Thomas & Friends. Season fan-made

A signals warning

It was a chilly autumn evening on the Island of Sodor, and the skies had turned a deep shade of grey as dusk settled in. Gordon, the big blue engine, was waiting impatiently at the station. His Express train was delayed due to a faulty signal up the line, and he was not pleased.

"This is ridiculous," Gordon grumbled to himself. "I am an Express engine! I shouldn't be kept waiting like this."

Edward, the wise old blue engine, was resting on the adjacent track, having just completed his own run. He chuckled at Gordon's impatience. "You know, Gordon, sometimes it's better to wait. Especially on nights like these."

Gordon huffed, annoyed. "What are you going on about, Edward? Nights like these? It's just another evening."

Edward's eyes glinted as he leaned in closer. "You haven't heard the story of the Signalman's Warning, have you?"

Gordon rolled his eyes. "Not another one of your old ghost stories, Edward. You know I don't believe in that nonsense."

"Suit yourself," Edward said calmly, "but it might just explain why the signal's acting up tonight."

Gordon sighed, more out of boredom than interest. "Fine, let's hear it then. But make it quick, will you?"

Edward smiled, settling into his tale. "It was many years ago, long before most of us were brought to Sodor. There was a signalman who worked at a remote signal box, not far from here, actually. It was a lonely job, especially on nights like these, with nothing but the howling wind and the distant hoot of owls to keep him company.

"One particularly stormy night, much like tonight, he was on duty when he noticed something strange. The signal outside his box began to flicker, shifting from red to green and back again, without him touching a single lever. Concerned, he checked his instruments, but everything seemed in order. Yet, the signal continued its erratic dance.

"Suddenly, he heard a distant whistle—one that wasn't scheduled. Looking out into the dark, he saw the faint outline of an engine, moving slowly toward his signal box. But something was off. The engine was dark, with no glowing firebox, no steam, and no sound of pistons. It was as if the engine was gliding along the tracks, carried by the wind itself."

Gordon shifted uncomfortably, but tried to appear disinterested. "Probably just a trick of the light. Or the wind."

Edward ignored the interruption and continued. "The signalman, curious and a little frightened, stepped outside to get a closer look. As the engine approached, he realized it wasn't an engine he recognized. Its shape was old, weathered, and its paint was peeling away. The driver and fireman were nowhere to be seen.

"As the engine passed the signal box, the signalman noticed something even stranger. There was no sound—no chuffing, no clanking, just an eerie silence. Then, just as it was about to disappear into the night, the engine let out a low, mournful whistle that sent shivers down the signalman's spine.

"The next morning, he reported the incident to the railway authorities, but they dismissed it as a figment of his imagination, blaming it on the storm and his long hours. But the signalman knew what he had seen. And from that night on, he refused to work the late shift again. They say he was haunted by the memory until his last day."

Edward paused, letting the story sink in. "And, Gordon, they say that every now and then, when the weather's just right, that engine returns. It's a warning to all that something isn't right with the line. Maybe that's why your signal's been acting up."

Gordon let out a dismissive snort, but there was a slight quiver in his voice. "Rubbish, Edward. Just a silly story."

Edward smiled gently. "Perhaps. But it's always better to be cautious."

Just then, the signal ahead flickered back to green, allowing Gordon to continue his journey. He let off steam before he set off, snorting with a deep puff. As he puffed along the line Gordon couldn't help but glance nervously at the passing Crosby signal box. The fog seemed to thicken around it, and for a moment, he thought he saw a dark shape in the distance—an engine, barely visible through the mist.

Gordon shook himself. "It's just my imagination," he muttered. But as he chuffed down the line, he couldn't shake the feeling that something—or someone—was watching him from the shadows. He was soon stopped at a signal at Wellsworth. "What's going on?!" Gordon ordered to the station master. "I don't know," Said the Station master "Why you asking me. Ask that signal man. I don't control the points." Gordon looked over to the signal box, the lights were off and it seemed that there was nobody there. Suddenly, a whistle blared out in the distance. The sight of an engine could be seen cutting through the deep fog heading towards Wellsworth, seemingly following him. "Oh. Oh dear. What's that." Gordon called. His driver looked back in confusion and then his face of confusion turned to one of annoyance. "Oi you! He called "Your not meant to be out here!" There was no response. It just continued along towards the rails. Then, the signal went green and Gordon immediately surged forwards. "Woah! Steady Gordon!" Called his driver "We're not late." Gordon gave no response. He just continued along the line, speeding up and over the hill with no issue. He didn't stop till he reached Crovans gate. The engine, was no longer in sight. Once the guards whistle blew he continued along the line and completed his express run with no further sightings of that engine. 

That night, Gordon returned to the shed in silence. He didn't say a word to the other engines, but as he settled in for the night, he found himself listening for the distant whistle of an unseen, unknown engine. And when the wind howled through the shed, he couldn't help but wonder if Edward's story had been more than just a story after all. Perhaps he'll find out eventually. But I'm sure Gordon's had enough stories about ghosts for the rest of his days.