Ghost Train

*This story involves the traumatic death of a child/friend. Even though the story is fictional, it involves elements of loss, healing, and forgiveness experienced in my own life. *

Ghost Train

I walked the 2 miles to Foggy Lake. I needed the time to think. I had no idea how to explain or even process the things I had witnessed in the last twenty-four hours. Not all ghosts are spirits. Some are real, and some have the power to wreck your life. Some have the power to heal it. In my experience, most have the power to do both simultaneously. The air was crisp and nippy. I was glad I Slipped on a hoodie before I headed out. The colors of fall were all around me in reds, browns, yellows, and oranges in the floating leaves. The descent to the ground was like watching magic. I almost forgot what I was on my way to …almost.

The train tracks stretched ahead of me like a mysterious river of wood, metal, and forgotten beauty. I remembered the days of my childhood taking rides on the train that used to follow these now abandoned tracks. It carried supplies from the large town of Red Grove to our little Foggy Lake. I could still hear the whistle, the voices, and the clanking metal. I could still smell the coffee, fuel, and nature all rolled up into one unique scent. Walking down these tracks was like riding a ghost train.

We were not supposed to be on the train, I'm sure of that. But my friend Cadence's dad was the conductor. It wasn't a large train, so he often let us ride with him and experience the scenery passing by firsthand. I'm sure he thought at the time he was giving us memories to last a lifetime, memories we would never forget. He made us honorary metal name badges; I was so excited to see Daisy Lacices on my badge next to the number of the train. I wore that badge proudly. I still have that somewhere, though admittedly I haven't looked at it in years. I couldn't.

I was back in Foggy Creek for Mr. Ardant's funeral; he was Cadence's dad, the one who gave us all the fun memories on the train and the one who was forever haunted by the one bad one. What happened wasn't Mr. Ardant's fault, but he never could see things that way. It's bizarre to have memories that are so real and happy, but also deeply bittersweet. Memories that are so engraved in your being you re-live them, whether or not you want to.

I hadn't been back to Foggy Creek in twenty years. Not since that night, the night that changed everything. The night that ghosts became real in the worst way possible. I think they haunted all of us in some way or another. Partly because not one of us talked about what happened after the fact. We all just became obsessively distracted until we were old enough to move away, run away, if I'm being honest.

Every one of us kids moved away from Foggy Creek as we turned eighteen. The only one who stayed was Mr. Ardant. I imagine he couldn't leave, no matter how much he may have wanted to. For him, time stopped here. For him, this was the only place he still had his son, no matter how painful the memories this place had triggered for him. He stopped living the night his son died. The rest of us never stopped running. I found as I was walking, the memories of that night were overwhelming me. They were forming in my mind like watching a movie scene by scene. Try as I may, it would not stop.

"Shhhh" whispered Cadence. "I think someone is listening, watching. " He placed his finger over his mouth.

"What are you doing?" I whispered back.

"I'm investigating," Cadence said proudly.

"Investigating what?" I questioned.

"I heard these men talking about stealing something. No one is going to steal anything from my dad."

"Cadence, this could be dangerous! If you heard something, these are grown men, not kids like us. They could hurt us. We need to go get your dad or the police."

"I'm not afraid of anything."

"I know you are not. That is not always a good thing”

"I'm not going to let anyone steal from my dad”

"Let's go get your dad then," I said urgently

Tears streamed down my face as these ghosts haunted me. I had blocked these images and sounds out of my mind for over twenty years and now I had no power against their assault at all. I wondered if everyone who returned for the funeral was facing this. I wondered if anyone else had returned for the service, or if I would be the only one. Was this breakdown of my mental barriers because of walking the abandoned tracks? I should have known better; these tracks had not been used since that night so long ago. The train was de-commissioned, and supplies were brought in another way after that tragic night.

"Please Cadence! Let's go get your dad!"

"shhhh! You don't want them to hear us. We will lose the element of surprise."

"Cadence! This isn't a movie or one of your comic books, this is real! We need to go get your dad now!"

"You go then. I'm going to stay as a witness for proof. If you don't have a witness, the police can't charge anyone."

"We need to get your dad! No one is going to believe a kid."

"I'm not leaving!"

I started feeling like I was going to have a panic attack. These were the memories I thought I had escaped from. I was recalling my own interactions with Cadence that night. We all tried to reason with him. Matty, Olivia, Holland, Cadence, and I were all playing spy games. I remember the feeling of terror when I realized it wasn't a game anymore. That he had overheard bad people discussing their plan, and he believed he had the power to stop them. He stopped them, but it cost him his life. He was ten; we were all ten. He was the most stubborn of all of us and the most optimistic. I hadn't seen much of our group since then. That was the end of adventures, innocence, and friendship. The end of blindly believing most people are good and I hate that. I wish we had talked things through. What would Cadence think of us now?

"We agreed no one would get hurt, right? We agreed! You promised me if I did what you wanted, you would leave, and no one would get hurt."

"No one but you John." the man spoke

"Why are you doing this?" Mr. Ardant's shakily asked.

"Desperate times.” The man replied.

 I saw Cadence's eyes widen as he realized his dad was in trouble. We all saw the man raise his gun at Mr. Ardent as we watched helplessly. To run for help would have meant risking being heard. With no warning, I heard Cadence scream.

 "NOOOOOO" and he leaped from the train.

We all heard the gunshot and we all watched, frozen in horror as Cadence's body fell to the ground. He had jumped from the train in front of his father, saving his father's life. Cadence was bleeding out on the ground. I had seen nothing like that, none of us had. This was not like what you see on TV. I was shivering, and my teeth began to chatter. I knew then what bone-chilling cold meant. It’s a cold you can’t get warm from. It’s a cold that has nothing to do with temperature.

"Cadence!!! Cadence!!!! NO NO NO NO!" Mr. Ardent was screaming and sobbing.

"You shot a kid, you idiot!" the man said as they ran.

Matty then took off as fast as he could in the opposite direction and returned with the sheriff and an ambulance. Cadence said something to his dad we couldn't understand, and then his body went limp in his dad's arms. I have never heard before or since the sound of the cries that came from Mr. Ardent at that moment. They haunt me to this day; I hear them sometimes in my dreams and force myself awake.

"I'm so sorry John, I'm so so sorry" I heard the Sheriff say as they covered Cadence's body and loaded him into the ambulance. We heard later they said Cadence was DOA dead on arrival. I didn't realize at ten the impact of watching my best friend take his last breath in front of me. I didn't realize that even though I moved away, even though I had a life, I had stopped living at that moment too. My childhood had died with Cadence, maybe all of ours had. I couldn't imagine how hard it must have been for Mr. Ardent to lose his son and all of us. But I always felt he understood and blamed none of us for drifting away. Sometimes things are hard to process as an adult, and impossible to process as a child.

Matty, Olivia, Holland, and I all went home with our parents after the ambulance left. None of us spoke of what happened again. None of us spoke much to each other again, and I can't even explain why. I've thought of them a hundred times since then. I wanted desperately to talk to them, to hug them, to cry with them, but none of us could ever do that. Greif is a weird thing and I've learned everyone handles and processes it differently. Not always in the healthiest way. I saw in the paper a few days later, that the two guys involved in Cadence's death were shot and killed in a robbery gone wrong. I didn't think of them again.

I reached up to wipe my face; I had been crying as I re-lived that horrific night and crying hard. I may not have noticed, but a cool breeze blew across my face, and it felt like ice. My face was wet with tears. I imagined I must look awful. I had just relived a locked-away memory from twenty years earlier as if it had just happened. I looked up, realizing I was approaching the cemetery. There in front of me were Matty, Olivia, and Holland. It was hard not to see them as kids; it was hard not to feel like a kid myself.

I smiled, and they smiled back. We all had tear-stained faces. A minister approached and informed us there was no service. Mr. Ardent had simply requested an invitation be sent to each of the four of us, and instructions be included. 

"John Ardent passed away last week of cancer." He said.

" Leading up to his death, he contacted my office and asked me to do him a favor. All of your lives changed twenty years ago in a deeply traumatic way. John found his way to peace before his death, and he wished the same for you. He requested that you all visit Cadence's grave and read his last words to his father, which were engraved on his tombstone. He wrote you each a letter with the same words. But he wanted you to have your own copy to look back on, should you ever need these words again. You may open the letters at Cadence's tombstone." He finished speaking and led us to the grave.

Cadence's tombstone was beautiful, and I imagine it cost a lot. Mr. Ardant must have spent every last dollar he had on it. Next to it was a fresh grave where Mr. Ardent had recently been buried. As I read the words on Cadence's tombstone, I felt a lump in my throat as I was fighting back tears. I read:

Cadence Ardant

1981-1991

A loving, brave and good son.

A loyal and loving friend.

His last words on this earth to his dad:

"You would have done the same for me."

I opened Mr. Ardant's letter after reading those words. I heard the other envelopes open as well. We did not look at each other as we read.

"Face the ghosts so you can be free to live. Cadence would have wanted that for all of us. I will be back with my boy when you read this, so I'm living my next best life. I hope you will all find each other again. Some of my best days I spent watching you all having fun together. Thank you for being such great friends to my son. I ask that you allow yourselves to remember the good times with Cadence. It's okay to laugh, it's okay to cry. I hope you will all allow yourselves to feel all the feelings, reconnect with each other, and truly live again. I'm sorry that I didn't know how to reach out until now. Cadence's last words to me apply to us all. He would have done the same for any of us, and he did. He was always a little reckless and very adventurous, but in the end, he was just brave, just good. I wish you all the best life possible. John Ardant"

I was sobbing after reading his words and I looked up to see we all were. And for the first time in twenty years, we all embraced each other and cried those hard, deep, ugly tears…the only tears that truly heal.

"Anyone up for going to Whistle Stop Cafe? I noticed it was still here on my way in. We could grab a cup of coffee or some pie or both and catch up." Matty asked.

"Sounds great," I said as everyone chimed in a yes.

I turned back one last time to look at the old tracks behind me. I saw the train and Mr. Ardent with Cadence in all his ten-year-old glory; they were both smiling big and waving wildly. I waved back as the train moved and disappeared. Had it been my imagination? Maybe, or perhaps ghosts aren't so scary after all. Maybe they are more healing than hurting, especially when you see them for who and what they are. It was the first time I had caught myself consciously smiling in years. We all locked our arms like we used to and headed off to whistle-stop.