Tracks

Deal

Another false alarm. Of course, trains passed by the house all throughout the day. This one was no different. Jacks sighs, laughing quietly to himself. For a short while as the moon continues to rise, he decides to at least try and relax after such a laborious day, but it was tricky to figure out how, having so little to do. He'd have to ask the entity for water somehow, if he was going to bathe. There were books in the house, but most were all either water damaged and wrinkled, or completely dilapidated. But the absence of medium never stops an artist. Jacks lights a match, a box of them found in one of the kitchen drawers– starting a fire in the coal-burning stove. He organizes the stack of books, ripping out title and cover pages, or water damaged pages with ink that had been displaced. Taking one of the hen's dropped feathers and mixing the leftover coffee grounds from the bottom of the pot with the small bit of water that was left, he starts on a makeshift watercolor.

Jacks had found comfort in this activity for several years of his life. Focusing on the subject at hand, seeing and turning it in his mind's eye, and placing it on the page allowed for a distraction from both his past and present struggles. He did sometimes write– but much preferred to stick to what he knew he was good at and would earn him a little bit of money. Luckily, he did still have some left from what he had earned in the town he had just barely escaped. He starts to wonder what would have happened if he had stayed, but quickly readjusts his train of thought back onto something more pleasant. Adding darker layers of coffee below each petal, a garden rose starts to form, bushy and perfect for how the coffee bleeds into the paper.

"Well now, how about that..."

Jacks nearly jumps out of his skin, jolting at the sound of the disembodied voice from behind him.

"Christ, when did you get here?"

The entity laughs. It's a new sound to Jacks, one he won't forget easily.

"Not only have you cleaned the place up, but you're making yourself right at home, now. I'm glad." He seems to step closer, causing the slightly less dirt-covered floor to creak. Not even a shadow is cast upon it. Jacks smiles, aiming the feather into the fire, tossing it in like a dart, and setting the book on the table. He sits down in one of the chairs, pulling it closer to the table.

"You seem to have energy, now... What happened last night?" Jacks asks, curious to know why he couldn't stay with him after the emotional turmoil he had endured. He leans his elbows down onto the table, resting his head on the backs of his clasped hands. "And dare I ask, what are you?"

The entity laughs again, an endeared tone in his voice as he speaks. "In the simplest of terms, a ghost." He answers, the hair on the back of Jacks' neck raising at the suspected confirmation. "But, my capacity to exist in this realm exists solely on the status of the train I conduct through it." The ghost states, the table creaking slightly as he seems to lean against it. Jacks can smell the familiar scent of coal smoke filling the room, and what he swears could be a subtle hint of cologne.

"The train?" Jacks looks towards the kitchen window, boarded up just enough to ensure security. As he looks, the high beams from the ghost's jet black train stream through the fog and into the house, disappearing just as Jacks' gaze returns to the table. It sits idly outside, cold and silent as frost collects on its iron frame. Soon, spring will set itself upon the earth, and the flowers and trees that line the tracks will be full of green and life again. But for now, the ground sat hard and cold, the only heat for miles emanating from the fire in the coal-burning stove in the abandoned house.

"The train, as it stands, is fueled sufficiently. Therefore– I'm sustained." The ghost speaks, his words slightly vague to Jacks, who raises an eyebrow.