The Cold Rail by Ewan Steffen

Ewan Steffen WoB Short Story Contest November 6, 2025 The Cold Rail The cold, gray tiles were in stark contrast to the rest of the train station, with rustic, oiled spruce beams glimmering overhead in the yellow light of warm incandescent bulbs. As I walked through the spruce posts that separated the heated station from the blizzarding air outside, a cloud of frost exited my mouth, just barely visible in the darkness of the Alaskan night. I leaned against a wooden pillar, the wind whipping at my left cheek and nearly numbing it within seconds. A few moments later, ditch lights began to cast eerie shadows on the posts and benches that broke up the concrete slab of a platform. A small commuter train slowly came to a halt in front of me. The faint glow from inside looked like a refuge from the whiteout conditions as I stepped forward. ​ It was still brisk inside the train, but not particularly cold compared to outside, and the dim LED light strips along each side of the car added to the contrast. The blue canvas seats were worn, yet had a certain level of cheerfulness to them that invited me to sit down on one, putting my backpack on another next to me. ​ I noticed then that there were only two others on the train, a couple in their mid-twenties, and I felt calmed by the quiet atmosphere. I began to look out the window, the train still not moving, when I felt a vibration in my pocket. I sighed, almost forgetting I even owned a phone. As I reached into my pocket, the notification glowed a faint white, slightly illuminating the dimly lit car. It was a text from my brother, Erik. I closed my eyes in a long, drawn-out blink before putting the device back into my jeans pocket without reading the message. I wanted to tell him why I was angry. I wanted to tell him why I took my half-dilapidated Jeep up the Alaska