1
Today is the anniversary of my brother’s death.
I’ve never been able to forgive myself since then. He passed on December 21st, 1997. It was a Sunday; I remember it clearly. The old railroad station on Gregory Street was where it happened.
We had been warned repeatedly by our parents not to go there, but we had to go. All the other kids were already bragging about being brave enough to sneak into the station in the middle of the night, and I really wanted to go. Tommy didn’t, though. I was the one who wanted to see the ghost, Tommy just wanted to be with me. He always did. I guess that’d sum up why he was so special to me. He always played with me and stayed with me, and didn’t make fun of me like the boys in school. To think about this now and remember his innocent stare and his words, I’ll go with you, whenever I said that I wanted to go somewhere else. It breaks my heart to know that I could have saved his life by simply staying at home.
The railroad hadn’t been used in twenty-five years, after a fatal crash with a truck put the last train out of business. Over the years, people began telling stories about a ghost train that pulled into the railroad station every night in December, a ghoul conductor in the locomotive. Naturally, that got all the kids’ attention. They would get out of their homes late at night in flurries of snow and take a peek at the station, then return home. That’s what I wanted to do on the evening of the 21st, and when I proposed the adventure to Tommy, he agreed immediately.
“Can we take Ms. Buttershoes so she can see as well?” he asked. Ms. Buttershoes was my favorite rag doll, and Tommy loved to play with it. He took it everywhere we went together.
“Sure you can,” I replied and ruffled his hair affectionately.
We sneaked out the window of my room around 9pm. It was about a mile to the railway station, and we wanted to be home before ten. It had been snowing during the day, so we wore our snow boots and heavy coats. We made our way through a soft blanket of already dirty snow, and reached the station at 9:15.
This had been the last stop for all kinds of trains in the past, carrying everything from coal to people to assorted materials for factories and mills. It was a long building with windows every five feet or so. It was now a dilapidated husk. Wooden boards were missing from the walls, some windows were missing and some were cracking, the roof was full of rot and falling apart, and the banisters on the stairs leading to the platform were rusty and rough. Next to the station stood a downtrodden diner where people arriving or leaving the station could grab a quick bite. Somewhere along the years, someone had broken its windows and forced the doors open, maybe to pilfer any items that weren’t already going to rot.
We approached the station carefully, the snow muffling our tentative steps. We entered the station and stood in the platform, the exact place where, once upon a time, people waited for the passenger train next to the tracks. The night was cold and quiet, a soft chilly breeze stole through the windows and made us shiver. After several minutes of looking around, I decided to leave.
“Really? So soon?” Tommy protested. “But we haven’t seen anything!”
“There’s nothing else to see, Tommy. There’s clearly no ghos—”
As if on cue, all the lights above us turned on and bathed us in yellow light. I looked around, looking for whoever had done it, but we were still alone. I noticed that all the windows were now in perfect condition and all the wooden boards in the walls were accounted for. There was no rust or rot to be seen; everything looked as if it had been freshly built the day before. Off to our right, I caught a glimpse of an Open neon sign shining brightly in red and blue, burning an afterimage into my eyes.
Tommy nudged my arm. “Look, Annie, the diner is open now. Can we go eat something?”
“You just ate, Tommy,” I put in. “Plus, I don’t have any money.” That was true, but there was more to it: I wasn’t sure it was wise to go in there.
Then a man with a conductor hat and greasy hands appeared next to us and smiled. “Waiting for a train?” he asked. “The 9:30 one leaves in about five minutes. You won’t want to miss it. We’ll have so much fun!”
“Thank you, sir, I said, but we are just checking out the station. We were just leaving.”
“Oh,” he looked at us with a disappointed expression in his eyes. “Well, in that case, don’t forget to come back.” He patted both our shoulders and left. I took Tommy’s hand and started to lead him back to the street.
“HEY!” Tommy yelled, and freed himself of my grip when we got to the bottom of the steps. “That man took Ms. Buttershoes from me and dropped it in the tracks. Bad man!” He ran back to the station to retrieve the doll. I turned around to see him and noticed that the station was back to its dilapidated self and that was enough to send a chill down my spine. We had to leave quickly; I had a bad feeling about this.
I followed Tommy with my gaze and saw him on the tracks, stooping down to pick Ms. Buttershoes. What followed seemed to happen in slow motion: the church’s bells began to ring in Main Street and I understood that my brother was in danger immediately. 9:30. The train was about to leave. I raised my eyes and saw the infamous ghost train everyone liked to talk so much about. On its side, the words Express to the Great Beyond were written. The train was a deep metallic blue color and translucent; I could almost make out the other side of the station through it. A skeletal head with a conductor hat leaned out the window, smiling. It was the same man who had told us about the train, in his ghoulish form—his real form. He looked at me and winked.
“Choo-Choo, kid!” and then the train started. It didn’t start like a normal train, first slow and then gaining speed. No, this train started as fast as it could possibly go from the beginning.
“TOMMY! LOOK OUT!” I yelled, but I knew in my heart that it was too late. The train accelerated toward my brother, a soft thud punctuating the collision.
As soon as it was over, I ran to the place where Tommy had been standing mere seconds before. There was no body or trace of him, only the stupid rag doll. I picked it up and sobbed with it in my arms. Why did I have to come here in the first place? It had all been so sudden, I couldn’t believe he’d been with me less than a minute ago. I sobbed harder into Ms. Buttershoes. When I looked up, I noticed the wood in the wall was scratched, as if someone—or something had purposefully etched a message into it with their nails. I came closer and found the message, You’re Next.
My heart leaping into my throat, I ran back home and got into bed. I couldn’t sleep that night, I just lay there, weeping with my doll in my arms, chastising myself and thinking about what I was going to tell my parents in the morning.
I didn’t tell them anything. Never. I kept it to myself. By the time the sun came up, a fresh flurry of snow had covered our tracks from the night before, and everyone just labeled the case as a missing person case, and that was the end of it. Tommy was obviously never found.
Now I come back here in the anniversary of his death to join him. I have Ms. Buttershoes with me and I take her out of my back pocket and hold her tightly. I approach the station and stand on the tracks, in the exact spot where he was killed twenty years ago. The station doesn’t change to the facsimile of reality it had changed into when I came here with Tommy. It knows I have given up, and wants to make it quick. I check my watch. 9:28. It is almost here. I grip the doll tightly and brace myself, closing my eyes.
All of a sudden, an engine whistle goes off and I feel warm air hit my face. The train is here, just in time. I feel a bright blue light inside my closed lids and hope that the impact won’t hurt too much. I hear the engine start and open my eyes at the last moment. Just then, someone grabs my wrist and pulls me out of the train’s way. I collapse into the side of the platform and look up into Tommy’s innocent eyes.
He doesn’t speak, but I hear his voice inside my head. Don’t do this. It wasn’t your fault.
It was, I think back to him. It was, you could still be alive. My eyes are brimming with tears.
No, it wasn’t. You couldn’t have guessed that was going to happen.
But it did! I protest.
Yes, it did. And I know the past can’t be changed, but if it’s any consolation, I forgive you.
Those two words lift a gigantic weight off my shoulders and I smile softly at him, tears overflowing from my eyes. I love you, I mouth. He grins and tells me he loves me too. Then he disappears.
I stand up and pick Ms. Buttershoes up, dust her and return her to my pocket, then head back home. I have Tommy’s forgiveness. Now I just need to work on mine.
