Haunted Engines (2015 Edition) - Tripod.com

Haunted Engines (2015 Edition)

Written, Compiled and Edited by Kyle Nicholas
Illustrations by James Drury

All words and illustrations are the property of their respective owners and not to be
produced elsewhere without due permission

Sodor Forums and Fansite 2015

Foreword

Dear Friends

Every since railways have existed there have been ghosts associated with them, and the
railways of Sodor are of no exception. For many years the engines, rolling stock, crews, workmen
and passengers alike have seen or heard things by, or even on, the rails that they haven’t been able
to explain. However, they have never really spoken about them.

But finally the residents of Sodor are breaking their silence…

The Author

Story Stops:

1. Early Arrival at Ulfstead
2. Forever Vigilant
3. The Extra Passenger
4. The Fat Controller’s Fright
5. Warning From Beyond

One evening the engines of the Ffarquhar Branch were resting in their sheds, trying to sleep.
However, Daisy was having trouble settling her nerves.
“There’s something creepy about that new cutting,” she said to the other engines, “It always
puts me on edge when I have to go through it.”
“No kidding,” Brad drawled, “I always hate going through there at night; it gives me the
shivers in my frames…”
“Maybe it’s haunted,” joked Thomas.
And he began making ghostly sounds.
“It’s possible,” added Percy, speaking loudly to make himself heard over Thomas, “after all,
it isn’t the first time this line has seen a ghost!”
The other engines burst into laughter as Thomas stopped his ‘haunting’ abruptly. They’d
heard the “Ghost Train” story several times, and always took delight in the blue engine’s
indignation at the experience.
“That is not funny!” Thomas seethed through gritted teeth as the rabble died down.
“It’s strange that you mention the cutting though,” chipped in Toby, “because my driver once
told me an interesting story about it…”
“Come now Toby,” Rosie chuckled, “Don’t tell me that you, of all engines, believe that this
line could be haunted!”
“I’m not saying anything for certain,” the tram engine replied sagely, “but apparently that
cutting has seen its’ share of strange things in that past…”
“What did your driver say, bud?” Brad asked inquisitively.
“Well…”

“When the line was first built, before the companies of Sodor were grouped together, trains
were originally to run services all the way into Ulfstead. However, the company ran out of money,
and the plans to reach the town were dropped; with Ffarquhar becoming the terminus.”

“Everybody knows that!” huffed Thomas, “What has this got to do with the cutting?”
“I’m getting to that,” replied Toby calmly, “Anyway, apparently something was upset by the
lines’ failure to reach its intended destination; something that the locals couldn’t quite explain…
“Late at night, when the moon is shining through the fog, farmers often claim to hear the
sounds of an invisible locomotive working its way up through the site of the cutting, blowing off
steam and whistling a warning to those nearby.”
He lowered his voice down to a whisper.
“And some even say that people can feel a rush of wind as the phantom passes by, shrieking
fit to burst as it thunders towards Ulfstead…”

When Toby finished the other engines shuddered, looking at each other nervously. Finally
Daisy laughed.

“Good story Toby,” she said jovially, “You almost had me convinced for a moment.”
But the other engines weren’t so sure.
“How often has it been seen?” asked Brad nervously.
Toby looked up, deep in thought.
“Well from what driver says, there’s been about five sightings that he’s heard of,” he said
finally, “but who knows how many times people have seen it and not mentioned it…”
“I’m glad I haven’t seen it,” Percy said with a gulp, “it certainly does sound like the
spookiest thing on this line…”
“Unless you’re Thomas!” Rosie exclaimed, causing a roar of laughter to erupt from the

sheds.
And with that the tension was broken for the evening.

The next morning any thoughts of ghosts were far from the engines’ minds. The morning
rush was upon them, and each and every one of them had a job to attend to.

“Look at all of these passengers!” Annie and Clarabel exclaimed at the station, “How will
we ever fit them all in?”

“I’m sorry girls,” Thomas apologised, “Victoria is with Toby and Henrietta today, so we’re
just going to have to do what we can…”

Luckily, knowing that this was to be a busy season, the Fat Controller had rescheduled the
timetable to include more passenger services.

Daisy was not amused with the arrangements.
“Why can’t Rosie or Brad be drafted in to help, instead of making me do all the work?” she
grumbled to Percy at the station.
Percy was waiting for his path to Lockgate, and didn’t care to hear the diesel railcar’s
complaints.
“Because, Daisy,” the green engine said shortly, “you require less effort to prepare than Brad
or Rosie. Besides, I’d have thought that you’d like all the attention!”
Daisy misunderstood Percy’s comments.
“I guess it is a little nice,” she purred, “maybe I’ll cope alright after all…”

The change to the timetable meant that Daisy’s last train terminated at the Lockgate station,
as opposed to her usual last stop at Knapford. By the time the final passengers had departed the sun
had set and the fog was beginning to descend.

“Come on girl,” her driver encouraged, “we’re finished for the night; let’s head back so you
can go to sleep.”

Daisy wearily agreed, and as soon as the signal dropped she set back towards the warmth of
her shed, paying little attention to the line around her.

That was until she reached the cutting.

Summit Cutting is the highest point on the line, shallowly embedded into the land as it
passes over the largest hill. However, in the half-light of the fog the cutting looked deep and
foreboding, with shadows hiding the rails from view.

Daisy remembered Toby’s story.
“Ghosts aren’t real,” she mumbled to herself, “They’re just tales to spook you…”
Suddenly there was a shrill whistle, and the sound of a steam engine’s cylinders echoed
through the cutting.
“It’s all in your mind, it’s all in your mind,” Daisy franticly whispered, trying to reassure
herself, “there’s nothing there.”
The puffing grew louder, as if an engine was climbing the hill, trying to reach Ulfstead.
Then, without warning, a gust of wind blew from nowhere and buffeted the railcar’s front, before
the sound of the unseen steam engine began to descend towards the ‘Cassandra Crossing’.
“Toby was right!” Daisy wailed, shutting her eyes tightly, “Driver, please get me away from
here!”
Her driver had heard nothing, and was confused about his engines’ behaviour.
“What’s wrong Daisy?” he asked soothingly.
“Just get me home!” the railcar cried pathetically.

When Daisy arrived in the shed she was very pale. Toby, who was still awake, looked at her with
concern.

“What’s the matter Daisy?” he asked, “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost!”
Daisy trembled, and shut her eyes tightly.
“I think I just did,” she said meekly.
And she refused to say another word!

Based on two hauntings, one near Dalton in Furness on the old rail track between Goldmire
Junction and Millwood Junction and the second in the never-completed section of the Highgate
Low-Level Tube Station.

It sure was foggy last night,” Alex’s driver said to the Midland engines the following
morning.

“So what?” Alex grunted, “It was foggy then, it is still foggy now. Now let me get back to
sleep!”

Simon yawned sleepily. He looked out of the shed, and found that Alex was right. A thick,
grey fog was still lingering, and although it wasn’t as bad as the previous night, Simon still found it
a struggle to see the station from his shed.

“Well I’ll be,” he murmured drowsily, “I thought this would have lifted by now.”
The crews laughed.
“Don’t worry, it’ll clear soon,” Simon’s fireman said, as he climbed into the maroon
engine’s cab, “but the weather report said it would be back again tonight.”
Simon groaned. He wasn’t partial to travelling in fog, and he was scheduled to take a late
goods train to Barrow that evening.
Alex snorted unpleasantly at the conversation.
“Fine,” he grumbled, “if you won’t let me sleep, I might as well and go prepare my train. It’s
not like I need much sleep to concentrate on my line.”
And he headed towards the carriage shed, muttering darkly to himself.

The engines found themselves busy very early that morning and soon had a lot more on their
minds than fog; the docks were busy and there seemed to be more passengers than ever.

“Good thing Squaddie’s taking care of the ‘Explorer’,” Alex called to Simon as they passed
each other, “otherwise I’d think that the Fat Controller was trying to run me into the ground!”

Simon laughed. He was in a good mood, and hummed cheerily to himself as he steamed
down to the docks.

Gwen, however, was not in such high spirits.
“Can you get those trucks out of that siding?” she snapped as Simon crossed the ‘wye’, “I’ve
got enough on my buffers with these loads and can’t afford to wait around for you to clear more
space!”
Simon didn’t say anything; he just trundled cheerfully to his waiting trucks and, once he was
coupled on and his path cleared, set off back up the branch line.

However, by the time Simon’s last train was ready to depart his mood has swung drastically.
He was tired from the day’s work and was now nervous and irritable.

“I wish they could have sent Donald down here,” he said sharply, looking out at the
descending fog, “He’d cope much better with this fog than I will.”

“He certainly would if you’re going to take that attitude!” his driver scolded, “Now come
on, the signal’s dropped; let’s get going so you can get to the sheds at Barrow.”

And with that Simon steamed out of the dock yards, glad that the fog was hiding the view of
Alex in his nice, warm shed.

The trip started off well, but by the time Simon had reached Rolf’s Castle the fog had
thickened so much that it almost appeared solid, and the Midland engine was having trouble seeing.

“I hate this fog, I hate this fog,” Simon chuffed despondently, timing each word with the
beat of his cylinders.

Because of the restricted sight, his driver had slowed him down to allow time to react to
signals. Simon thought this was silly.

“I want to get out of this,” he whined, “can’t we speed up at all?”

His crew looked at each other and rolled their eyes.
“You know we can’t Simon,” his fireman responded, “and you know why. We’re not thrilled
about this either, but your complaining isn’t making the situation any better!”
Simon was about to hurl a retort when something ahead caught his attention. It looked like
there was a bright, white light hovering near the tracks.
“Driver,” he asked cautiously, “what’s that?”
“I’m not sure,” came the confused reply, “but it looks like it’s moving…”
His driver was right. As the train crept closer to the light it became obvious that it was
bobbing and swaying, almost as if it were being carried…
“Maybe we should slow down,” Simon said warily, “There might be trouble ahead.”
“But the light’s white, not red,” said the fireman, who has stopped shovelling to look, “so it
can’t be danger on the line.”
The line curved gently here, and the angle allowed Simon’s headlamp to shine on the source
of the light. There, on the line side, was an old man in a large coat walking alongside the rails with
an old lantern.
“That’s odd,” Simon said, “why would a worker be wandering around here at this time of
night? I would have thought that they’d wait until the morning…”
A swirl of fog drifted between his headlamp and the workman, causing him to be lost in the
mist. Suddenly, with a gust of wind the fog parted to reveal… nothing. The worker and his lantern
had gone, leaving no sign that they had ever been there.
Simon was confused.
“Where did he go?” he asked, dumbfounded.
The driver looked out of the cab.
“He’s probably just moved away, so as not to distract us,” he soothed.
But Simon wasn’t convinced, and his thoughts remained on the subject of the odd worker
until he reached the end of the line.

He returned to his branch line the next morning, feeling quite manic. Unfortunately Alex
was still asleep, but Simon was in no mood to wait for him to wake up to discuss his sighting.

“Peep! Peep!” he whistled shrilly, “Wake up Alex! Time to get up, time to get up!”
The tank engine’s eyes jolted open.
“It’s the scrap-man!” Alex screamed, his eyes still out of focus in his drowsy state, “You’ll
never take me while there’s steam in my boiler!”
“Relax, Alex,” Simon laughed, “it’s just me. And I’m not going to be sending you away for
scrap! I’m just back from Barrow, is all.”
Alex scowled at Simon for a moment before his expression softened.
“Alright then,” he said, still looking at his Midland companion with suspicion, “then why
did you wake me up?”
“Because I have something to tell you,” Simon bounced, “something strange that I saw last
night.”
“You woke me up for that?” Alex snapped, “You should have let me rest!”
“Oh well, too late now!” Simon grinned, “Anyway, last night I saw something in the fog; it
seemed like an old man inspecting the tracks with an old-fashioned lantern. Strange that a workman
would be going about Rolf’s Castle in weather like that, don’t you think?”
Alex stared at his Midland companion with bulging eyes.
“Simon,” the large tank engine replied, “I think you just saw The Pointsman…”
Simon was confused.
“Who’s ‘The Pointsman’?” he asked.
“He was a man who worked the points outside of the Station in Rolf’s Castle,” Alex said
cautiously, “He was a good friend of a previous driver of mine, and he loved his job and worked
that position for all of his life. But he grew ill after the Second Big War, and passed away. Ever
since then he’s kept patrolling the line on foggy nights, making sure that all the points are set
correctly for the trains…”
The two engines looked at each other, the fog still shrouding the outside of the shed.
“You don’t think…?” Simon asked anxiously, looked back out towards the line.
But the only reply he received was the whistling of the wind and the sight of the swirling
fog…

Based on two hauntings, one at the Sherwood Rise Tunnel near the former New Basford station in
Nottingham in 1953, and the second on the rail line near Bispham.

Word of the ghostly tales soon spread, and before long all of the engines on Sodor were
talking about the spooky experiences they had been through.

“…and I got out of the tunnel as quickly as I could,” James finished, as the other engines
scoffed.

“James,” Daphne laughed, “that is the most pitiful excuse for a ghost story I’ve ever heard!”
“Yes, chap,” Winston agreed, “I must say that I’ve been more scared at the thought of a bad
batch of oil than from that story…”
“And I suppose that either of you have got something better?” James huffed indignantly.
“As a matter of fact, I do!” Daphne boomed.

“Back on the Other Railway, my classmates and I were used to run the premium express
services on the East Coast. We held the title for many years, and always made sure that the highest
levels of service were delivered.

“But as time went on newer engines began to appear; High Speed Trains like Pip and Emma
that the Other Railway built to take over the service. Within a few years our fate was sealed, and
Management decided that we were not economical to keep; we were sent to the scrap yard.

“I was lucky enough to be bought and preserved, but many of my classmates weren’t so
lucky. In the end they faced the Cutter’s Torch.”

She stopped for a moment, breathing deeply before continuing.
“Nimbus was one of those unfortunate enough to be sent away for scrap, and was broken up
in February 1980. However, that wouldn’t prove to be enough to keep her from running again.
“In September of that same year Control received word of Nimbus hurtling along the Main
Line just outside of Crewe by train spotters. They tried to dismiss it as mistaken identity, both men
that spotted her reported seeing the same number; 55 020.
“Although she wasn’t seen again, to this day people still come forward to claim that, at
night, they hear a ghostly horn blare from the railway line; the unmistakeable horn of a Deltic…”
The engines remained silent for several moments.
“That certainly was quite impressive,” Winston finally said, “However I do know of a story
a little closer to home…”
The other engines were intrigued.
“Closer to home?” asked Squaddie, “Do you mean, on Sodor?”
“Indeed,” Winston replied mysteriously.

“When passing the carriage sidings, has anyone observed that there is a solitary coach that
has remained isolated from the others?”

The other engines remained silent for a moment, lost deep in thought.
“Come to think of it,” Sodor Castle finally said, “there is one that I’ve never seen on any of
my trains… Jinty always seemed to leave it behind in the sidings; and Ted now does the same…”
“There’s a reason they do,” Winston continued vaguely.
“And what reason would that be?” James grunted.
“It is said that she is haunted by the ghost of a young woman. How or why the haunting
started I cannot say; I’ve heard numerous tales that have attempted to explain it, each conflicting
with the other.
“However, after each sighting the same circumstance is always reported; the ghostly
reflection of a dark-haired woman in the second window from the lavatory is seen, peering into the
eyes of the witness, pleading with them to notice her… But when they turn to the seat she appears

to be in, no one is ever there…”
“So that’s why that coach is always left behind,” Henry mused, “I always left her because

everybody else avoided her. I thought it was just the done thing…”
“Then you, Sir, are a fool!” Winston barked, “To discriminate against a coach simply

because “it’s the done thing” is the sign of one who does not think things through. I will admit that I
do not believe in such things, but have only left the coach behind due to her not being attached to
my train. Should Ted choose to change that I shall show no hesitation in hauling her and showing
her the same respect that all coaches deserve.”

Henry blinked as if he’d been hit by a stone.
“Umm, well, I…” he mumbled, dumbfounded.
“I can only hope that the rest of you have a more valid reason for leaving this coach
behind?” Winston continued, glaring at the other engines.
The others remained silent, looking down at their buffers to avoid the diesel’s sharp gaze.
“Well then I would be cautious if I were any of you. After all, every coach has her day and
some days last longer than others…”
The other engines didn’t know how to reply, and decided it was best to go to sleep to avoid
the subject any further.

The next morning it was Winston’s turn to take the express. He rolled with dignity to the
platform to find the coaches ready and waiting.

“Good morning m’dears,” he said kindly, “a fine day today, isn’t it?”
The coaches twittered nervously; they seemed to be rather distracted.
“I say, what is this all about,” he asked, puzzled at their lack of response.
Ted rolled up alongside, preparing another train.
“They’ve got their frames in a knot ‘cause I added the ‘haunted coach’ to the rake,” he said,
rolling his eyes, “If you want my opinion, they all need to chill…”
Winston looked over to the little diesel.
“The side-lined coach has been added? Capital! This will allow me to prove that this so-call
‘haunting’ is nothing more than rumour and innuendo!”
And he backed down onto the coaches, who continued to mutter nervously to themselves
until it was time to leave.

Winston had a good run, and made it to the end of the line ahead of schedule. He sighed
contentedly as he came to the platform to the sound of his engines gently winding down and
watched as the passengers departed for their onward journeys. However, one passenger caught the
diesel’s eye; he had climbed down from the extra coach and stormed up the platform, his eyes
locked on the guard.

“What does this railway think it’s playing at?” he yelled, his face red with anger, “Never
before have I seen a company trying to deliberately frighten its passengers!”

The guard was confused.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” he replied cautiously, “Was our service not satisfactory?”
“You’re absolutely right it wasn’t satisfactory!” the passenger retorted, “What on earth
would drive you to put some kind of cheap camera trick into that last coach?”
Winston was perplexed.
“I’m afraid we’re not sure what you’re referring to Sir,” he said.
The passenger breathed deeply, turning towards the diesel.
“Let me explain; I was sitting in my seat when I looked out of the window. In the glass I saw
the reflection of a dark haired woman in the seat beside me, looking at me, but when I turned to the
seat it was empty. Yet it was still warm to the touch, as if someone had been there only moments
ago.”
Winston’s eyes opened widely. He had never believed the rumours, but now he wasn’t quite
so sure…

Based on two hauntings, the first being the ghostly sighting of Nimbus in September 1980 and the
second on a spectral reflection seen on the Bakerloo line

The fallout from Winston’s train worked its way to the desk of the Fat Controller, who was
most upset at the news.

“This is getting out of hand,” the Fat Controller thought to himself, “Daisy claims to have
been spooked by a ghost in Summit Cutting, Simon is convinced that a phantom is inspecting the
line near Rolf’s Castle after seeing a mysterious lamp, and now the big engines are claiming they
don’t want to take a certain coach out on their trips because it is haunted, following a complaint
from a passenger.”

And he rubbed his temples.
“What am I going to do?” he groaned.
Just then the telephone rang.
“Excuse me Sir, but we have a problem in the goods yard. The signalman has changed the
points under Robert and derailed him; the yard has been cut off by him and several trains are due
out within the next hour.”
The Fat Controller grimaced, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Send the Breakdown Train to clear the path; I’ll re-arrange the timetable to have Wakefield
take the goods.”
And he placed the phone back on the receiver.
“What a day this is…”

The rest of the day continued in the same fashion. The Fat Controller had to suffer through
several tedious meetings, and the delay caused numerous complaints from passengers. By the time
he had reached his car to head home for the evening he had developed a splitting headache.

“Never mind Sir,” his driver consoled, “I’m sure tomorrow will be better for you.”
He turned the key to start the engine, which roared, spluttered, coughed and fell silent as it
emitted a small plume of steam.
“I should have guessed,” the Fat Controller sighed.
“I’m terribly sorry, Sir. I’ll call for a private taxi.”
“Never mind; it’s such a lovely night,” the Fat Controller replied, “I think I’ll take the train;
hopefully the walk back will help quell this stubborn headache…”
And he climbed back out of the car and turned towards the station.

That evening Squaddie was due to take the evening train, and the Fat Controller was waiting
on the platform for him to arrive. The platform was reasonably quiet, as most people had already
gone home for the day, although there was one person that grabbed the Fat Controller’s eye; a
gentleman wearing an old-fashioned three-piece suit. He was resting upon a wooden cane and
continuously checking the time on a pocket watch.

“How very peculiar,” the Fat Controller mused, “I wonder if there’s been a themed event
today.”

The few passengers continued to wait for Squaddie to arrive, and soon the Fat Controller’s
curiosity got the better of him. He approached the oddly-dressed gentleman and struck up a
conversation.

By the time Squaddie had arrived the two men had been talking for some time, and
continued to as they climbed aboard the train.

“My, I must say that I am certainly not used to this sort of seating,” the stranger commented

as he sat down, “It is undoubtedly more comfortable than the stock I’ve previously travelled on.”
The Fat Controller chuckled, taking the opposite seat.
“I take it you don’t travel by rail all that often,” he responded, giving a knowing wink.
“Oh, I’ve travelled on the railway quite a number of times in my day,” came the cryptic

reply.
The Fat Controller didn’t know how to reply, and looked out of the window as Winston

thundered by on the other line.
“You know,” he said to the man, continuing to look out of the window, “something about

this reminds me of some problems we’ve been having on the railway. All of my engines have
become convinced that there are ghosts about, trying to cause them problems!”

He turned back to his new companion, but fell silent as he stared at the now-empty seat. It
was impossible for the man to have left without passing by the Fat Controller.

“It must be the headache,” the Fat Controller said in an attempt to convince himself, as he
rubbed his tired eyes…

Based on a passenger’s experience between Wandsworth Common and Victoria Station in the 1890s

Following the Fat Controller’s incident the engines became extra vigilant towards anything
that seemed out of the ordinary. Although they meant well it was causing them to become slightly
on edge.

Finally Edward decided it was time to step in.
“I know that there have been some odd occurrences lately,” he said to the other engines one
night, “but jumping at every shadow is not going to help solve things.”
“Whatever these ‘things’ may be,” Henry muttered quietly.
“So I’d suggest,” Edward continued, “that we all try to stop worrying about matters as trivial
as ghosts.”
The other engines looked between each other as Winston and BoCo gave Edward knowing
looks.
“I suppose we may have overreacted,” Gordon finally said.
“Overreacted?” James asked jovially, “Why, we’ve been acting paranoid enough to make
Alex look normal!”
The tension shattered, and the engines all laughed heartily before setting off to sleep.

The next night Edward was running his fast train from the big station down to his branch
line. Gordon’s train had been delayed and the two blue engines stood impatiently at the platform.

“It’s probably a curse,” the big engine grumbled, “it would tie in with the recent events…”
Despite the cynicism of the comment, Edward laughed.
“Not unless curses are able to make silly boys leave shopping trolleys on the line,” he said,
“Guard says that’s what’s causing the hold-up.”
But in only a few moments time Gordon’s signal changed to green and his guard blew his
whistle, and minutes later Edward was also away, his coaches singing happily behind him.

Edward made good time, but was still slightly late when he reached that junction.
“Oh well,” the blue engine said kindly to the coaches,” there’s still plenty of time yet.”
And he whistled a cheerful “hello” to Emmeleia and Jebediah.
Unfortunately, as he passed through the station the weather changed. Rain began to fall,
lightly at first, but by the time the last coach had passed the final house of the town it was bucketing
down.
“I don’t like this,” the driver said, looking out of the cab, “it gives me a bad feeling…”
“I second that!” Edward called out, blinking water out of his eyes as he struggled on.

When the train approached the next town it had become pitch dark, and the rain continued to
fall ominously.

“The signal’s green,” Edward sighed thankfully, “at least there’s nothing to slow us down…”
But as they passed through the platform Edward felt his brakes come on.
“Why are we slowing down?” he asked, completely confused.
However, his crew remained silent and, his wheels slick on the greasy rails, with a large
effort the train came to a stop.
The driver climbed down from the cab, and Edward began to again question the decision to
stop. But he stopped the moment he saw how pale his driver was looking.
“What’s wrong Sir?” he asked, as the fireman climbed down from the cab to join them.
“This had better be good,” the fireman added, looking around over his shoulders, “we’re
breaking Rule 55 right now…”

The driver opened and closed his mouth in silence, as if struggling to speak. Finally, words
came to him.

“D-d-did you n-n-not see that?” he asked, pointing towards the cab.
The fireman was confused.
“See what?”
“Th-th-that figure th-th-that jumped into the c-cab from the platf-form?”
The fireman looked up to Edward and tapped his head.
“I think all of the circulating ghost stories have got to your driver, old boy…”
“I know what I saw!” the driver yelled, still shaking, “It jumped from the platform into the
cab, all icy and dark, and demanded that I stop the train!”
“What happened to it after that, Sir?” Edward asked, “Is it still in the cab?”
The driver shook his head frantically.
“It disappeared the moment I applied the brakes.”
Just then the guard strode up.
“Is something the matter?” he asked, “I don’t recall being authorised to stop here…”
The driver began to explain, but was suddenly interrupted by Edward.
“Look at that!”
The crew looked ahead to the cause of Edward’s outburst, and gasped in surprise. There, on
the level crossing ahead, was a broken-down car. Its engine had stalled, and the lights had gone out,
making it difficult to see in the pouring rain.
“We would have ploughed right into it!” the fireman exclaimed, his eyes wide with shock.
“A good thing you stopped, then,” the guard whistled, “Good eyes to spot it in this weather,
too.”
The driver was still pale.
“I didn’t see it,” he gulped, “Some… thing jumped into the cab and demanded I stop…”
“Maybe it was warning us…” Edward interjected.
The guard looked from Edward to the crew, then broke into a broad grin.
“That’s a good one; a spirit warning the living of upcoming danger!” he said with a good-
natured scepticism, “You almost had me going for a minute there!”
And, chuckling away, he returned to his compartment to radio control about the situation.
“I don’t think he believed you…” the fireman said simply, as the crew and Edward
continued to look at the broken-down car ahead.

The next evening Edward told his story to the other engines.
“So it was only trying to help, you say?” James asked with wonder, “That does seem very
odd.”
“I can’t say I’ve heard of anything like that before,” Gordon agreed.
“Still, it does raise questions about what’s been happening here lately…” Squaddie piped in.
Edward had remained silent after finishing his tale, looking out of the shed into the darkness
beyond.
“I doubt we’ll ever find that out Squaddie,” he murmured.
“What do you mean Edward?” Robert asked, not quite understanding the puzzling comment.
“I don’t think we’ll ever understand these strange events,” Edward said after several
moments, “There are some things we’re just not meant to know…”

Based on an incident that occurred at the Hatfield Station in the 1900s