In the years before
World War II, signalboxes were manned and lived in. One such stood near
a railway junction in the west of England; there were also a number of
sidings. In the 1920s, a family lived in the box who had a beautiful
young daughter. She had caught the eye of a young man, living in the
stationmaster's house, on the other side of the tracks. Although her
father forebade the love, well, nothing stands in the way of love, will
it now? So, the young woman sneaked out every evening to be with her
young man. Her father found out one evening, and there was an unholy
row in the signalbox. As the row went on over the signals, the father
had to change them for the approaching express from London. His
daughter took the chance, dashed down the steps and started to cross
the lines. The express was early, and before she knew what has
happening it was upon her. The driver was too late in seeing her, her
white face and billowing hair in the headlights. He braked hard, but
could not avoid a collision. The young woman was dead.
Twenty
years passed. It was now in the years after World War II, and to
alleviate the shortage of rolling stock, an old engine stood sighing in
the sidings at the station. An express train came roaring up from
London through the dark evening and passed the green signal ahead of
the station. As the locomotive drew level with the signal box, the
driver caught sight of a ghostly white face dashing up across the
lines, jumping in front of his train, trying to cross ahead of the
engine. He harshly applied the brakes, and the express juddered to a
stop at the top end of the sidings. The driver jumped out of his cab
and ran towards the rear carriages, which were level with the
signalbox. Nothing to be seen. There was no body. What was standing in
the siding next to the mainline was the old engine. The signalman, who
was still there after twenty years, leaned outside to see what the
commotion was about. He climbed down to the tracks and glanced past the
back of the carriages - and recognised the engine. It was the very
locomotive that had mowed down his own daughter, all those years ago.
Tuesday, 29 January 2008
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Ooo spooky ...love Jan xx
ReplyDeleteSpooky, I love tales like this
ReplyDeletehttp://journals.aol.co.uk/jeanno43/JeannettesJottings/
Wow, maybe they should call Ghost Hunters International! Phyllis
ReplyDeleteSpine tingling story.
ReplyDeleteJeanie
I prefer happy endings Guido. Dawn
ReplyDeleteGruesome. - BArbara
ReplyDeleteI like ghost stories.... tell another......
ReplyDeleteJoann
This story gave me chills - good reading.
ReplyDeleteLisa
I love these kinds of stories!
ReplyDelete~Rosemary
Great story ! Linda in WA
ReplyDelete