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    Train Ride
    Train Ride
    Train Ride
    Ebook120 pages1 hour

    Train Ride

    By Pen

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Cheryl Rainesford takes a ghostly train ride in the middle of the night. Amy discovers extra storage space where there was none before. If you could get away with murder, would you actually commit the crime? How well do you really know the people you work with?

    Creepy tales and poems that will have you leaving on the light at night. Caution: don't read it alone!

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPen
    Release dateJul 30, 2014
    ISBN9781310685736
    Train Ride
    Author

    Pen

    Pen was bitten by the writing bug at the age of ten. She has been feverishly writing ever since. A native Georgian she lives in the Atlanta area.

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      Book preview

      Train Ride - Pen

      Train Ride

      (and other chilling tales)

      Pen

      ©2014

      Smashwords Edition

      ©2000-2013 by Pen

      All Rights Reserved

      All intellectual property herein is protected by Copyright Law. Any distribution, use or plagiarism is subject to prosecution.

      ISBN: 9781310685736

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

      This work is cat-approved.

      For my beloved Clairee

      I miss you more each day

      Table of Contents

      Train Ride

      Fear

      What do They Call Us?

      Ghost in the Garden

      Extra Storage

      Ravings

      Snow

      Summer Storm

      It Takes One to Know One

      Ghosts

      Alien Rights, Indeed

      Rough Night

      About the Author

      From the Author

      Train Ride

      Cheryl Rainesford glanced at the clock on the wall as she wiped down another table tucking the dollar tip into the pocket of her apron as she did so.

      Fifteen minutes to go, kiddo, Julia said. The redhead leaned idly on the counter before the cash register.

      Cheryl grinned. Being transparent again, am I?

      Julia shrugged and popped the gum in her mouth. If I’d been here since seven o’clock last night, I’d be checkin’ that clock every two minutes, too.

      Cheryl stepped through the swinging doorway that led behind the counter and placed the damp towel beside the sink before emptying her apron pocket of bills and change.

      Ready to change out? Julia asked as she hit the NO SALE button and the register drawer flew open.

      Cheryl quickly counted out her handful of bills and change: $22 in tips.

      Not bad for a weeknight, Julia commented as she exchanged the ones and change for a twenty.

      It’ll put some gas in the tank.

      Cheryl caught a glimpse of herself in the chrome of the dessert refrigerator. There wasn’t much to look at as far as Cheryl was concerned. She wasn’t pretty, she wasn’t ugly. Pretty plain was how Cheryl described herself. Her hair was the color of a field mouse and her facial features followed suit: two milk chocolate brown eyes set too closely together separated by her elongated nose.

      It’s those lips, honey, Julia said.

      What?

      You know what I’m talkin’ about. No lipstick but those lips look like strawberries puréed in whipped cream.

      Yeah, they’re my finest asset, Cheryl said as she wiped down the counter.

      They’re enough to get you tipped decent. And you know what I always say.

      Cheryl stated the slogan with Julia, Use whatever you got to get a tip.

      They both laughed and Julia waved her hand. Especially here. Happy Joe’s OneStop Quik Shop isn’t exactly on the main thoroughfare.

      Cheryl shrugged. No, but it is close enough to Interstate 75 to bring in some travelers.

      Mmm, Julia grunted. She allowed a beat or two of silence to lull before asking, Think your mother will still be awake when you get home?

      I’m sure she will, Cheryl sighed.

      Guess she’s afraid something’ll happen to ya.

      Sure, Cheryl said brightly. If something were to happen to me she’d have to take care of herself, wouldn’t she?

      I’m sorry, Cheryl.

      No, no. That’s okay, Julia.

      You know, your mother’s not an invalid. She could take care of herself if she had to.

      My mother has always had someone to take care of her. First her parents. Then her husband. And now me. That’s why she had me.

      Now you don’t know that, Cheryl. Besides, what are you going to do when you don’t have your mother to take care of anymore?

      Celebrate. Cheryl immediately regretted the word. I don’t mean that literally.

      Oh, I know that. But you shouldn’t have to wait for your mother to die for you to have a life, Cheryl. You’ve already waited, what? Ten years? You should think about moving down to Atlanta, going to school.

      Oh, I think about it, all right, Cheryl sighed. But then I think about my mom, all alone in that house, no one to call, no one to come around. She shook her head. I just can’t, Julia. I don’t have the kind of heart it takes to leave my mother alone like that. My dreams don’t matter. They’ve all evaporated. Right along with the coffee sitting on those back burners. She smiled and nodded her head to an almost empty coffee pot behind the counter.

      Julia followed Cheryl’s nod. She looked back at the young woman standing before her; a young woman whose eyes were tired, tired beyond tired. Julia realized that she couldn’t remember a time when Cheryl’s eyes weren’t tired. Guess I’d better fix some fresh coffee, huh?

      ***

      Cheryl rolled down the window and allowed the cool autumn air to flood the car. It was a pleasant night; the air was just brisk enough to whisk away the cobwebs and dust of her thinking. The moon was full and its light cast an eerie glow inside the lone car on Gloucester Road.

      Underneath the briskness of the autumn air, Cheryl smelled the sawdust from the lumber mill beside the railroad tracks. This odor was mixed with the faint smell of oil and grease that permeated from the machine-truck repair shop beside the lumber mill. It wasn’t a wholly unpleasant odor and not one to which Cheryl gave conscious thought. It was an odor she had grown up with.

      The headlights of the Ford Escort reflected off the crossbars as Cheryl rounded the curve. Moonlight gleamed off the steel of the tracks in the road, reflected off the road like silver glitter from a Christmas ornament. Splinters of glass twinkled along the sides of the road in the sidesplash of her headlights.

      Cheryl stopped before crossing the tracks. Three-fifteen in the morning, the crossbars up and no one around but Cheryl stopped and looked and listened.

      The green light was on down the tracks. Cheryl gunned her little Escort onto the tracks. She wasn’t sure if the green light meant a train was coming or not.

      Whatever insecurities Cheryl had about the green light, those insecurities were not shared by her car. It stopped dead in the middle of the tracks. She stared, wide-eyed at the car. It didn’t sputter or choke. It simply stopped.

      Cheryl shook her head. C’mon, old Bess, she muttered. I know you can do it. She tried the ignition, switching it calmly at first, then more severely. The only sound was the jangling of keys against each other on Cheryl’s Mickey Mouse key ring.

      Cheryl sighed. Okay. I know I’ve been putting off a tune-up. But if you’ll just start for me, I promise, I’ll get you one this weekend. Please? She tried the ignition again.

      When the warning bells clanged she thought it was her car. She listened for a moment, unable to believe such a sound could come from her little Escort. As she watched the crossbar lower in front of her, she felt the harsh realization of what was happening become an adrenaline rush of fear.

      The reflection of the red warning lights on her

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