Trains and the House

The train whistled down the tracks, ground shaking at its passing.
Long into the night did its passing echo, a rumbling moan of the engine and the shrieking metal of the wheels against the rails.
Each night, throughout the night, the trains would come calling.
If only a house could lose the railway's number.
But it wasn't to be.
For a house built on a solid foundation cannot flee the passing train.
And so all the house could do was try in vain to ignore the passing trains.
No matter how their passing shook the windows.
No matter how the baby within its walls would start to cry.
No matter what trouble the train caused, the house did its best to ignore it.
Until one night, there were no trains at all.
Sweet silence at last.
No trains came the following day either.
Or the following night.
Time passed, and still there were no more trains.
The house finally had some peace.
And yet, the house felt strangely empty.
What had caused the trains to stop running?
Would they be back, or was this silence the new normal?
The house didn't know.
But some small part of it (probably the hallway closet) wished that the trains would return.