"A Caledon Christmas Ghost Story"

By Riven Homewood

Before beginning this story, I suppose I had best introduce myself. My name is Anathea Howlett. I am a widow, and after my late husband's departure I felt it best to resume my maiden name. For several years, I have traveled about with my son Morton, who does extensive and rather mysterious business in various parts of the Steamlands. Morton's general practice is to go on ahead, locate a suitable residence, and then send for me. I am heartily sick of doing this.

Last winter, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I had noticed that Miss Riven Homewood was advertising a lovely waterfront parcel for rent in Caledon Morgaine. On my own, I met with Miss Homewood and made arrangements to lease the house and garden for the winter. I purposely did not tell Morton. I simply sent him word that I was staying with friends and would not be joining him until spring. Morton is a good boy, but he has a tendency to be a bit overprotective.

For the first few weeks, I amused myself by furnishing the comfortable old farmhouse and marveling at the floating island that was often overhead. I bought a little boat and spent entire days exploring the Firth. The neighbors were cordial, but apparently not much given to visiting, which suited me perfectly.  After years of playing hostess for Morton's business acquaintances, what I craved was quiet, nature, and no need to be nice to people.

As Christmas approached, Miss Homewood and I set up a huge lighted tree on the little island across from the house. I began taking long walks to enjoy the Christmas decorations at nearby homes and businesses. My home was circled by three different railway tracks, and I often walked along the tracks on these excursions. I was never able to decipher the schedule of the Caledon trains, so made a practice of keeping a close lookout lest I be run over.

It is an eerie experience to walk through Caledon in the depths of night. The tracks were usually quite deserted, and though I could see lights and occasionally hear music coming from nearby houses, I almost never encountered another person. 

Once I walked by the Moors graveyard and saw a dim white shape among the graves, but as it made no move to molest me I simply kept on walking.

Once I was sure I saw a ghost on the tracks, but on closer inspection it proved to be only a sheep.

I spent a good deal of time trying to move that stupid sheep off the tracks, but to no avail. It simply would not budge. Finally I began shouting at it: "Get up! Get out of the way! There is a train coming!"

Suddenly, a light went on in a house near the tracks. I heard a shout of, "I'm coming! I'm coming!" and a figure raced out of the house and ran toward us. As he drew nearer, I saw that it was a man, wearing a blue dressing gown and slippers. He was quite tall and a bit stout, with remarkable white hair that stood out all around his face and gleamed in the moonlight.

He was running so fast that he crashed right into the sheep. Amazingly, this dislodged it and moved it to the side of the tracks. Why he was able to do this when all my pushing and shoving would not, I have no idea. I did not stop to worry about it, because with no warning the train came into view and bore down up on us. I felt a tug on my arm, leaped from the tracks, and stood trembling as a mass of blackness, noise and smoke rushed by within inches of my face. It clattered past for what seemed an age.

When it had gone, I found myself clutching both man and sheep in a deathlike grip. What's more, the gentleman was clutching me also, and he showed no inclination to let go.

"Unhand me, sir!" I cried.

He did. And much to my surprise, I found I was sorry that he had.

"You are real! I could feel you!" he cried.

"Yes, of course I am -- what on earth were you expecting?" I replied.

He looked even more sheepish than the sheep - which was apparently unmoved by the encounter and quietly cropping grass next to us.

"Well, you see -- uh, Madame, will you join me for a cup of tea in my parlor? This is not a short tale, and I think perhaps it is best told over tea. And, in my case, in more proper attire."

Normally I would never have accepted an invitation to a strange man's home in the dead of night - but this was definitely not a normal night. I nodded and followed him down the hill. The sheep, much to my relief, stayed where it was and made no move to accompany us.

I was shown into a comfortable sitting room and given a cozy seat by the fire while he retired to put on both the kettle and some proper clothing. Eventually he returned, bearing a tea tray, wearing a turtleneck and trousers. In the firelight, I could see wrinkles on his face and it occurred to me that he was probably about my age. His hair had thinned a bit on top, but hung long around his shoulders, and in the firelight it looked like a glowing cloud.

After we had exchanged names (his was Jarred) and a few common polite phrases, I sipped my tea in silence and waited for him to proceed.

"I have lived in this house since the sim first came online, and this is the fourth time I have heard shouts from near the railway cut. The first time this happened, I was dozing here by the fire. I sprang up from my chair, rushed to the door, and saw what appeared to be people on the tracks with a train bearing down upon them.

"I raced up the hill, shouting warnings as I went, but it was obvious to me that I could not arrive in time and they did not appear to hear me. As I watched in utmost horror, the train came on and they disappeared beneath it's rush. When it had passed, I steeled myself and proceeded up the hill, ready to offer what assistance I could, though I doubted anyone could be left alive. But there was nobody there - quite literally, no body there -- and no sign of any carnage.

"I concluded that I must have had a remarkably realistic nightmare. For the entire next day, I was haunted by the sound of those shouts and the memory of those figures on the tracks, but I told myself that it had only been a dream and it would soon pass. And it did - three days later, I seldom found myself thinking of it. When I read in the newspaper that there had been a dreadful railway accident in Kittiwickshire, it seemed an odd coincidence.

"The second time it happened, I thought, 'Oh not another of those dreams! I hope this won't become a problem.' I suspect that I was not so quick up the hill that time, because I had an excellent view of the woman on the tracks. She was crouching down, pulling at a man who appeared to have collapsed across the railbed. She was shouting, "Get up! Get out of the way! There is a train coming!" -- exactly as you were doing earlier tonight.

"Once again, the train rushed over them. Again, when I arrived at the spot, there was no sign that anyone had ever been there. And again, three days later I received word of a terrible railway accident in another part of Caledon. Two women had been walking on the tracks and been run over. I attended their funeral, watched the anguish of their loved ones, wished somehow I could have warned them."

He looked totally desolate as he said these last words. If he had been a child and not a man, I would have put my arms around him and tried my best to comfort him.

"When I heard shouts the third time and saw figures there, I was seized by the idea that if I could arrive in time and get them off the tracks, I might prevent a horrible accident. I raced up the hill and did indeed arrive before the train. I ran to the man, who was lying across the tracks as though insensible, and tried to lift him. It was as though I had tried to lift a patch of fog - he slipped right through my fingers and I could feel nothing but a strange coldness. I grabbed the woman's hand, hoping to pull her next to me, but again I felt only cold and fog. I pulled back my hand in the nick of time - the train came very near to taking off my arm that night.

"Three days later, I received word of a train derailment in Tamaroch. Two people had been killed and seven injured."

He fell silent. After a long pause, I asked, "So when you heard me tonight, you thought that was happening again?"

"Yes - and though I did not think it would do any good, I made another try at stopping the horror. And you were real - and I saved you."

"What on earth can it all mean?"

"I don't know. I doubt that I shall ever know. But I am very grateful that you are real and sitting here with me tonight."

For a time, we sipped our tea in silence. Then he said: "The worst part was the waiting. Wondering where the accident would happen and how bad it would be. Wanting to tell somebody, and knowing I would not be believed. That people would treat me as a madman or a kind of circus freak -- or worse, believe I might be causing these disasters. And there was no way of knowing where the next one would take place, no way to stop it."

"How terrible for you!"

He looked at me and smiled. "But you believe me?"

"I have known a ghost or two myself - perhaps someday I will tell you about them. I don't know what makes them choose the person they will visit, but I know they sometimes do so."

"I am very glad I met you. Bless that stupid sheep for causing this -- and perhaps this is a sign that I will not be visited again."

"Let's hope so."

I took my leave, and Jarred insisted on walking me back to my home, although by now it was full daylight. A few days later, he returned and asked if I would like to accompany him to a skating party. In my youth I had been an accomplished ice dancer, and much to my surprise, I found my body still remembered how to do it.  We had a wonderful time.

After years of being merely "Morton's mother," I was now a person in my own right, a lady with a gentleman caller. I remember that winter as though I was always on skates. We waltzed together on the little frozen inlet by my house,  we spent many hours exploring Caledon's frozen lakes and rivers, and the only voices we heard in the night were our own.

Until one night he heard them. And I heard them too.

We were together at his house, and I was very close to sleep. At first I thought it was only the cry of a wolf or some other animal, but then I realized it was a woman's scream. Very clearly, I head the words, "Get up! Get out of the way! There is a train coming!"

I reached for him, but he was not beside me.

I went to the window, and I could see him rushing up the hill with a lantern in his hand. There was no one on the tracks, but I could hear the woman's voice again, quite loud and clear. The train came into sight, moving very rapidly. I will never forget the way its blackness and its smoke stood out so clearly against the white landscape. It looked almost like an ancient dragon rushing toward the cut and blowing smoke.

Jarred was on the tracks now, lantern by his feet, crouching down as though he were trying to grasp something. The train was drawing closer, coming very fast. I heard the woman's voice again: "Look out! Get out of the way!" She kept shouting that over and over.

I leaned far out the window, vaguely wondering why I was becoming hoarse -- and realized it was my own voice, and I was the one shouting.

Jarred heard me - I know he did. He stopped what he was doing, stood up, and looked down the hill. I could see his face white in the moonlight, with his hair standing out all around like a halo. I still see it often in my mind, though I wish I did not. He was staring at me, standing full in the center of the tracks. I don't think he even knew the train was there, until it was upon him.

The funeral was three days later.

I sat numb in the church, heard nothing of what the minister said at the graveside. When the ceremonies were over, some kind person took my arm and guided me to the house where people had gathered. Another person showed me to my usual seat by the fire. Someone placed a cup of tea beside me and a plate of food into my hand.

I sat there for a long time, and I suppose I must have eaten, for eventually the plate was empty. I rose to take it to the kitchen, where the woman washing dishes asked if I had heard the news.

"No, what news?" Although I did not really care.

"We almost had another accident last night, on that blind curve in the mountains above Wellsian. There was a rockslide on the tracks. Big rocks - it took five men and two teams of horses all morning to clear it all away. They say if the train had crashed into them it would surely have been derailed and many people hurt or killed."

"What a blessing that it did not happen. Did the engineer see it in time?"

"No, he said he would never have known it was there until it was too late. But there was a man on the tracks with a lantern, shouting for him to stop. He has no idea where that man came from, it was like he just appeared there on the tracks. But because of that warning, he was able to stop the train in time.

"It's odd, though," she continued. "Nobody seems to know who that man was. The Govna wants to give him a reward, but he hasn't come forward to claim it. And his description doesn't match anybody who lives in the mountains. The engineer is quite definite that he was very tall, and a bit stout, with long hair that was standing out all around his face. The only person in these parts who looked like that was Mr. Jarred. Some foolish people are even saying it was his ghost."

I still walk the railroad tracks at night, but now I do it hoping I will see him.