apartment complex was growing dark. She went into the bedroom, grabbed a pair of socks from the dresser and pulled them on over her toeless feet. Technically, she wasn’t entirely toeless—her left foot had managed to retain its pinky toe, thwarting the lightning’s attempt to render it completely devoid of digits. But, as deformed as her feet were, she wasn’t disgusted by them. They were a constant reminder of the lightning’s gift. It did more than just steal her flesh that day when she was thirteen and masturbating in the boxcar. It gave Morgan her first and only orgasm. And here she was, ten years later, still searching for her second.
Morgan’s television was permanently set on The Weather Channel as, day after day, she watched the forecast for impending thunderstorms, studying the activity on the radar, praying for the swirls of yellow and red that meant her wait might be over, that her electric lover had returned. She had even considered moving to Oklahoma, to be in the heart of Tornado Alley where violent thunderstorms were an everyday thing, but Mike refused to go. His family was here in Michigan, and Morgan respected his decision to stay close to them, even though it meant that her chances of achieving another orgasm were greatly diminished by her staying here. Of course, she had the option of finding another lover, one who might be more willing to relocate, but Mike was the only one so far who was willing to brave the lightning and screw her on train tracks in the middle of an electrical storm.
Yet so far, they’d had no luck. They had been to the tracks and made love in many a downpour, waiting for the bolt of electricity to caress them, only to return home soaking wet and defeated. Sometimes, Morgan stripped out of her soggy clothes and masturbated for hours, only to collapse on the bed exhausted, unsatisfied. The lightning was the only thing that could bring her to climax, that throbbing surge of electricity coursing through her veins, that thief of toes, rapist from the clouds.
She stepped into her shoes, eyes glued to the television, and watched the roving tempest of amber and magenta crawling towards the county line as she massaged herself through her pants.
The doorbell rang. Morgan hurried to the door, yanked it open and found Mike standing there, fidgeting with his keys. He was always nervous before a storm, but he never bailed. Morgan didn’t know if it was because she was so hot or because he was overweight. Right now she didn’t care. All that mattered was the storm.
“You ready?” he said.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
They took Mike’s truck because it was faster than Morgan’s car. The railroad crossing was just under a mile away and they were there in less than five minutes. They turned down the dirt road that ran parallel to the tracks, bouncing over ruts and dips as the first drops of rain dotted the windshield. The road was reserved for track maintenance vehicles, but they’d visited this stretch of tracks many times before, and only once had they encountered a railroad employee. He had been on his way out, tipping a bottle of liquor, apparently too drunk to care that they were trespassing. They had made love on the tracks that day, waiting for the lightning to bring them to mutual climax. But the clouds rolled past, paying no heed to the naked lovers below and Morgan returned home wondering if it would ever happen again.
Now, after months of waiting, they would try again.
They drove until they were far enough away from the main road to not be seen by passing motorists. Mike parked the truck and they got out. As they trudged up the rocky slope to the tracks, a bolt of lightning flickered in the distance. Morgan started counting. She made it to eight when a peal of thunder stopped her.
“It’s less than two miles away,” she said.
“This is what we’ve been waiting for,” Mike said as he stepped onto the tracks and unbuttoned his pants. They undressed each other as the rain fell harder. Pitch-black clouds loomed over them. Wind bent the trees.
Morgan lay down on her back between the gleaming tracks, Mike climbed on top of her. As they made love, Morgan watched the clouds crawl overhead, barely aware of the jagged rocks digging into the soft flesh of her back. Rain pelted her face as she reached out with both hands and grabbed the railroad tracks.
It wasn’t long before she felt a static presence in the air. She recognized it the same way one recognizes the voice of an old lover. Mike’s body suddenly went stiff, then he began to jerk wildly as the electricity entered his body. His violent pelvic thrusts made Morgan feel like she was being rammed with a jackhammer. Mike’s eyes rolled back in his head and spittle flew from his pursed lips as Morgan cried out.
She was about to cum when Mike flew off her. He landed several yards away, his body hitting the railroad ties with a wet thud. He writhed and moaned as wisps of smoke rose from his skin. The air smelled like burnt meat.
Morgan tried to get up, but she was paralyzed from the waist down. She could see Mike’s mouth working, but she couldn’t hear anything; a terrible ringing in her ears blocked out every sound. Her mouth tasted like it was full of nails, and her head throbbed like her brain had grown too large for her skull.
Through the downpour, Morgan saw a set of headlights coming down the tracks from the direction of the main road. When the lights stopped moving, the driver’s door opened. A man got out, grabbed something from the bed of the truck, and walked up to the tracks. As he moved closer, he became more visible. Rain dripped from his white hard hat and soaked his brown overalls. His black work boots crunched over the shifting rocks as he walked towards Mike. If he was here to help them, he sure was taking his time.
Morgan watched him bend down to check on Mike’s condition. That’s when she noticed the spike maul in his hand.
The rain was thinning and Morgan could see the man more clearly now. He was the same man they’d seen before, the man with the liquor. And she could see what he was doing to Mike. He had taken a railroad spike out of his pocket and had positioned Mike’s right foot so it was flat on one of the ties. He then held the spike with its pointed end against the top of Mike’s left shoe and raised the spike maul above his head. Morgan tried to scream, to startle the man and prevent him from going through with this, but when she opened her mouth, only a stream of vomit shot out.
The Railroad Man brought the spike maul down, driving the six-inch nail through the top of Mike’s foot, pinning it to the wooden plank. Blood oozed out of his shoe and Morgan could hear his screams even over the din of the thunder and the ringing in her ears. The Railroad Man positioned Mike’s left foot in the same manner and drove a second spike through it. Confident that his prey was trapped, the Railroad Man stood up, leaving Mike writhing on the tracks beneath him. Then he turned his attention to Morgan. She flipped over onto her stomach and tried to crawl away, but he grabbed her by the hair of her head and yanked her backwards. Then he rolled her over and removed two more spikes from his pocket.
“Didn’t think anyone was watching, did you?” he said. “I’ve been here every time, parked right over there behind those trees, waiting for the day when that train would come along and put an end to you and your boyfriend’s kinky little fuck sessions. And somehow you always got away. Well not this time.”
“Please don’t,” Morgan whimpered.
But the Railroad Man ignored her pleas and grabbed her right foot. She couldn’t feel it, but she knew what he was doing to it. Moments later the spike maul came down, followed by the
Morgan turned and saw the headlamp of a train cutting through the wind-blown rain. She could feel the ground vibrating beneath her. As many times as she had risked her life flirting with lightning along this length of track, she never thought she’d die from the most obvious danger.
“I’ll leave you and your boyfriend alone to say your goodbyes,” the man said.
As he turned to walk away, Morgan lunged at him and grabbed his pant leg, tearing the fabric away to reveal a prosthetic leg.
The man looked down at his plastic appendage. He grinned at Morgan. “That’s what happens when you play on the train tracks. See, even veterans of the rails like myself get careless once in a while. Drink too much and pass out on the tracks. But what you kids were doing, that goes beyond carelessness. That’s just downright stupid, and you need to be taught a lesson.” He stepped off the tracks. “And here comes your teacher.”
The train was only a few yards away when it blared its deafening horn. Instinctively, Morgan rolled sideways and came out of her shoes. Her momentum carried her over the edge of the rocky bank, where she tumbled down into a ditch filled with bushes and briars. Above her, the boxcars rattled past, rocking and creaking. Morgan pushed herself up into a sitting position, unsure of what had just happened, wondering how she had gotten free. She looked down at her stumpy feet and realized the railroad spikes had nailed her shoes to the tracks, but not her feet. It was
