The Carner Institute: The Devil's Train

Statement of Eleanor Gelbart regarding her occupation as the driver of the locomotive commonly known as the Devil’s Train as well as her subsequent murders. Statement taken directly from subject’s head to avoid the IC implications of her creating a statement on the topic.

Some content warnings: features descriptions of death and violence, kidnapping, high-speed collisions, murder, and mentions of suicide.

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It surprises a lot of people to learn that I didn’t have any interest in trains when I was a child. They just didn’t really capture my attention. I was more into drawing at the time, thinking I could probably grow up to become an artist, though I can say today that that didn’t really last in me, not even as a hobby. I would frequently ride trains when I was young, my parents taking me into the city by train when it was better to take it than to drive our car, but it wasn’t that exciting for me. You’ll often find that a lot of people who become train drivers used to be kids that had an obsession with them, which I guess makes me the odd one out.

I only ended up coming to the field through a friend who got me a job working a freight train. I thought it could be good, plus it let me leave my hometown often and see new places, which was nice. I stuck with the job for a while and was able to move up in it, working different functions of train crew, eventually coming to the point where I could apply to be a train driver. I sometimes got to help with the driving as a conductor and found it engaging enough to want to go for it. I went through the necessary training, if you mind the pun, and certification and became an engineer soon after.

Something that many people don’t know about train workers is that we very often are not confined to just one train for our entire career but rather are always working on different trains. Part of my certification was learning not just how to operate one kind of locomotive but many: old and new, diesel and electric, many kinds and many models. Often you only work on a train just for that one route and will be moved to a different train when needed. That’s what made the job offer I received stand out, among other things.

There is a particular locomotive that is well known to operators in the region. It’s an DME GP-48-2 known as BFKO 9538, but you might know it better by the urban legend surrounding it: the Devil’s Train. A decent number of people die every year due to train accidents, many being from trying to cross a level crossing while the train is approaching and some from people merely just walking onto the tracks. The number is high enough for most train drivers to have hit at least one person in all the years they are operating but it is not too terribly high for it to happen frequently. One or two incidents is common, three is rare, four or more is practically unheard of. Locomotives do only last, on average, 25 years before they are decommissioned, which is not a very large window of opportunity for one to be responsible for multiple incidents. That’s what makes the Devil’s Train so unique in having only been around for 18 years and having killed 14 people in that time.

You can’t really hold a train driver responsible for hitting someone on the track. It can take at least 30 seconds for a train to completely stop once the brakes are applied, which is enough time to travel an entire mile before coming to a stop, so we aren’t really given the option of stopping when we see someone on the track. Drivers have procedures where they’ll try and slow down and blare the horn, but beyond that it’s solely up to the person on the track to get out of the way. Understandably, for most, the event of hitting a person can be traumatic, most drivers needing time off to recover and many being unable to ever drive a train again. As for the Devil’s Train, these incidents seem to happen more frequently with it than with other locomotives.

After the 6th death caused by it within only 7 years is when drivers began to try and steer clear of the Devil’s Train, the amount of people willing to drive it reducing every time it killed another until eventually you got a small handful being the locomotive’s usual drivers and, before me, that number eventually whittled down to only one permanent driver at a time. Every driver of the Devil’s Train has some story about it, usually something about flickering lights and uneasy feelings, sometimes ghosts pop up in the conversation. I once even heard a story that someone met the actual devil in the locomotive, if you can believe that. I didn’t buy into any of those. It just seemed like people making up stories or coming up with some tale to explain a weird thing they experienced. In retrospect, however, they were not wrong.

Real or not, less and less people being willing to drive it meant those who did got bigger pay outs and that was enough motivator for me to respond and apply. The driver before me apparently quit before there was even anything close to an incident, the reason given being mental health reasons. I didn’t really quite care why they left and had assumed they were spooking themselves out of the job. Their loss was my benefit as I was hired on the spot and even got a sign-on bonus. I’ve operated that kind of train model before so there wasn’t anything really unique about this particular locomotive to strike me as “devilish”, at least not at first. There was an odd feeling in the cab whenever I operated, I’d give them that, though I had just assumed that was only the train’s reputation making a home in me.

The train ran smoothly; no real issues, no collisions, not even a close call or anything for the first few months. There were only two things during that time that I considered odd or off. Firstly, the feeling I had described already. The second, of all things, being the locomotive’s headlights. Freight trains usually drive at night due to the high amount of passenger trains during the day and the difficulty of maneuvering around their time schedules, so I was no stranger to needing to drive with headlights on. Train lights have never felt off to me, but this one did in some way.

It wasn’t as much of a noticeable thing on clear nights, but when I’d have to drive on nights with any kind of fog to it, the light was much more visible, but not in the way you think. The light’s rays were more stark than other trains, even of the same model. They caught my attention and I’d often find myself looking at the lines they cut through the fog, taking them in, feeling them. Whenever I did, that odd background feeling felt stronger, more present in my mind. Didn’t seem like much back then, just some neat looking light beams. Sometimes I’d startle myself back, wondering how long I’d been focusing on the light itself and not what they were supposed to be illuminating on the tracks. No incidents from this, though, so I guess there’s that.

After about 6 months on the train is when the cabin really started feeling like mine, the cabin being somewhere I liked being. It felt calm, comfortable, something that can be hard to come by with train driving as most cabins are not as comfortable as they could be. You also don’t often get to feel a connection with a locomotive due to always working a different one almost every time you drive, so this seemed like a nice transition of going to work every day knowing exactly what you’re working with. I often got time to occasionally space out while working, able to let the train operation run in the background of my mind while I did anything else. Sometimes I’d listen to music, maybe a podcast, occasionally an audiobook, but most of the time I wouldn’t need any of those and would just think about whatever might come to me.

There was a topic that came up every now and then and that was the headlights. They really did capture my attention, really something to admire. They were calming, feeling good to look at. Then I’d think about how they must look outside, getting to see them in their full glory. They always look so pretty from a distance, shining on and carried on by the roaring engine of the train. I wondered how they looked for people it was coming towards. What do they feel seeing it? Is it calming for them or is it frightening? Was it frightening? If you thought you were going to be struck by a train, how would you feel seeing the light getting bigger? Brighter? Coming closer? Faster and faster.

The topic was of interest to me, wondering about it. So, I started going online to see what others thought. I’d find blog posts and question replies from people who either barely missed a train collision or even survived being hit by one. Wasn’t very useful, however, as their stories were more about the aftermath rather than the feelings they had while in the train’s path. Beyond that, most of what I could find were either stories of someone dying in a collision or the aftermath of someone surviving, usually from making an attempt on their own life last second. There wasn’t much I could find of how people felt being caught in the headlights, the growing realization as you’re on the track that you’re about to be hit when you most certainly do not want to. Useless.

I was only left to imagine what it must feel like. It was much easier to think about while I was driving the locomotive, much easier to imagine. What must it have felt like seeing these headlights approaching? What did those 14 people think as the lights came barreling towards them? Dread and terror, I’d guess. Dread from see it get closer and closer, inching forward rapidly towards you, unsure of whether or not you’ll be able to escape in time, horrified by the idea that you’re about to meet a bludgeoning end. And then, finally, terror from the realization that it was no longer a question of if these headlights will rip you apart and shatter your bones, but an absolute fact.

The only question left, if they were not panicking enough to forget to ask, was if it’d be over instantly or if you’d feel every nerve sever, every bone snap, every muscle tear, and all your blood vessels rupture as your blood shifts, splatters, oozes, and drain from your many limbs scattered across the cold metal of the tracks and the hot iron of the train. Maybe, if you’re unfortunate enough, you’ll actually be caught underneath the train and get to feel the pain over a much longer period of time as more and more of your body becomes damaged as carriage after carriage strips away bits and pieces of your skin and muscle.

So many thoughts could have, no, did go through their minds as these lights became their entire existence and their end. Often I found myself wondering these things while I drove the Devil’s Train.

It was not distressing in any way, which I remember finding odd. These kinds of thoughts would likely disturb most, but for me it was almost a form of meditation. It gave me a sense of control and put me at ease. I never did talk about these things with my coworkers, realizing they likely wouldn’t understand. Did not take long after that for me to begin seeking out footage of train collisions. The usual websites had some content but were not enough and I eventually had to download a separate browser just to access the videos that did peak my interests. Sometimes I’d play them as I was driving the train, imagining the train was my train and wondering what it’d truly feel like to hit someone.

Then, one night, it finally happened.

It was…what was it? 2:01? 2:02 when I saw their car? Someone had the idea of driving onto the train tracks while the barriers were lowering: a common mistake. The lights of their car were a small thing in the distance but I knew what it was as soon as I saw it. Now, when a train driver sees something on the tracks and presumes a collision will occur, we have required procedures, including hitting the brakes to slow the train and buy the victim some more time and also blaring our horn to make them aware of the train if they are not aware. I could tell immediately that a collision would happen and part of me actually felt a little excited. For so long I’ve wanted to see what a collision would look like in person and now, not only do I get to see, I’m the one driving.

I’m not a fool. I know that if I didn’t do anything that I’d lose my job and probably would be sued. So, I did the usual procedure: I blared my horn to let them know and I then went to pull the break. However, when my hand touched it, I felt that odd feeling that came with the train. I saw the headlights of the locomotive glaring out at the track, the harsh white shining through, and it felt like it was more than that. I felt what it wanted me to feel, what it wanted me to know, what it wanted me to see. It told me to wait, and so I did.

My hand sat on the brake, ready to pull, but waiting for when the light deemed it fit. I continued to blare the horn, letting the locomotive roar its guttural roar down the track. After some time, I felt the light allowed me to pull the brake, and so I did. I jutted forward over the dashboard as the train began to slow, but it was too late. There was no chance the car would escape in time and the brake took long enough to pull that the collision would still be a high-speed impact: total annihilation.

The light was pleased and it rewarded me far more than I realized it would. There were two people inside that car: a father and his son. They seemed unable to get out of the car. I could hear them desperately trying to get their seatbelt unlatched but failing to release them. The father was slamming his fist on the car horn, hoping so dearly that someone would hear them and come help them. It probably didn’t help that my horn was louder than his. The boy was crying, his eyes wet as he saw my train headlights getting brighter, getting closer. Every meter I traveled closer, the greater their panic became. I knew it. I could feel it deep inside me just how much fear had consumed them by that point. The feeling was so pleasing. My heart began to beat faster, my eyes locked on the car revealed in the stark light of my train, antsy and invigorated. I was so close to them now, just a little bit more.

In the final seconds, as the train was upon them, it appeared that the boy managed to get free. I saw his body run past the car, just barely out of the way as his father was crushed by the impact. In that second, as the father’s eyes were entirely consumed by the blinding light of the train and me close enough to actually see his face with my own eyes, I finally felt his terror, the moment he knew that he was going to die and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The Devil’s Train had claimed its 15th victim.

Those seconds after I do not remember as I found I had passed out, but only for some seconds. I do not know what I did in those seconds, but I awoke with such an amazing feeling having come over me. His terror still filled me, granting me elation beyond any I had felt prior. It took me some time after the train had come to a full stop for me to be able to move again as I was quite overwhelmed by this. The conductor found me crying, though he must have assumed the opposite reason for my tears than the reality.

Emergency services arrived not long after that, having to find what remained of the father and to comfort the boy who just lost him. They came for me as well, both needing to know what happened and to see what my mental state was like. I told them all that occurred, though I did happen to exclude mentioning my delay in slowing the train. The company that had hired me, going with their usual procedure in times like these, decided to give me leave for a few days, saying I needed time to “recover”. Hardly, I was enlivened, ready to return immediately, that night if I could. It didn’t matter, they required it. They forced me away from my train for 3 days. I couldn’t sleep that night, too energized to even consider resting. I wasn’t done. I needed to go back.

My first day off I had spent entirely by the train tracks near my home, wandering alongside them. I must have walked miles that day. It served little for the comfort I needed, the comfort I required. I felt the train’s light calling out to me, pleased with what I did and I in turn. It needed more. I needed more. An accident is an accident, but imagine what could be possible with only a little bit of planning?

I had experimented with this during my 3 days. I have a…had a neighbor: Corin: a man for whom few cared for. A drunk and an abuser, his wife had left him years ago and he could barely hold a job. I figured he would be a good fit. So, I had contacted him, wondering if he would like to accompany me on a walk, one of which I had prepped for with plenty of beer for him. He was suspicious so I did have to work harder in giving the impression that I thought deeper of him than I really did, which seemed to work. We had walked a distance away from his home and spent some time by the tracks.

Many beers in and he was he was already getting assertive in his advances. By 11:17pm, the time I expected the train to arrive, I pushed him onto the track and allowed the train to rip him apart. The feeling I had felt in the accident, sadly, was not replicated with Corin, and so I had to try again under different parameters. Maybe I could go the classic route and tie them to the track. That might work.

Corin often had visitors to his house so finding another person proved simple for me. I didn’t know her name and she was luckily light weight enough to make it easy to put her in my car. I couldn’t do the same railroad as I had with Corin so I drove about an hour to another one whose schedule placed the train as arriving at 9:18pm, about 20 minutes after I’d arrive there. I was part of a scouting program when I was a kid, so knot tying was a skill I was fortunate enough to have here.

Oh how she squirmed after I placed her onto the track. She did try to escape and she made a good effort, but she couldn’t get off the track in time. When she saw the train, I didn’t even need to feel the fear she had as it was plain to see right in front of me, the realization in her that I was going to leave her to be hit by the train. I realized then that that was the issue with Corin. He was intoxicated and only on the tracks by the end. There was no build up, no time or capacity to be truly scared. With her, however, she had plenty of time to consider, plenty to see the train approaching, and enough to hold onto hope and desperately try and save herself.

The terror she gave me when the train hit her was of a much richer and wonderful quality than the terror the father gave in his final seconds. I had once again passed out from the rush of euphoric sensation. I believe I had found the key to my worries. If I were to let someone die, they would have to be fully sober, fully aware of their impending death and inability to stop it, and it would have to be an intentional part on my hand rather than a fortunate accident.

When my 3 days were over and I was allowed back to work, I could hear the locomotive’s headlight speak to me again. It was pleased with my work and encouraged more. I have no intention of stopping.

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