She highly doubted that latter part, but took comfort in the former, picturing all the bears tucked up in bed just as securely as the human residents. “You do this a lot, Caden? Go wandering through the woods at night?” Talk would be good. Distracting and good.
“Nah. I rarely go out at night here.”
“You and everyone else,” she groused. “This one guy at school asked me to the fall formal, and it’s over at 9 o’clock! Can you believe it?”
Caden stiffened beside her.
Oh goooood.
“Not that I accepted his invitation.”
“You don’t like dancing?”
“Depends on the partner.”
Okay, hint laid out there. They walked on in silence, but Ashlyn knew Caden had eased into a smile when she told him she’d declined Brian’s invitation.
“So, are your folks superstitious too? Do you have to contend with that whole stay in bed at night crap in your house?”
“Not really. My father rejects all things superstitious on academic principles. Though he’s interested in anything and everything related to the troop trains, including the legends, he doesn’t believe in ghosts or ghost trains. Evil conductors. Neither does my mother. But she patiently listens to the tales about the evil that rides the rails through the Junction. All the time. Over and over again.”
Ashlyn stopped abruptly, forcing Caden to stop, too.
“Listens to the tales? From who?” She didn’t like one bit the flutter of anger she felt. Was it just them — the Caverhill women — the locals wouldn’t talk to?
“From my Grampy. He talks about it even more since we came back here.”
“Oh.” A pause while she digested that. “Is he from around here?”
“He was from Concord, New Hampshire originally. But he came through Prescott Junction in 1941. He and his family. They came to meet a troop train.”
“Did your grandfather serve in the war?”
“No. He was declared 4F.”
“4F?”
“Unfit for military service. Grampy is blind in one eye. Had been since birth. His little brother, James, enlisted though. Apparently the family believed that one Williams should be fighting for our country, and if Davis — that’s my gramps — couldn’t do it, James would. The whole family came to Prescott Junction to see him off to the war.”
Ashlyn could hear the pride in Caden’s voice as he spoke about his family. But she couldn’t miss the sadness either.
“My great uncle was one of the Tuskegee Airmen. He flew with the 332nd fighter group of the US Army Corp. He flew a B-47 in Sicily.”
“Wow,” Ashlyn said. “That’s amazing. Everyone must have been so proud of him.” She didn’t know a lot about American history, but she was familiar with that famous group of black airmen. The military was segregated in the Second World War. And she knew the Tuskegee Airmen were legendary in their accomplishments, despite having to fight rampant racism in addition to the war.
“Yeah,” Caden said, stiffly.
“What?” Ashlyn asked softly, not at all sure she should tread on this close, personal ground.
“Of course the family was proud. None more proud than Grampy himself. But James didn’t make it home, Ashlyn.” Caden drew a long breath. “He was killed in action … and Grampy, never got over it. He … he more than never got over it.”
“What do you mean?”
Caden began with a sigh. “Grampy’s always lived with us. My grandmother died long before I was born, when my own dad was just a kid. So he and my grandfather stuck together, you know. Even after Dad married Mom. Even after I was born. Grampy was always fun. Good-natured for the most part, and he spoiled me rotten every chance he got. But sometimes … there was a sadness to him. It seemed to deepen over the years, and to catch him more often. He’d never talk about it. Well, not to me and my sister. But sometimes he’d talk to Dad about the horror he felt. Dad tolerated it, but I could tell he didn’t really believe my grandfather. But Grampy’s been slipping these last few years. He talks about the old times more. Gets me confused with his late brother James. And when he thinks I’m James, he tells me about what haunts him.”
“What haunts him?” The words emerged as a whisper.
“The train, Ash. Grampy saw James board the train in Prescott Junction on his way to fight the war. And he swears, Ashlyn, absolutely swears that he felt the purest evil, when James boarded. He wanted to race after him. Wanted to tear his brother away from that train before it rolled down the tracks. But he didn’t of course. Couldn’t. And now Grampy’s convinced he was right about the evil, and he’s convinced that James lost something dear to him when he stepped up on that train.”
They were almost out of the woods. The sound of the rapids was audible now. As they came out onto the riverbank just below the train bridge, Ashlyn placed her hand on Caden’s chest, bringing him to a stop again. “What does your grandfather think his brother lost?”
His face bathed by moonlight now, Ashlyn could clearly see how serious his eyes were. “His soul. He thinks his brother lost his very soul on that troop train he boarded in 1941. It just breaks the old man’s heart.”
And Ashlyn knew. Despite what Caden had said earlier to Rachel about the train being a hoax, he wondered about the truth of it. He wasn’t just out tonight for a bit of adventure. This was far from the date Ashlyn would like to imagine it. Caden had come to see for himself if the legend of the ghost train was real.
“Yo, homies! Over here.”
Rachel’s voice carried clearly, and they located her right away. She stood where she promised to meet them, on the outcropping of rock at the riverbank, just below the train bridge.
Ashlyn waved to acknowledge Rachel, then turned back to Caden. “Well, homie, looks like we’re in the right place.”
He snorted. “I guess we are.”
It took less than a minute to scramble over to where Rachel waited. Ashlyn looked around. Spooky ghost train legend notwithstanding, she’d half expected to see at least one more kid out and about — it was a Friday night, for God’s sake — but there was not a single other face to be seen, teenaged or otherwise.
Rachel saw her looking. “You just missed Ms. Degagne,” she said.
“She was down here?” She turned to Caden. “That’s the school librarian.”
“The school librarian who’s banging the married shop teacher,” Rachel clarified.
“Oh,” Caden said. “Sounds interesting. What’d we miss?”
“Nothing, I’m afraid,” Rachel huffed. “And no she wasn’t down here. I was under the train bridge killing time as I waited for you guys. Degagne was up above on the walkway. She didn’t know I was there. Didn’t know I could hear her.”
“Let me guess — talking to her lover on her cell phone?” Ashlyn asked.
“Crying. Really crying. And pacing and wailing, Why me? and crying some more.”
Ashlyn’s heart went out to Ms. Degagne. She didn’t know the librarian well. Had only spoken to her once. But clearly the woman was troubled. Waiting for someone who wouldn’t show up. Again and again and again, most likely, Ashlyn knew from experience. Not her own, fortunately. Back in Toronto her friend Cordell’s older sister had gotten involved with a married man. It was nothing but heartbreak, until she finally got fed up and dumped him.
“Hope she’s okay,” Caden said.
“Oh, she’ll be fine,” Rachel said.
A night breeze washed over the three, picking up the tail of a scarf Rachel wore. Ashlyn narrowed her eyes. The scarf — possibly orange, but in the moonlight it was hard to say — was wound closely around Rachel’s neck. Too closely? Was she hiding bruises under there? Or, oh God, cuts? Man, cutting the neck area … that was hardcore. More hardcore than anything she’d seen in Toronto.
“There’s a dance at the school next week,” Rachel said, clearly oblivious of Ashlyn’s study. Or maybe just pretending to be oblivious. “Berg will no doubt be chaperoning. All the teachers have to do
extracurricular and he always gets stuck with that. What do you bet our luscious librarian signs up for dance duty too for the fall fiasco?”
“Oh, yes. The fall formal.” Caden said.
Rachel’s head shot back. “Are you going?”
“Well,” he drawled. He looked over at Ashlyn. “That depends.”
Oh jeepers! She recalled their closeness in the woods, that near kiss out by the kennels.
“I’m not a student,” Caden continued, “so I’d need to be signed. I couldn’t really ask a girl myself if she’d be interested in going. But if a girl were to ask me….”
“Okay, okay!” Rachel threw her hands up in the air. “I get it! I never ever go to these things, but you don’t have to beg, Caden. If you really want to experience local culture….” she gagged dramatically into her hand “…then we’ll go to the dance.”
“Rachel, I—”
“But just keep in mind it’s not a date-date, right? I mean, you’re a nice enough guy and all, but I just don’t like you that way. Understand? Don’t get your hopes up.” Rachel turned to Ashlyn. “Hey, Ash, you should come too.”
Ashlyn smiled. Oh so very damn tightly. “Wow, yeah, great idea, Rachel. We’ll all three go.”
“Great!” Rachel smiled broadly, but when she angled her head toward Ashlyn, she winked one eye slyly.
Ashlyn did a double-take. Rachel was trying to help her out? God, could she seriously believe Ashlyn was too shy to ask Caden to the dance herself? Surely not! Granted, they hadn’t known each other that long yet, but how could Rachel imagine—
It struck her then; Rachel wanted to go to the dance, no matter what she might say about relishing her outsider role. And she wanted even more to be included in their friendship, this circle of three. Desperately needed to be.
Ashlyn felt her face relax into a real smile. “Yeah, it’ll be a blast.” She turned to Caden. “You in?”
“Absolutely,” he agreed. “I’ll even borrow my dad’s car and pick both of you up.”
Dance plans settled, Ashlyn glanced around. Their chosen lookout was about a hundred yards from the train bridge. Having come through the woods, she hadn’t had to skid down any steep slopes like she had that day she’d gone under the bridge. Rather, she and Caden had come out at the water’s edge well below that structure. According to Rachel, this was the perfect vantage point. Looking up at the bridge, all dark looming concrete and steel in the moonlight, Ashlyn believed her. And if the legend was true, she didn’t want to be any closer.
The ground was cold beneath her as she sat down with the others to wait, but no one complained. As Rachel had said, it was a shot in the dark as to whether this would be a train traveling night. Frankly, Ashlyn would be thrilled if they didn’t see anything. She just liked being here with these two at the river’s edge. They told dumb jokes for a while, started to try to freak each other out with ghost stories, but considering they were waiting for a ghost train, that was short-lived. They talked and laughed, the soft curtain of night lending an air of intimacy, until finally they were all talked out and just enjoying the silence.
Ashlyn inhaled deeply. The night air was cool and smelled unmistakably of fall, but with an underlying tinge of mud and organic decay contributed by the river and the fainter odor of creosote from the railroad ties upwind of them. The sky overhead was starry, but not quite as lavishly strewn as some nights when she’d gazed out her bedroom window. The full moon — huge and white — was amazing, but its brightness overpowered some of the dimmer lights. Even so, there were more stars than Ashlyn ever saw in the night skies back home, where artificial light was a constant. She leaned back, drinking it in, growing dizzy on it. Man it was nice here. Cozy, surrounded by her friends.
Friends. Yeah, she liked that.
“So what’s with the scarf?”
Caden’s question caught them both off guard. Ashlyn’s gaze ping-ponged between Caden and Rachel, who stared at each other.
Rachel’s hand dropped down from the material she’d been fingering at her throat. “What, you don’t like bright orange?”
“Hey, who doesn’t?” Caden said easily. “But you seem to be holding it pretty carefully in place. Going for maximum coverage. Everything okay, Rachel?”
The breath she sucked in was audible, but she let it out on a laugh. “Hell, no. I’m … I’m a fashion model. Didn’t you know? You may have seen me gracing the cover of Cosmopolitan. Or was that Vogue? No wait … it was Fish and Tackle. Yeah, that was it!”
Caden wasn’t falling for it. Neither was Ashlyn. She wasn’t allowing Rachel to hide behind the dismissive joking. Not this time. If she was cutting herself on the neck…. Sometimes friends had to step in. “Did you hurt your neck?” Ashlyn asked.
Rachel wet her lips. “No.” Her whisper was anxious.
Caden’s voice was gentle. “Rachel, did someone else hurt you?”
Her eyes shot wide, the whites flashing in the darkness, and when she spoke, Ashlyn could hear the tears in her voice. “I … I can’t tell you.” She turned to Ashlyn. “I can’t tell anyone.”
“We’re your friends, Rachel,” Ashlyn said. “Whatever it is that you’re going through, we’ll try to help.”
She shook her head slowly. “No one can. It’s … it’s gone too far. Gone on too long.”
“What has?” Ashlyn asked.
The tears rolled down Rachel’s cheek in the moonlight and she dashed them away with her hand. “People stay in their beds in Podunk Junction. No matter what they hear. No matter what they know. They just—”
Rachel stopped abruptly and leapt to her feet.
Ashlyn reached for her friend’s hand. “Come on, Rach—”
“Listen!” Caden commanded. He raised a silencing hand in the air as he jumped to his feet himself. “The train whistle. I … I hear it. Omigod, I hear the ghost train coming!”
And then Ashlyn did too.
A chill hooked her, caught on her bones as if to shake her where she stood. The whistle was far away, but definitely closing in. Soon she could hear the rumble of the train as it moved along the tracks. Growing louder, more ominous. More threatening as it came closer still.
And then she saw.
The hulking black beast seemed to race as it approached the river, so much so that it was almost a blur. But it slowed drastically as it came down the approach to the bridge, reducing its speed to a comparative crawl as it crossed the span above them.
And Rachel was right — this was the perfect vantage point. This close, the train looked like a skeleton in the night, its wide windows riding just above the top of the bridge’s deck. What she thought to be ghosts, but knew to be hundreds of lost souls, crowded around and pressed themselves against the windows, their hands palms out and wide to the glass, their faces wreathed in sorrow and grief. Men, women. Soldiers, civilians. A young girl about Ashlyn’s age. Ashlyn heard the wails when the train came to a complete stop as the engine rolled just past the end of the bridge. The train rested there, its engine gently and rhythmically chugging, like a blood beating heart. The cries of the tormented souls rose into the night.
But those cries became whimpers and the sorrowful souls cowered when the engine door flew open and a tall man in a dark suit stepped into its frame. His head was bent beneath his conductor’s cap. He pulled something – a long, wide paper – from his pocket, examined it carefully, nodded approvingly, then looked up again. The conductor leaned from the train. He looked left, then right, up and down the tracks. And then finally, he looked directly to where Ashlyn, Rachel and Caden stood. That’s when Ashlyn realized, when the conductor fully looked their way, there was no flesh on his face. His high cheeks were bones. His eyes black pits. And his even grin widened as he marked the three standing by the river’s edge. Slowly, in invitation, the conductor extended the ticket out toward the three.
“Holy God!” Caden whispered. “It’s … it’s real.”
“It’s horrifying!” Ashlyn said.
“No.
” Rachel shook her head. “It’s … it’s beautiful. Can’t you see … can’t you see how peaceful?”
“All aboard!” The conductor’s voice boomed into the blackness as he held the ticket high and claimed the night. Death itself was in that voice, yet somehow even Ashlyn could feel the seductive, luring pull. Dear God, she couldn’t help but feel the dark comfort. Fear the dark comfort.
She wasn’t the only one.
“Rachel, no!” Ashlyn shouted, but she was too late to stop the other girl. One end of Rachel’s scarf flew out behind her as she ran toward the train.
Ashlyn and Caden both took off after her, running alongside the river then scrambling up the steep slope.
“Rachel, stop!” Caden roared.
The conductor extended his hand toward Rachel. He started humming. Comforting, soothing humming. And God in heaven, Ashlyn knew the tune! She’d known it since kindergarten. Heard it just the other night, coming from the radio in Maudette’s basement.
“All aboard!” the conductor called once again, but this time they were so close, a whisper was all it took. Rachel’s hand extended. So did the conductor’s reach.
So did Ashlyn’s. Locked in blind panic and fear, she reached for Rachel. Her hand closed around material. Oh, God — the scarf! It wasn’t much but it was enough to make Rachel stumble backwards just as the conductor grabbed for her. Caden launched into Rachel with a full body tackle, knocking her to the ground. Over Rachel’s protesting scream, he rolled them to the edge of the embankment and over.
“Let me gooooo!” Rachel wailed. “That’s my ticket out!”
“Not a chance,” Caden shouted back.
Their exchange barely registered, for Ashlyn stood rooted to the spot, staring into the face of the ghost train conductor. In her hand she held one end of Rachel’s scarf, while the conductor held the other end. And oh, God, his face! It was little more than bare bone, crisscrossed by dried, gnarly sinew. He gripped the scarf with a gloved hand, but above his glove, below the sleeve hem of his neat conductor’s uniform, shone nothing but bone. And when she looked into his eyes — gleaming orbs sunk deep into their sockets — they were empty. Completely empty! And yet … completely mesmerizing. Oh, how deeply into those eyes Ashlyn could go….
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