Next Stop

The first sign that something was wrong wasn't the town. It was the silence.

Will Orson eased his aging car onto the shoulder of the lonely two-lane highway and killed the engine. Steam curled lazily from beneath the hood and disappeared into the warm afternoon air. He deeply sighed, rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, then and climbed out to inspect the damage.

“Come on,” he muttered to himself. “Not today.”

But it was going to be today, because the radiator had finally surrendered. He wasn't a mechanic, but Will knew enough to recognize defeat when he saw it. The coolant reservoir sat empty, and a thin trickle dripped steadily onto the cracked asphalt below.

He glanced up and down the highway and saw nothing. No traffic. No houses. Just rolling hills, thick pine forests, and an endless stretch of road that seemed to have forgotten where it was g going. Will’s phone also had no signal, which wasn’t surprising.

He leaned against the car and unfolded the worn road map he'd picked up at a gas station that morning. Most people laughed at paper maps these days, but Will liked them. They didn't lose batteries, and they never insisted on recalculating.

A tiny dot caught his eye that was close to his current location: Ashcroft. It was no more than five miles ahead. As much as he didn’t want to do it, the town was close enough to walk. He locked the car, slung his dufflebag over one shoulder, and grabbed his camera from the passenger seat out of habit, and started down the highway.

He didn’t jog but just kept a steady pace to keep his body from sweating too much. His father always told him that slow and steady won the race and that patience was often rewarded. In this case, his reward was a sign that welcomed visitors that looked older than the road itself.

WELCOME TO ASHCROFT: Population: 611

While taking a short break Will noticed beneath the faded lettering that someone had carved a phrase into the wood decades ago: Safe travels.

The paint had long since peeled away, but someone still made an effort to keep the flowers planted beneath it alive. That made Will smile.

“Small towns.” He muttered to himself.

As Will stepped past the sign and immediately noticed something unusual. The town felt quite peaceful. Not like it was empty… simply peaceful. He could hear children playing as he walked past a small park. A dog barked at him twice before being called inside. An elderly couple sat outside a bakery sharing coffee as though they had nowhere else in the world to be. The town felt comfortably out of step with modern life. Main Street consisted of little more than a diner, a hardware store, and a barber shop. The only church in town had a white steeple, and after walking past it Will came upon a modest brick building bearing a weathered sign that read:

ASHCROFT MOTOR LODGE

That was exactly the sort of place where everyone knew everyone, and also the sort of place where strangers stood out. People smiled politely as Will passed by, and several offered friendly nods. One old man even tipped his hat, but no one stared. If they were curious about the newcomer, they were too well-mannered to show it and Will liked that.

It didn’t take long for Will to find the local motel. The bell above the office door jingled softly as he stepped inside. Behind the counter sat a woman in her late sixties with silver hair gathered into a neat bun. She looked up from a crossword puzzle and smiled.

“You look like someone who's had a long walk.” She observed.

“I've had a longer day.” Will replied.

The lady behind the desk chuckled.

“Car trouble?” She inquired.

“Do I look that obvious?” Will asked with a smile.

“It happens more often than you'd think.” She informed him, as she slid a registration book across the counter.

“I'm Margaret.” She softly said, “And I’m going to need to see some I.D. please.”

Will natural defence wanted to protest, but he understood this was common for most major hotel chains, so he pulled out his wallet and handed his driver’s license over to Margaret.

“Willem Orson,” Margaret said as she read the name on the license out loud.

“I prefer Will,” he replied, “Only my mother called me Willem.”

Margaret paused briefly as she wrote his name.

“Just passing through, Will?” She asked.

“Supposed to be.” Will confessed.

“Men usually are.” Margaret replied.

Will laughed as Margaret handed him an old-fashioned brass key attached to a block of polished wood. The number seven was engraved into the piece of wood. Will looked at the key with genuine curiosity.

“No key cards?” he asked her.

Margaret looked genuinely puzzled.

“What would we need those for?” she replied.

“Fair point.” Will conceded.

As he signed the register, she added almost casually,

“Earl down at the garage also owns the only tow car in town.” Margaret added, as she likely knew tat was going to be his next question. “Business is usually slow this time of year, so he could probably have your car vehicle fixed up by morning.”

“Morning works.” Will replied.

“It'll have to.” She informed him like there was no other choice. Something about the way she said it made Will glance up. Her smile hadn't changed, but the words lingered in the air a second longer than they should have.

Will quickly went to his room to check it out and drop off his things. He tossed the bag onto the bed and quickly opened it. He removed a small frame from the bag and put it on the nightstand beside the big bed. Inside the frame was an old photograph of his father. In the picture he was thirty years old and was standing beside the same old car that just broke down.

Will smiled for just a second.

“Still miss you, Pops.” Will softly whispered.

After quickly settling in, Will decided to wander through town with his camera hanging around his neck. Photography had started as a hobby many years ago before becoming the thing that paid the bills. He wasn't the guy who was chasing headlines or celebrities, as Will preferred to look for forgotten places. We’re talking old barns, abandoned churches, roadside diners, and quiet streets that appeared untouched by time.

Ashcroft was exactly the kind of place that Will’s editors loved. He photographed flower boxes beneath storefront windows, an old bicycle leaning against a picket fence, and the church bell tower silhouetted against drifting clouds.

Near the edge of town, Will stopped. Standing before him was an abandoned railway crossing. The crossing arms were still there, but rust covered every inch of them. The warning lights had gone dark decades ago and there were no tracks. Only two long strips of pale gravel disappearing into the grass on either side of the road, as though the railway had simply vanished. Will crouched and snapped several photographs.

“That's odd.” Will said as he took a picture.

“Isn't it?” a voice replied.

The voice startled Will, as he jumped back to his feet. An elderly man stood nearby holding a grocery bag. He smiled kindly.

“They tore the rails up before I was born.” The old man added. 

“Seems strange to leave the crossing.” Will replied.

The old man shrugged.

“Some things are harder to remove than others.” The old man said, even though Will wasn't entirely sure what that meant.

Before Will could ask, the old man tipped his cap.

“Enjoy your stay, son.” The old man said before he continued down the sidewalk.

Will started t feel peckish so he walked over to the local diner. It was filled steadily as evening approached. Will settled into a booth by the window with a plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes that tasted exactly like every small-town diner meal ought to. It was comforting, unpretentious, and the kind of meal that hit the right spot.

“You staying long?” The waitress asked as she topped off his coffee.

“Just tonight, I hope.” Will answered.

“Good.” The waitress said with a warm smile.

All around Will conversations flowed rather easily. There was talk about farm prices, a birthday party, and the high school's baseball team. Nothing that was unusual nor mysterious. If this town had secrets, it appeared to carry them well. As the clock above the counter reached six, people began finishing their meals with surprising efficiency.

By seven, several businesses outside had already switched their signs to CLOSED, which caused Will checked his watch.

“A little early, isn't it?” Will inquired.

“Nope,” The waitress said as she gathered empty plates. “We close before midnight.”

“Busy tomorrow?” Will asked.

“No.” The waitress said, as she hesitated just long enough for him to notice. “That's just how it's always been.”

The sun started to slip behind the surrounding hills, bathing Ashcroft in deep amber light. As Will walked back toward the motel, he noticed porch lights flickering on one by one. Front doors were closed, and every curtain was drawn. The town hadn't become frightened but were looking more prepared for something. 

Margaret was waiting outside the motel office watering flowers as Will slowly walked back to the motel.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Margaret started, “I called Earl and told him that you walked into town after your vehicle broke down.”

“Oh, thanks.” Will said, as he was pleasantly surprised. “I tried to visit him, but he wasn’t in the shop.”

“That’s cause he was already out with the tow car,” Margaret replied, “It’s already back at the shop, and Earl was eager to get to work. Like I said before business is slow so Earl was excited to have something work on. He says your car will be ready around ten tomorrow."

“Wow,” Will said, again surprised. “That's great news!”

“It gives you one less thing to worry about.” Margaret noted.

“I wasn't aware I had more than one.” Will replied.

Margaret set the watering can down, and for the first time since he'd arrived, her expression grew quite serious.

“Mr. Orson,” she called out.

“Please, it's Will.” He corrected her.

“Will,” Margaret said, inclining her head. She looked toward the old railway crossing in the distance before meeting his eyes again. “This town only has one rule.”

“Okay,” Will replied, as curiosity was getting the best of him. “What is it?”

“If you hear the train tonight,” Margaret said, and she spoke so softly that he almost missed the final words, “Don't leave your room.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Will said, with a polite smile.

“I mean it,” Margaret said, as expression didn't soften. She took a step closer, lowering her voice until it was almost a whisper. “You need to lock your door and close the curtains. Don’t look out the window no matter what you hear. And most importantly… don't answer it.”

“Answer what?” Will asked.

“The train.” Margaret answered.

Will couldn't help but laugh rather loudly.

“The train?” Will repeated, “But there aren't any tracks.”

“There aren't.” Margaret confirmed.

“Then what am I supposed to hear?” Will asked, as he was genuinely confused.

“You'll know when you hear it.” Margaret said, as she held his gaze. “Just heed these words and indulge us, Will. Do not leave your room, don’t respond, and do not look out your window.”

Will looked at hear and tried very hard to feel the urgency in her voice. Finally, Will slipped the room key into the lock.

“I appreciate the concern.” Will told her as he opened the door.

“I hope you do.” Margaret said, as she walked away to return to the office.

Before Will closed the door, the church bell rang once across the quiet town. As it was ringing, he heard a screen door slammed somewhere down the street. Then another, and another after that. By the time Will looked back toward Main Street, there wasn't a soul outside. The street was completely deserted.

Will locked the door behind him and stood for a moment in the center of Room Seven. The room was exactly what he expected from a roadside motel. A neatly made bed with a faded quilt, a small writing desk beneath the window, and a television that looked old enough to have survived at least four presidents. The humming air conditioner was fighting a losing battle against the summer heat. The room was comfortable, and ordinary. Will set his camera on the desk and glanced toward the curtains. They were a very heavy brown fabric, and they were already drawn tightly shut. Margaret's words drifted back to him as he stared at the drawn curtain.

Lock your door.

Close the curtains.

Don't look out the window.

Don't answer it.

“Ghost stories,” Will said, as he chuckled quietly to himself.

Every town had a local ghost story. Some had haunted bridges, while others swore there were lights in the woods or monsters in forgotten lakes.

Ashcroft had a train without tracks, so as far as local legends went, it wasn't a bad one. He had heard worse and found it quite fascinating. Will spent the next hour reviewing the photographs he'd taken that afternoon of the town’s bakery, church, and even that abandoned railway crossing.

Will smiled at that last one, as the composition had turned out better than he'd expected. The rusted crossing arms framed the empty road perfectly, creating the illusion that something ought to be there. But something was missing. Will zoomed in, and for just a heartbeat he thought he saw a figure standing beyond the crossing. He appeared to be tall and was wearing dark clothes. Will blinked, and the image softened into nothing more than the shadow of a pine tree. Will laughed at himself.

“Too many late nights.” Will said to himself as he closed the camera.

Around half past ten Will switched on the television. He frowned when all he got was static. So, he tried another channel. More static. Every station had vanished, even the weather network. Even the radio beside the bed offered no better luck as all he got was a blanket of soft white noise. He turned it off, and the silence that followed seemed louder somehow.

A knock at the adjoining wall startled him, as there were three soft taps. Will looked toward the sound. Nothing followed, so he assumed it was probably old pipes which was quite common for buildings this old. Rather than dwell on it, Will returned to a book that he was reading. A minute later there were three more taps. They were softer this time as if they were deliberate. Will stood and rested a hand against the wall.

“Hello?” he called out.

There was no answer. He waited another minute before shaking his head and concluded that his imagination was beginning to work overtime. By eleven o'clock the town had become unnaturally quiet. There were no cars, no conversations, and not even any barking dogs. The silence wasn't peaceful anymore as it was expectant. Will realized he hadn't heard another human voice in nearly an hour. Curiosity got the better of him as he crossed the room and reached for the curtain. His fingers brushed the fabric, and then he stopped.

Margaret's warning echoed in his mind: Don't look out the window.

He smiled at himself.

“You've got me.” Will said, as he let the curtain fall back into place.

Instead, he chose to consult his watch: 11:18.

Forty-two minutes until midnight, Will said as he decided a cup of coffee would help pass the time. The motel office was only a few steps away. He reached for the doorknob and as his hand closed around it, Margaret's voice returned again: Don't leave your room.

“This is ridiculous!” Will said, almost groaning his displeasure.

Still… coffee could wait until morning. Will locked the deadbolt again and then returned to bed to resume reading his book.

At eleven-thirty the church bell rang.

One... Two... Three...

Its slow chime rolled across the sleeping town. When the final note faded, another sound replaced it.

A metallic clanging. Faint and rhythmic.

Ding... Ding... Ding...

Will frowned as it sounded like the railway crossing, but that’s impossible. There weren't any tracks. He walked halfway toward the window before catching himself.

“No.” Will said to himself, as he slowly backed away.

The crossing bell continued for perhaps thirty seconds before falling silent once more, and then everything returned to stillness.

Will looked back at the time: 11:47.

At this point sleep was impossible to achieve. Will was pacing the room, the old floorboards creaking beneath each step. He went to the bathroom and poured himself a glass of water from the sink. Even the pipes seemed quieter than before.

After finishing the glass, Will decided to check his cell phone. Still no signal, but the clock beside the bed had changed: 11:59.

Without warning the bedside lamp flickered once, and the air conditioner shut off. The room became perfectly still. Then far away, so far away it might have been carried on the wind... there was a train whistle. That whistle was long, low and very haunting. Not the sharp blast of a modern locomotive, as this sound was deeper, maybe even older. The mournful cry of steam and iron echoing across impossible miles.

Will's heart skipped a beat as he waited a short moment before the sound came again. This time the sound was closer. Followed by the unmistakable rhythm of steel wheels turning over rails.

Clack... clack... clack... clack...

The sound was slow, steady, and drawing near.

Will stared at the curtains because beyond them something was coming, and there was nowhere for it to come from.

The whistle came again and it was longer this time and much closer. It rolled through the darkness like a mournful hymn, rising and falling until every note faded into silence.

Then came the wheels.

Clack... clack... clack... clack...

The sound was slow, measured, and precise. Will stood frozen in the center of the room. The sound was unmistakable now as he could hear steel wheels rolling over steel rails. Except there were no fracken’ rails! Will remembered taking pictures of the railway crossing and the tracks had been long removed. The old man who spoke to him even confirmed it.

Will looked toward the curtains. Every instinct told him to leave them alone, to lock the deadbolt, and just climb into bed. To pretend none of this was happening.

Instead, Will took one slow step. Then another.

As the sound grew louder, the motel windows trembled gently in their frames. A coffee mug on the bedside table had begun to rattled.

Steam hissed somewhere outside as Will stopped beside the window. His hand hovered inches from the curtain and Margaret's warning echoed in his mind: Don't look out the window.

Will closed his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” he softly whispered, though he wasn't sure to whom. Then with one small motion, Will pulled the curtain back just an inch, but that was enough.

The abandoned railway crossing had blazed to life.

Red warning lights flashed in perfect rhythm.

Ding... ding... ding... ding…

The crossing arms had lowered across an empty road as there was no one was there to stop. The bell continued its lonely warning as the locomotive arrived. It didn't emerge from the darkness. It simply... appeared.

The enormous steam engine, black as polished obsidian, gliding silently along tracks that did not exist. Its brass fittings gleamed. White steam curled gracefully around its wheels before dissolving into the night air. Not a single puff of smoke escaped its stack as it moved with impossible smoothness, as though reality itself had made room for it. The cars behind it stretched farther than Will could count, and each window glowed with warm golden light.

That light was comforting, even inviting. Like the windows of a train were carrying families home for Christmas. Except every passenger sat perfectly still. Some of them were reading books and newspapers, while others stared into teacups. A little girl was hugging a stuffed bear, while an elderly couple held hands. He even noticed a soldier sleeping against the window.

No one on the train spoke, laughed, or even acknowledged the town until one man looked up. He appeared to be in his early thirties and has broad shoulders. He wore a weathered flannel shirt and had a leather watch wrapped around his wrist.

The young man on the train smiled politely, the way one traveler would recognize another.

Then the man lifted his hand and made a simple wave.

Will smiled despite himself, as it was instinct and nothing more. He also raised his own hand and waved back to the man on the train.

The moment Will waved back, the man's smile vanished. His eyes widened as confusion had suddenly turned into recognition, and that turned into horror. The man on the train lurched forward until his face nearly touched the glass.

Will frowned as there something about him, about the shape of his face. The familiar crease beside one eye, and even the old watch. It looked just like the one Pops had worn every day. The train slid beneath the glow of a streetlamp, and as it did light spilled across the man's face. As the man’s face lit up, Will's breath caught in his throat.

“Pops?” Will said, as he couldn’t believe it.

The man's hands slammed against the window, as his mouth opened.

Will heard nothing beyond the whistle, but he knew what word was being spoke.

“NO! NO! NO!”

The man on the train scar the glass with desperate force. He wasn’t trying to escape but was trying to reach out to him. Trying to stop something that had already happened.

On the train, a white-gloved hand settled gently upon the man’s shoulder.

It was the conductor.

He was immaculately dressed in charcoal gray with silver buttons, and a brass pocket watch hanging neatly from his vest. The conductor didn't pull or threaten the man on the train. He simply rested his hand there. Will's father closed his eyes, and his shoulders sagged. For one last moment, the man looked at his son. His face looked to be full of regret and sorrow as he allowed himself to be guided back into his seat.

The conductor adjusted the cuff of one white glove with quiet precision. Then, almost absently... he looked directly at Will and tipped his cap.

Right after that the final carriage drifted past, and the whistle sounded once more before the train simply vanished.

It was gone.

The crossing lights stopped flashing, and the bells fell silent. The crossing arms slowly rose and the town was still once again as though nothing had happened.

Will didn't remember climbing into bed that night as sleep came in scattered fragments. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Pops pounding helplessly against the glass. As the morning sunlight poured through the curtains, Will could hear the birds singing outside. Someone laughed on Main Street and cars were roaring by.

It all felt impossible.

Had he dreamed it?

Will almost convinced himself that he had until he noticed the curtain. It was still pulled back and was still moved only an inch. Exactly far enough to look through.

When Will finally emerged from his room, his car was parked by the office. Margaret was already outside when he loaded his dufflebag into the car.

She smiled kindly to him.

“Earl did good work.” Will called out to her.

“He always does.” Margaret called back.

“Margaret,” Will said before he hesitated. “I had... the strangest dream.”

Margaret's smile faded.

“Dreams can feel very real.” She replied.

Will wanted to ask her more but was afraid to.

“What do I owe Earl for this?” Will asked, eager to change the subject.

“Just a few small parts and a bit of labour.” Margaret answered, “It came to about seventy bucks and change. I can add it to your hotel bill if you’d like to pay them both at once.”

“I appreciate that,” Will said, as he followed her into the office.

He gave her his credit card and got watched as she processed all charges including the one for Earl for fixing his car.

“Did you sleep well?” Margaret asked as she waited for the machine to finish their transaction.

“Not well,” Will honestly answered, “But that happens all the time for me.”

“Fair enough,” Margaret said, as she watched the machine spit out some receipts. She ripped one off and handed it over to Will.

“Thank you,” Will said, smiling back.

Margaret watched as Will walked back to his car and pull it back onto the road. She remained standing long after his car disappeared over the rise.

“I'm sorry.” She softly whispered into the empty morning air.

Will and his car were back on the main road and driving towards his next assignment that he was already very late for. The radio played an old rock song as traffic drifted comfortably in both directions. Everything felt normal, again. Wonderfully normal. Will laughed softly, thinking that maybe exhaustion had done strange things to his mind. Maybe grief had found an unexpected way to visit him. Will slowly came to a stop at a red light. He was tapping the steering wheel to the rhythm of the kickass song he was listening to as he patiently waited for the light to change.

Without thinking, Will glanced into the rear-view mirror and noticed that someone was quietly sitting in the back seat. He recognized the man almost immediately. He was wearing the same charcoal-gray uniform, with white gloves folded neatly over the handle of a polished walking stick. A brass pocket watch gleaming softly against his vest.

The conductor.

He met Will's eyes in the mirror and then smiled. The man’s grin wasn’t cruel nor triumphant. It appeared courteous, professional, and even pleasant. It was as if he was greeting a passenger whose ticket had already been punched.

“Good morning, Mr. Orson.” The conductor said as he tipped his cap.

Will couldn't move even though the traffic light had turned green, and horns were blaring behind him. The conductor glanced toward the windshield, and then back to Will.

His smile never changed.

“Next stop!” The conductor called out to him.

Then far away... a steam whistle echoed across the morning sky.