron of the rails; like nails on a chalk board. I stood, transfixed and blinking, still struggling to recover my breath. Seemingly, they had melted from the very

cliffside, and some unnerving energy willed me to run. It was the one affect my consciousness of this being a dream would have, to will myself to run from them; knowing what they would later do. Turning away from them and my last vital glimpse of hope, I ran towards the bridge suddenly feeling the excruciating pain as shale and splinters sliced through my delicate flesh. A stifled cry echoed from my throat, as I tried to conserve all energy for running. My heart threatened to burst from my chest, but I willed myself to look back, or rather it seemed almost impossible to argue with such a force to do that. Then, it was nothing but darkness. The pallid faces had faded and dread and the knowledge that they were closer than I thought consumed me, the terror moving across me and paling me lighter than the cotton dress I donned. Keep running, I willed myself to do as I slammed my heels against a board; but I had forgotten a vital piece of information no matter what my conscience screamed. That board, lacked screws on the left side and I tumbled forward, my face slamming against the shale and letting out a wail. Blood flowed from a gash below my cheekbone but before I had time to react, I could feel the cold, fierce grip upon my ankle before it landed there. Hey, pretty lady, Came the sickening voice, followed by the maniacal vocals of his cronies. Another scream wrenched itself from my body as I tried to pull my body away with my arms, knowing all too well no one would hear me and already I was doomed. The grip upon my ankle doubled, I could feel the bruises that would form upon my deceased corpse already, and as the other hand locked upon my right one a convulsive flail of my arms knocked one of the masked men upon his shoulder. My nail bit into his flesh, making him strike out, landing a blow upon my temple. It was then I noticed the weapons they carried, two blunt bats and a knife that set up another scream. But now the scream was muffled as the masked man leaned in close to me, cheap whiskey upon his breath, and the hand that was pressed against my mouth. I never knew a terror like that which would consume me in the next moments, as the two other men gripped my hands and pulled them to either side of the rail road tracks. This dress is much too simple for you, you always looked better in color. He would whisper into my ear, his green eyes locking onto mine. Instantly, I would recognize that I knew him but there would be no name within the caverns of my mind yet, simply raw terror. The little light I could find caught the sheen of the knife, and I saw it move towards my abdomen. Muscles moved and the tanned skin that I knew would be seen in the faint illumination, and then they would release and my body would jolt forward in a strangled gasp. The crimson flowed from the wound, staining the soft ivory with brutality. Tears mingled with blood as they slid, stinging, down my cheeks, a solitary sob moving throughout my entire figure. Hush now, love, the worst has yet to come. And then they would cackle their voices like hyenas floating through the elm trees; a sound that sent the pine trees in reality trembling to higher altitudes. The knife would trace through the flesh of my arms, and I would bite my lip and thrash so hard it bruised and bloodied the remainder of my body. The stinging impact of a bat blow here or a hand there was enough to reassure me that they knew me, all of them.

A whimper sounded from me as a hand rested precariously close to my windpipe, although I was dying already, it was enough to send my nerves to impossible frays. But they were not finished. The knife drew through another layer, but this was not flesh. He defiled me, with a sick smile situated upon him and that mask a blaring reminder of my inability to focus and react as it blurred in and out of focus. A final groan and he was satisfied as I gave another thrash, trying my best to fight the drooping of my eyelids. Clarity coursed through me as they released my hands, but I was too frail to move them. Their hands moved about their masks, and they pulled them from their heads, tossing them just behind me. I knew them and now I found their names, their voices, and our memories together. But the green-eyed monster I knew the best, I know the brutality and the way his hand stung against my flesh in the real world and now he lurked within my dreams. I was well informed of the heart that lurked within his chest, the broken one that shared a scar with me. A story I recited often, but avoided these heart wrenching details, the sick anger, jealousy. The brutal arguments, the concrete blows. The powerful hands wrapped around my bleeding body, and pulled me to him, my head rolling backwards upon my neck. Eyesight flittering over the other two before he drew my head to him, I spit his name at him and he let an easy, alluring smile grace his lips. One hand held me, the other reached for the knife. I tried to warn myself, but my limbs refused to move. It glinted in the darkness, as he tapped it hollowly against the rails, and then he moved it into my shoulder blade and jutted it to the side. My mouth opened in a silent scream, and he pulled the knife from my back. His hands dropped me and my head landed upon the splintered wood of the railroad tracks, as he stood up leaning over my barely breathing carcass. But in one swift motion, he would take that from me. Rough hands that had once held mine wrapped about my throat, constricting it and my fingers twitched for mercy. You were always prettier in silence anyway, my love. He said soothingly, nearly lovingly, as he crushed my airway in his hands. Then when my ribcage ceased to fight, he released me revealing heavy purple bruises. A gentle caress moved across my cheek, and then he tucked a wayward strand of blonde hair behind my ear. They situated me, dressing my bloodied corpse and placing my legs crossed over one another, toes pointed down the rails. My hands they placed over the deep wound he had created my finger intertwined with one another. Their masks they placed upon my face, in a triple layer, my closed eyes unseen below the layers of white. Then they were off as the din of another train sounded out through the eerily quiet night, and the terror seemed forever instilled in my dead corpse. A malicious smile still gripped his face; he had taught me for breaking him. Now, I was a victim of the railroad, and a victim of the most horrendous crimes, and a victim of him.