Ghost Train

Nobody really ever passes through there. No reason to.

I'm not sure if anyone even lives in that town. There's a gas station, though, at the corner of the main innersection. And I've been told that sometimes there's a feller workin inside. But I never seen him.

The county or some such went and put up bunch of speed bumps on the main road goin through. No reason to. No one ever really passed through. And then after they did that, I heard stories o' young punks who knew where the place was playin games of tryin to speed through, over the bumps. Like some kinda damn ride. And the challenge was to go fast and not stop and go all the way through, and not get stuck in middle of that town. 

Because many know that's a town you don't wanna get stuck. 

The kinda place if you're not from around those parts, and you happen to come upon it, you'll never come upon it again after that. Because it's not on any map, far as I know. And it only exists for some. 

This is Locust Hill. 

* * *

The train slowed to a stop again. Myrtle Tuttle was middle of cutting through some cloth with her sewing shears, and she stopped to look out the window. Probably another station, picking up new passengers. 

Only there was no station outside. All there was what looked like a small, quiet-type town, the fields all around ... and a sign that said Welcome to Locust Hill. Was all it said. The sign was part rotted with moss, cracked, looked like had been there since when the town started, who knows how long ago.

She looked around at the few other passengers on the train with her. It was just a one-car thing, and there was another elderly man, looked maybe her age and he was still asleep and snoring. There was the young teenager with pink hair and listening to music on her headphones. She also was looking out the window and wondering where they were, and she looked at Myrtle, as though she might know, and looked back out again. Then there was the handsome young man, dressed nice in a striped dress shirt, unshaven, on his computer. Finally there was that unhealthy- and vulgar-looking, obese fellow with a few chins and missing half of his greasy hair. An odd bunch, indeed. And Myrtle Tuttle of course. Late in her years, but still physically capable and on her way to Florida for the warmer climate. 

Nobody but she and the pink-haired teenager noticed the outside. The train got going again, moving slowly through the small town as though being careful not to hit anybody.

But nobody was around. Myrtle saw what looked like the main street in the distance, and no cars passing, no one out shopping. It looked like one of those old mining towns deserted; although it wasn’t a mining town. They were somewhere in Georgia now, she knew. And it was out in the middle of nowhere, an uncomfortable distance from anything familiar and safe. It was like a No Town, Nowhere. 

The train went along, slowly. Myrtle found herself wanting it to pick up speed, and get through and out of that town, and just continue on their way to Saint Petersburg in Florida. Didn’t know why, but found herself wanting to get away from that town. 

She suddenly realized she was still holding the sewing shears, frozen in the middle of a cut. She drew away from the eerie quiet outside and resumed her cutting. When the fabric piece came loose, she took her needle and proceeded to thread the new piece onto a scarf she was making. She didn’t know why she was making a scarf when she was going to Florida, but it was something to keep her occupied. 

She wouldn’t be going back to her hometown in Ohio; she was moving to Florida, so it was that one-way kind of a trip.

Only she didn’t realize she wouldn’t even be making it to Florida. 

When she looked up out the window again, she saw they were still passing through that town. How on earth was it taking so long? It was just a small place. Well, no worry, she thought. They were moving. 

But then they came to a stop again, and her nerves picked up. She froze with her knitting needle and looked out the window and then at the passengers. Everyone oblivious except for pink haired girl, who also looked like was wondering what was happening. Outside was a small church, front doors boarded up with a big “X” of wood, and grasses overgrown in the yard around. On the other side of the train was what looked like a small school. No kids playing outside and through the foggy old windows it all looked black inside. Some of the windows broken in. 

The train just sat there, doing nothing, and Myrtle Tuttle was growing nervous. 

Nobody else was doing anything, so Myrtle looked up the aisle at the door which led to the locomotive cab—where the driver would be. Without hesitation, she placed her materials down on the seat beside her and got up and marched herself up to the cab. 

Except when she opened the door, the engineer wasn’t there. Her heart leapt for a moment, and she looked out the front windows and wondered if they’d been abandoned. For just that moment she imagined them all being deserted and stuck in that creepy place. A cramped claustrophobic feeling settled over her. All the world outside, the church, the school, a small farmhouse, other houses ... they all suddenly seemed to speak to her. It was as though they were speaking without words. She didn’t know what they were saying, but whatever it was ... it wasn’t good. 

She paralyzed for a moment and felt she might faint. Where was their driver?

Then some feeling entered her chest, like a strong wind passing through her. It was icy, dark, sad, scared, confused all at once. She wanted it out of her but it permeated her body, like a sick feeling from eating bad food. It was a rotten feeling, a feeling of decay, and she felt light-headed. 

“Ma’am?” came a voice. 

Myrtle let out a small shriek and snapped back to her wits—she saw the engineer had the door open, he was standing outside looking up at her at the cab door. 

“You wanna return to your seat?” he asked. “Just checking out something with the engine, and we’ll be back on track in a couple o’ minutes.”

Myrtle frowned. He didn’t look nice. 

In fact, she didn’t believe him. She could swear he had something else in mind, something else going on he wasn’t telling her. He looked downright evil, to her, as a matter of fact, as though possessed. 

That something else he had in mind, she was old, but she wasn’t about to endanger the lives of the other passengers by not informing them of what was happening. Something was wrong with their driver. 

“Ma’am?” He was still standing there. Looking up at her. Even his eyes seemed beady, black, deep without bottom.

You go back to your seat, he seemed to be telling her. And you sit yourself down and you be just quiet, while I kill all of you. Kill every single last one of yas.

Kill. 

Myrtle was shaking inside, but she didn’t want to give it away that she knew his intents. So she managed the best Yessir! nod she could, with a small smile, and turned around and started back down the aisle. She closed the cab door (maybe that would block him out and keep him away while she gave the news to the other passengers). In fact, she found a broom and took the stick and laid it crosswise across the cab door so the driver wouldn’t be able to follow her in. She had no idea of anything of the sort going on would occur, when she left her small town Wetherington in Ohio. She was old, unable to deal with the cold, no family and only a few friends, so she’d used some of her retirement and pension to get a ticket and line up a small unit rental in Florida. It was part of a complex, and she was told they had a book club. She imagined the old men there maybe played golf together and she could consider starting up a knitting club. 

But now ... now she wasn’t so sure she would be making it. What would they do? Knock the driver out? Who would get them to Florida? 

She turned to face the other passengers in the train. 

But when she did, a horror fell over her and she was immobilized. 

The other train passengers—the pink-haired teenager; the young man in the striped shirt; the greasy fat man—were all staring at Myrtle the same way the train driver had ... their eyes looked black to her, and she thought they were were all smiling, and one of them might have bared a set of sharp teeth for a second. Each of them looked like they had only one thing in mind...

...to take her and rip her apart into pieces.

They were the evil of the world; they were on her train. What on earth was happening??

None of them were getting up to approach her—yet—but they all looked ready to pounce, like vampires or demons from Hell itself. She backed away slowly towards the engine driver cab door. She looked out the train windows again and there was that abandoned church still there on the one side and that strange empty school, and... 

...she thought she’d seen something else out there. She squinted to see better, thought she wasn’t seeing correctly, and she saw a few people who’d just come out from around the corner of the church. Townspeople? That meant there were actually people in this godforsaken town. Maybe they would help her. She’d get the hell off the train and get their help to alert the authorities. Alert all of the angels in Heaven, if they could. 

Only the people coming from around the corner of the church didn’t look friendly. Myrtle could see their eyes, their stares ... they were staring at her ... like they were coming to get her. What on earth place was this! What had she gotten herself into?

Frightened, she looked out the other side of the train, the school. But she weakened when she spotted people there also, coming around the corner from behind the school. A few climbed out of the broken windows. One intact window shattered outwards and two people climbed out from inside. Now there were about a dozen of them, headed toward the train. 

She looked back to the church and the field, and now there were a dozen folks on that side. And the people, or the church and school, speaking. They were saying her name...

...Myrtle Tuttle, they all said. Myrtle TUTTLE. Myrtle TUTTLE. They emphasized her surname. 

And the people on each side drew closer to the train. Closer to her. 

She looked back at the other passengers. And they stared, too. She thought they were calling her name as well. 

She was trapped from all directions. 

On instinct, she dashed to her seat and grabbed her sewing shears and held them forward, breathing heavy, her eyes jumping from one passenger to the next. 

Myrtle TUTTLE! 

The unshaven young man in the striped shirt. He would be the toughest. 

He would have to go first, because if she didn’t kill him while she had the chance, he’d overtake her. 

She lunged at him and drove her shears into the side of his neck. The blood came out like a popped cork on a barrel and he slumped in his seat, his evil eyes closing. Got him. She had a chance with the others now. If she got them all, maybe she could lock up the train and wait for help. Or even see if there was any way she could get the train going herself. 

A scream came from behind her. It sounded a demon awakening, preparing for flight. 

Myrtle spun to face the others and found the pink-haired charging at her—she was the one who’d screamed, and her wild eyes were on fire with hate and hunger. 

In reaction, Myrtle swung her shears up and put them deep into the girl’s stomach. And those wild eyes of hate fire suddenly extinguished ... sad, even surprised ... and then they fluttered shut and the evil thing slumped to the aisle. 

Next, that unhealthy greasy blob of a man was getting up out of his seat. He looked like he could barely squeeze himself out, but he was yelling something Myrtle didn’t even hear. She went over to him and slashed across his face before he could get up and then she put her weapon into one of his eyes. 

And she stood back, panting, blood running down the shears, as the blob monster fell against the train window and his dark eyes too went forever into sleep. 

There was one left. Besides the driver. Myrtle looked to the very back of the train, at the old man who looked about her age. He was still snoring, apparently sleeping through all of this.  

Was he a demon as well? Or was he innocent? If innocent, she’d need to save him. 

Suddenly she felt the train rock. She looked out the windows and jumped when she saw dozens of people ... on both sides of the train, crowding in, some trying to climb up the side. 

They were trying to get in!

And the locomotive cab door way up at the front started shaking hard and fast, someone trying to open it. Did she lock it when she’d closed it? That’s right—the broomstick. 

But they would break through. They’d break through the door or break through the windows. 

Myrtle TUTTLE! Myrtle TUTTLE! 

It was so loud now, she put her hands to her ears. “Won’t you leave me alone!!” she cried.  

Suddenly the snoring old man opened his eyes, and he looked around the train to see what was the matter. When he saw the other three demons dead in the train, he looked to Mary and his eyes suddenly turned black and hollow, and he stared at her like she’d just up and done the worst thing she could possibly do. 

Just as he got up out of his seat, she heard something crack behind her and she found that the demons broke through the cab door. Broomstick broken. They were about to come pouring through. They’d eat her alive. 

The old demon man saw the bloody shears in Myrtle’s hand, and he roared and got up and charged at her. 

* * *

The engineer outside finished tinkering with the engine. Shitty old thing, he said to himself. He knew it needed more maintenance before they’d left Ohio, but the boss was cheap. Said if it runs, it runs. Yeah, it ran. And then it started messing around and had to pull over in some shit-forsaken town, no one around like everybody up and left for the apocalypse. 

He wondered why everything was so abandoned. Didn’t even know what town they were in, didn’t remember seeing it on the map. Locust-something. 

As he reattached the last engine line, all wrapped up and ready to go, he imagined them all being deserted and stuck in that creepy place. A cramped claustrophobic feeling settled over him. He wiped his hands on his handkerchief and looked around. The small church boarded up, that school with the smashed-in windows, other houses around ... for a moment they all seemed to be speaking to him. Not in words, but something else. He didn’t like it. 

And a feeling entered his chest, like a strong wind passing through. It was icy, dark, sad, scared, confused all at once. 

He wanted to get out of there. Bad feeling about that place. The train was good enough to go, let’s go. Now. Hopping up through the door, he started up the engine. Everything was good. Sayonara, he thought. Goodbye. I ain’t ever stoppin here, ever again. 

He pushed the intercom button and held a mouthpiece up. “Passengers, this is the engineer speaking. Had some fits and starts with the train, sorry we had to stop for a bit there,” he announced. “Everything’s lookin good and we are outta here.” 

That icy, sad feeling that had come upon him, he tried shaking it off. Felt he was starting to get sick like he’d eaten bad food. 

As the train picked up, he felt better, safer, more confident. 

It was only when he finally passed the limits of that small town, did he finally shake that cold and sick feeling. It left entirely ... as though was left behind with the town. 

Onwards to Florida. He let out a deep breath. Now he was considering staying in Florida, never leaving. 

Only he never checked the passenger cab. The train went rolling along, and the very back exit door at the far end of the aisle was left swinging open, swinging back and forth as the train drove on. Inside the train were four dead bodies: that of the young pink-haired teenager, her headphones still in her ears; the young man in the striped dress shirt; the overweight man; and an older man towards the back. All four were gone from this world, their eyes shut, blood-stained clothes. 

Also gone, from the train, was the fifth passenger. Myrtle Tuttle. The back exit door swinging in the wind like someone had jumped out in quite a hurry and ran off like the devil. 

THE END.