Hauntings: Haunted Transportation week!!!

Hello again!!

This week is haunted transportation week!  Ghost ships and possessed cars, phantom freighters and the like - this week's spooky stories are just a smattering of the options out there!  As we head into the final project: Haunted public spaces, I am very pleased to offer another guest appearance by Greg, my high school English teacher and drama coach!  Many thanks for your participation, Greg - I have thoroughly enjoyed reading your works this season!!!!

Without further ado......

Ski Run, Run, Run!

by Greg Ellstrom

Mandy and Toby loved to ski.  They had met, in fact, on a slope in Aspen, then gone to the lodge for some apres-ski food, drink, and fun.  Then they had retired for an anything but retiring night in Toby’s cabin.  That was six years ago.  Now, they had been married and reasonably happy for four years.  Mandy was able to stay reasonably happy because of the scandalous piles of money Toby made managing a hedge fund.  So much money, in fact, that she found herself capable of forgiving, or perhaps simply avoiding the thought of, the dalliances he had with comely young women he met in the course of his business and travels.  After all, there were so many boutiques selling so many wonderful things in Manhattan.  Also, Mandy was pretty comely herself, and she wasn’t averse to prowling the clubs for companionship on nights that Toby was out of town.

But the opening of Shadow Run in the Green Mountains of Vermont drew them together for what was to be a long weekend of skiing and drinking and whatever else came about with whomever else happened to be there.  Shadow Run had been in development for nearly two years, and the advertisement for the grand opening of this mother of all ski resorts popped up every week in the Sunday “New York Times Magazine.”  Rooms and ski and dining packages for the opening weekend were obscenely pricey, one of the main reasons that Toby and Mandy had to be there.

Shadow Run was everything it was cracked up to be, and the snow pack that weekend was perfect.  Mandy and Toby stayed in a suite with both a hot tub and a sauna and a mini-bar stocked with Dom Perignon.  They dined that first evening on Chateaubriand and truffles flown in that day for a small banquet for those paying the highest tariffs for their stay.  After dinner, they watched an incredible film, shot from a camera on a skier’s helmet, that featured wild rides down several of the Shadow Run trails.  So excited did the film make them, that they didn’t even go to the bar after the banquet.  They went back to their suite, chattering about the glories of the resort, hopped into bed, made love for the first time in three weeks, and popped Ambiens so they would sleep tight and be up early to ski the main peak, the giant called simply “Drop-Off.”

Seven-thirty A.M. found them with skis on in a line to a chair lift.  The gondola, it had been explained, was having mechanical problems, and the resort staff didn’t dare use it.  But there were plenty of chairlifts to access the slopes. There was a line for the chairlift up Drop Off.   It was a cold morning, but a bright sun illuminated the peak, and blue skies were the ceiling in all directions.  Mandy and Toby waited with excitemant, and it wasn’t long before they hopped on their chair, and started their ascent, rising to about 25 feet above the ground.

For a few minutes, both were silent, taking in the beauty that surrounded.  Then Mandy spoke.  “Look, Tobe.  There’s a mist rising from the valley down to the right.”

Toby looked.  “Odd.  Probably because it’s so cold.”

“It’s moving so fast,” Mandy said and, pulling off her glove, raised her bare hand above her head.  “No wind at all, though.”

“Maybe they’re making snow down there.  I’ll bet that’s what it is.”

“I don’t think so,” Mandy said and watched the fog flow toward them.  “Why is it moving so fast, honey?”

Toby shrugged.  “I don’t know.”

Mandy looked ahead at the chair in front of them.  The two skiers riding on it were pointing and peering at the approaching mist.  The woman looked back, smiled, waved, and shouted, “Spooky, huh!”

“Yes,” Mandy called back and tried to laugh but just couldn’t.

Tendrils of fog snaked their way out of the fog mass and swallowed trees.  It probably shouldn’t have been, but the fog was, for some reason, very frightening.  Mandy held tight to Toby’s hand.  “I think this is bad, Toby,” she said.

“Don’t be silly, Mand.  It’s just fog.”

“Not like I ever saw before.” 

They watched as one of the tendrils of mist engulfed the chair rising in front of them.  The chair had been there holding two people with bright wool caps, and suddenly it just seemed to be gone.  Nothing of the couple above was visible through the fog.

“They’re gone,” Mandy whispered.

“Honey, the fog is hiding them. . .I think.”  He turned his head and looked back.  Nothing there except for roiling fog.  “Shit.”

Mandy peered over the tips of her skis.  The fog was below them and rising rapidly.  “It’s coming,” she whispered.

Toby put his arm around her.  “Don’t worry, babe,” he said, his voice shaky with worry.

They watched the fog rise.  It was silent.  They were silent.  Soon it arrived and their skis and their legs from the knee down were obscured.  Mandy looked at him.  “It’s cold,” she said, “but it doesn’t hurt or anything.”

“Of course, it doesn’t.”

She reached down into the mist feeling for her legs.  She turned as pale as the fog.  Tears started down her cheeks.  “My legs are gone,” she squeaked.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tobe began. . .

Mandy pulled her arm from out of the fog.  It was gone from just below the elbow.  No blood.  No gore.  Just a missing piece of reality called an arm.  The fog rose, and they knew that they were no longer from the waist down.

“At least it doesn’t hurt,” Mandy said and squeezed her husband’s hand hand with her remaining hand.  “Oh, God, Toby.  Where are we going?”

“How the hell should I know,” her husband answered.  

“I could have been a better wife.”

“I should have been a better husband.”

With absolutely nothing they could do, they watched the fog rise higher, an inch at a time.  It was almost at her bosom, and Mandy felt bad because she had always been proud of her boobs.  Then they were gone.  She looked at Toby whose ashen head was floating above the mist.  She thought of closing her eyes. . .but, hell, there was little left to see anyway.

And for my own tale, we head once again to Wellbury.....

October 20^th, 10:54 PM, Wellbury Station

     Sarah Jeffries lifted her collar against the biting cold Autumn wind.  It swirled and bit at her, playing with the fabric of her long coat as she waited for the train at the Wellbury Station.  Like most of the town, the station was old, with brick that was pitted with age in some places, and had been outright replaced in others.  All of it needed re-pointing, and the wood trim was in desperate need of a paintjob.  The terracotta tiled roof was intact, but moss was clearly already starting to find its way out of the cracks and crevices between the tiles.  It was old, but it fit the town.  It just didn’t fit Sarah.  Not anymore.

     The decision to leave was her own, made a long time ago in her mind.  Most of Wellbury’s youth talked about going to Pittsburgh and getting out of the little town when they grew up.  Almost none of them ever ended up leaving.  That was life in Wellbury.  The same families never left.  No one new ever came in and settled down.  Sarah talked about it for a long time.  And for a long time, she did nothing about it.  She grew up, got married, bought a house, tried to start a family – all the usual things that were expected of her.  Still, she could always feel that there was something missing.

     It was her husband who finally made the decision easy for her.  Brent Jeffries was a decent man.  He worked hard as a handyman, and though it was tough getting the business started, he could be considered successful.  Mostly, it was because he never took a vacation and was always working.  He was like everyone else in that way – always talking of leaving but never actually taking the steps to do anything about it.  There wasn’t enough time, or money, or – there was always an excuse.  He always promised that it would happen, “someday.”  She was tired of waiting for someday, and when he came home earlier that evening, with news that one of his friends was putting together a hunting trip to Wyoming and that he was going to go, she decided enough was enough.

     That was when she decided to call her aunt in the city, who arranged to meet her at the train depot late that night.  She packed enough for only a few days’ time, and slipped out the door, unbeknownst to Brent.

     “I need to do this,” she said aloud, “for me.”

     Everyone knew the eleven o’clock train would be coming through.  They’d been hearing the train whistle for years.  It rarely stopped on its way through, but tonight, Sarah didn’t have long to wait until she saw the light of the engine coming down the track, even though it was still several miles away.

     “Is this the train to Pittsburgh?”

     The question came suddenly, and from behind her.  Sarah startled.

     Turning, she saw a young woman she couldn’t place.  She looked to be about nineteen or twenty, thin and pale, but not sickly.  Strands of her long brown hair poked out from beneath a red scarf she had done up around her head, presumably to ward off the wind.  Her dress was plain, but it suited her, somehow, and the overcoat she wore was equally so.  Still, she was put together.

     She looked almost familiar, but Sarah couldn’t quite place her.

     “Oh I didn’t see you there,” she said.  “I thought I was alone.”

     The girl smiled. 

     “That happens to me all the time,” she said.  I think I’m alone and then suddenly, there I am in a crowd.”  She paused before adding, “It’s a little unnerving.”

     Sarah laughed lightly.  It felt good to laugh like that, even if it was just polite conversation and smalltalk.

     “I don’t think I’ve seen you around,” she said.  “I’m Sarah.” She held out her hand.

     “I’m Emily,” said the girl.  She didn’t shake hands.  “It’s very nice to meet you.”

     “That was my grandmother’s name,” said Sarah.  “I always found it very pretty.”

     “I hate it,” said Emily.  “It makes me feel plain and boring.  I wish it was something different, something with more punch to it.  Something more important.”

     “Like what?”

     “I don’t know – something like Zoe or Samantha would be nice.  An interesting name.”

     “Well, my grandmother used to say that it wasn’t the name that mattered, it was how you lived that made the difference.  I know it sounds a bit cliché, but it’s always gotten me through tough times.”

     “Sounds like she was a smart lady.”

     “I don’t know.  I never met her.  She died the year before I was born.”

     “That’s too bad.”

     “I used to sit and listen to my mother tell me stories about her.  I would beg her to tell me stories.”  She smiled.  “Half of what I know may not even be the truth.  I think my mom made up most of the stories just so I would be quiet.  How lame is that?”

     “Lame?  Oh, I don’t think it’s that at all,” said Emily.  “If it gives you something to cling to, I think it works out well.”

     “You might be right,” said Sarah.

     “So, is this the train to Pittsburgh?” asked Emily.

     Sarah looked down the track.  The light was getting closer, though they had some time yet before it would actually arrive.  The long straightaway leading into town was known for looking deceptively short.

     “Yes, but it will be a few minutes before it gets here.  It’s further away than it looks, especially at night.”

     “Oh.  Have you ever been to the city before?  This is my first time.”

     “Only for an evening or so at a time.  This will be the longest I’ve ever stayed there.”

     “How long?”

     “I’m – not sure.” Sarah finished quickly.

     “Is something wrong?”

     “I’m fine,” she said.  “I just….need a breather.”

     “That’s me, too,” said Emily.  “I want to get out of this place and see the world!  Well – at least a bigger portion of it.”

     Sarah had to chuckle.

     “I know the feeling.  I want to just go, and keep going, without ever coming back.”

     The train pulled up into the station.  It was so sudden and quiet, that Sarah scarcely had time to react to it.  She thought it was odd, at first.  But thought nothing of it as she and Emily boarded the car and found a seat next to one another.  The train barely made a movement as it got started again.

     Sarah looked around.  The people were strangely dressed.  Some were in older outfits.  Not just out of fashion, but out of place in time.  Many were dressed formally, with oversized hats tied on with ribbons, and the men were…gentlemen.  Sarah looked over at Emily, who sat, smiling at her.

     “Is this some sort of a costume train?” she asked.

     “I’m afraid not, Dear One,” said Emily.

     Sarah looked at her quizzically.  She noticed then, how Emily’s smile was a little crooked, and her young skin had small cracks and wrinkles around the eyes.  Mostly, though, it was her eyes.  There was something strange in them, something that Sarah didn’t see in the dim light of the station platform.

     “Emily, what’s going on here?”

     Emily sighed.  “This part is always the toughest.” 

     Sarah looked around, noticing that all eyes were on her.

     “You mustn’t be upset,” said Emily.  “You just got on a train you didn’t expect was coming.”

     “What do you mean?”

     “This isn’t the train to Pittsburgh, and you aren’t going to see your Aunt Smantha, Dear One.”

     “Why are you calling me that?” asked Sarah.  ‘The only person who used to call me that –“

     She paled as she looked into Emily’s eyes.  She understood why the girl looked so familiar now.  She’d seen pictures, but it had been a long time.

     “Grandma?”

     Emily nodded.  “Yes, child.”

     Sarah started to say something, but her words would not come.

     “It’s all right,” said Emily.  “We all catch this train at some point in our lives.  It’s time you came with me, and leave the rest behind.”

As always,

Thanks for reading!

Me.