NOT ONLY HAD THE DOOR to the parlor car been unlocked, but as we passed through it, we found the door to the mysterious car ahead also wide open. We hurried into the eerie new train car.
The carriage must originally have been outfitted as some sort of deluxe suite. A full canopy bed up ahead faced a sea of velvet sofas and old travel trunks. Looking up, I took in a beautiful ornate wood ceiling, like the ones capping the rest of the cars, but this one had a carving that looked like a compass rose.
We navigated around the scattered furniture, heading for a miraculously open door to the side of the canopy bed. There, the flapper cowered in the corner behind a tall ladder. “W-what happened?” she asked. “When the lights went out, I ran.”
“Stay calm,” Biff told her. “We’re checking it out.”
“Guys.” Charlene stooped down and picked up a hat. “Isn’t this—?”
“Trent’s!” Joe exclaimed.
She handed it to him, and he turned it over in his hands, carefully examining it.
“Good find, Charlene,” I said with a shy smile.
We passed between the bed and a grandfather clock half covered by an old sheet, into what was clearly the train’s old observation car. Lightning spiderwebbed across the dark sky through the tall windows as the train rumbled on. I noted the sculpted moons, suns, and stars embellishing the wood wall of windows—Mr. Mayhem really loved a theme.
“We’re almost to the front of the train,” Joe called, as we all struggled to keep our balance despite the train’s jerky movements while it jostled along on the track. “Whoever’s up there must have the rest of the keys.”
Nearing the next door, I recoiled as my foot brushed, something—a limp hand was sticking out from a splintered opening in the floorboards.
“Trent!” I rushed forward, Joe, Biff, and Charlene at my heels. Together, we pried the wood away to widen the opening. Joe lowered the lantern to reveal a figure bound with lengths of chain and rope. A figure dressed in navy overalls. A strip of duct tape covered his mouth…. “The engineer.”
Joe probed beneath the man’s thick glove and felt for a pulse. “He’s unconscious, but he’s alive.”
Charlene gasped. “If he’s here, then who’s driving the train?”
Chet burst through the door behind us. “What did I miss?” When his gaze landed on the engineer, his smile faded and he let out a whimper. “Tell my subscribers I love them.”
“Can you untie him and get him out of there?” Joe asked.
Chet nodded, despite the fear shining in his eyes.
“I can stay too,” Charlene said resolutely.
“Same,” Biff chimed in. “Besides, they’ll need some muscle to get him out of there.” He flicked the lighter to life and handed it to Chet, then bent and, with a labored grunt, tried to hoist the engineer out, his biceps flexing and straining so hard I was sure his pin-striped jacket sleeves would split at the seams.
At the same time, Charlene knelt and got to work on the chains and ropes with the deftness of a tailor searching for the end of a thread.
Joe and I had no time to waste, even if we had no idea what we were walking into.
Joe lifted the lantern high to light the way, and we passed through the door ahead of us.
In the writing car, the smell of fresh varnish was overwhelming. There were buckets of it spilled everywhere, puddling on the hardwood and soaking into heaps of curtains and newspapers, which had been spread out across parts of the floor. So much for trying to keep things neat.
I shuddered, my eyes combing a wall panel with an inkpot-and-pen insignia carved into it, before peering back at the mounds of curtains. For some reason, I couldn’t help picturing Trent tied to the tracks ahead, the train barreling closer.
“It’s obvious someone is responsible for tonight’s strange turn of events.”
“Who’s left?” But with a sinking feeling, I knew.
Before I could tell Joe what I’d figured out, we were bursting through the door facing the coal tender. We clambered up its side, ran across its sooty surface, descended using the metal rungs on the outside, and hopped down into the engineer’s cab at the very front of the train.
We faced a defunct firebox, a kind of oven for burning fuel back in the day. Its surface was covered in a web of brass valves and tubes. A little box hung from the wall on a coil. Two empty seats looked out the front, one with an orange vest draped over the back. A soda can and a half-eaten sandwich sat on the other. To the right of the firebox was a tall and narrow door, presumably leading to the outside of the train. Leaning in the corner was a flat-end coal shovel.
Where was the switchboard to turn all the lights back on? And where was Trent?
I craned my neck to gaze up through a grate in the covered part of the ceiling, flanked by flickering fluorescent lights. They made the cab feel even more like an eerie Halloween Horror Nights scene. The rest of the cab was open—luckily, the lightning had let up—and a wailing wind and the clacking and rattling of the train roared loudly in my ears.
But the cab was empty.
“Help!” a voice cried. “Let me out….”
We raced forward across a short length of sheet metal that latched to hardwood boards, and peered into the darkness of the firebox.
Inside was nothing but ashes.
A soft thud sounded behind us.
We spun around to face the back wall of the cab. Against it, there was a dark coal box. I noted the shiny new padlock dangling from it.
Taking the lantern, I crossed the space and rattled the lock. Pounding met me in reply. “Trent’s inside! We need a key!”
“Well, well, well…,” came a deep voice.
The skinny door beside the firebox now stood open, and a figure was silhouetted in the gap.
Joe and I instinctively stepped back.
The figure raised what was undeniably a rail spike, which glinted menacingly in the dim moonlight. Well, now I knew where Ravi’s antique rail spike had gone. “The two of you call for something with a bit more oomph,” the figure said, reaching for the shovel with their other hand.
“We don’t want any trouble,” I croaked.
“Leave it to you two peepers to ruin my plans. But it looks like you boys are in a tight spot this time. Such a shame it’s come to this.”
I inched forward and held up the lantern, revealing ice-blue eyes that glinted dangerously, a smug, leering smile set in a gaunt orange face that eerily resembled a jack-o’-lantern.
The Morse code confusion with the train horn earlier now made perfect sense.
Trent hadn’t spelled out H-E-L-P.
He’d spelled out H-E-A-T-H.
Before we could react, the museum patron lurched at us, rail spike and shovel poised to strike!