As Always
Katherine takes the train through the Highland Mountains. (Short fiction)
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Katherine reaches into her purse and checks her phone. Still dead.
Instead of putting it back in her purse, she holds the phone in her lap and drums on it with her fingernails. The pattering resonates throughout the train car.
She scans the train car. Outside the windows, the hickories and red maples reflect a golden sunset.
A large man in a Yankees cap is seated a few rows in front of Katherine. He hears the pattering and turns around.
The man’s eyes meet Katherine’s.
The pattering stops. She looks down at her boots and hides her face behind the headrest in front of her. Her milky complexion becomes hot and rosy.
Suddenly, the conductor’s voice barks out of the intercom. She jolts at the sound.
“Alright, folks. If you look out your windows, you’ll see we’re climbing up the Highland Mountains. The temperature outside is 26 degrees…”
After summoning a little courage, Katherine lifts her head. The man has turned back around.
She exhales.
Soon, nightfall causes the lights in the cabin to come to life. Dim bulbs flicker on along the aisle, providing just enough visibility to walk to the restroom without tripping. Katherine eases back into her seat.
“Hey, folks. Go ahead and look outside. We’re climbing the Highland Mountains,” the conductor says.
Still?
She looks out the window and squints. The glass faintly reflects the aisle lights back at her. Beyond that, she can see only dark shapes. Trees, maybe.
She searches for something that stands out.
He misspoke, she decides. It’s been a long day. Maybe he needs a coffee.
Katherine instinctively grabs her purse off the floor to check the time. Remembering her phone is dead, she digs around for a charger she knows isn’t there.
Coins. Lipstick. Gum.
She sighs and sets the purse on the empty seat beside her.
The conductor’s voice comes over the intercom again.
“Hey, folks. Go ahead and look outside. We’re climbing the Highland Mountains.”
Katherine doesn’t react at first. She hears only the words, the meaning briefly suspended.
Then it hits her.
She attempts to place the first announcement in time. Was it before or after sunset?
She can’t quite recall.
Pressing her face to the glass, she hopes something in the shadows might tell her where they are. A sign. A body of water. Anything.
There is only the same darkness. Trees, maybe.
Katherine faces forward. The dimly lit car is half-filled with passengers folded into their seats.
Across the aisle, a woman wears a sleeping mask. Her head rests on a pillow wedged against the window, mouth slightly open.
“Hey,” Katherine says.
Nothing.
She leans closer into the aisle. “Excuse me.”
The woman doesn’t shift or stir.
Katherine sits up straight. She peeks over the headrest in front of her, searching for the man in the Yankees cap.
She scans the next few rows, then the length of the car. The aisle remains clear. No one is standing. No one is getting up to stretch their legs.
She reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone. Holding it in her lap, Katherine deliberately drums her fingernails against the screen. Click-clack-clack.
He should hear this, she thinks.
Click-clack-clack.
She lifts her head.
Something is wrong. The row feels too close.
She turns.
The man is standing in the aisle. Close enough that she can see the stitching on the brim of his hat. His expression is stoic. As if he’s been waiting for her to notice him.
Katherine freezes. The intercom clicks.
“Hey, folks. Go ahead and look outside. We’re still climbing the Highland Mountains.”
For a moment, the man only stares at her. Then he lifts one hand and gestures toward her phone.
“Dead?” he asks in a soft baritone.
The question hangs in the air. Katherine doesn’t respond.
The man lowers his hand and sits in the empty seat behind her.
Katherine tries not to think about how she got here.
Instead, she thinks about the train station: the color of the platform, the ticket scanner, the steps up into the car. Except none of it will come. Not as images. Not even as fragments.
She can’t remember boarding the train.
All she has is her seat. The window. The darkness.
Nearby, a latch clicks into place.
The intercom comes on.
“Alright, folks. Go ahead and look outside. As always, we’re climbing the Highland Mountains.”
Katherine rifles through her purse, searching for a ticket. A receipt. Anything to tell her where she’s been or where she’s going.
She doesn’t find it.
Just some coins. Lipstick. Gum.
Hi! My name is Scott and I’m an author and musician living in South Florida. I love writing poetry and short fiction. If you enjoyed reading this story, please share it and subscribe to my page. I publish a poem or short story every Wednesday at 12 PM EST.
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Thanks so much for reading. Let me know what you thought of As Always in the comments below. Have a great week and I’ll see you next Wednesday!
- Scott
Copyright © 2026 by Scott E. Crain. All rights reserved. Permission to use this work for commercial purposes requires written consent from the copyright owner.
This was really good. I found myself getting anxious along with the protagonist. Well done.
This is chilling, Scott. You’ve perfectly captured that specific horror of being 'disconnected'—both from the network (the dead phone) and from reality itself.
The conductor’s repetition of 'As always' feels like an algorithm that has glitched, forcing Katherine into a loop she can’t solve. It’s a beautiful, eerie metaphor for how we lose our orientation when our tools (and our 'Infrastructure') stop making sense. The image of her drumming her fingernails on a dead screen is a haunting detail—the ritual remains, even when the utility is gone.
I will post a link of this marvoulas story to my followers on Facebook. 🕯️🧭