A couple of days before Halloween, I decide to head to the barn Jocelyn showed me that used to house Midnight. I’m not sure why I go there. Maybe I’m looking for answers. Or for Jocelyn to show back up in my dreams.
But you sent her away, didn’t you? And that’s not the only one you sent away either. Right, smart guy?
I hate it when my own thoughts mock me.
I’m heading down the tracks and I see the old railroad signal. Then I see something else resting in the shadows of the trees. An old boxcar is just sitting there on the tracks, waiting for the rest of the train to pick it up. It looks old, with a brownish-gray weathered color and no writing on it. The doors are shut and the wheels seem stuck.
I’ve come here a few times, and never once did I notice this boxcar. It’s impossible to miss, even in the fading light of day like now.
Instead of going to the barn, I head over toward the tracks.
As I get closer to the boxcar, I feel something strange. It’s the air around me, the way my skin feels, how something seems unsettled in my stomach. I’m sure it’s just nerves—ominous boxcars suddenly appearing out of nowhere are enough to give anyone the shivers.
But it’s more than that.
My heart races as I approach the freight car. It suddenly seems very dark outside. And I feel very alone standing here. I slowly reach out and touch the side of the car, just to make sure I’m not making this up. But it’s real. It’s made of wood that’s cracking and faded.
I walk alongside it and come to a thick, rusted-over lock. A very simple lock, something that looks as though it was designed a long time ago. Perhaps when they actually ran this train.
It makes me think of the notes I made when I was researching this town and the tracks and the Crag’s Inn for Iris. I still have the laptop she gave me. I still have the notes I was compiling.
A part of me wants to open the door. Out of curiosity. Out of sheer wonder. But another part fears seeing what’s inside.
Something seems to enclose around me. Nothing physical, just a feeling. Like something is smothering me with fear and cold and dread. Like something else is pulling and stretching and clawing at me to get inside and pull me apart. I rub my bare arms, knowing I should’ve worn more than the T-shirt I have on. My muscles ache, and I have no idea why.
I move away from the door and circle the boxcar. On the other side, I make out some kind of marking. It’s the number 1313 in big, bold paint that’s started to fade away. There’s nothing else, just the number in a dark color that is blurring out like the rest of the color of the wood.
As I get to the middle of the car on the other side, I hear sounds.
Moaning.
Not just one voice, but many.
They seem to be coming out of the railroad car.
They grow louder. A sickly, deathly sound. Almost wet and totally warped.
I hear movement.
Maybe it’s all the zombie movies I’ve seen in my life, but this is what it sounds like—a bunch of waking zombies who I know are suddenly awake inside of that boxcar.
Those things are fast, remember.
I don’t just walk away.
I bolt back down the railroad tracks to the town of Solitary.
Soon I can’t hear anything else except the sound of my own gasping for air. I slow down a bit and look back over my shoulder and don’t see anything behind me. Since the tracks have headed left a bit, I can’t see the boxcar anymore.
I stop for a minute and suck in air and look all around me. I’ll go see the old barn another day. Right now I head back to the grill where normally Mom would be.
I can’t help looking back to see whether the boxcar is going to come out of nowhere, this time doused in hellish flames, racing out of control toward me with a doorway opened like some demonic mouth waiting to swallow me whole …