Date: July 22, 1979
There's something about the Skarloey Railway that has always felt different from the rest of Sodor. The way the narrow-gauge engines wind through the mountains, nestled among the trees and cliffs, it feels older, quieter, like a secret that Sodor has kept hidden for centuries. And now, it seems that secret is beginning to stir.
I was assigned to work on the Skarloey Railway today. After yesterday's incident with the tunnel collapse, there was no escaping the gnawing feeling that something was wrong. But here, on this line, the unease was even more palpable.
Skarloey and Rheneas had been running their usual routes, carrying passengers and goods through the mountains, but something about the land itself had changed. The engines, usually cheery and dependable, were quiet as we prepared for the day's work. The air was thick with fog—so thick you could barely see the tracks ahead of you. And yet, the fog didn't move like it normally would with the morning breeze. It clung to the ground, dense and unmoving, like a shroud.
Skarloey, the oldest and wisest of the narrow-gauge engines, rolled out of the sheds with a low, almost thoughtful whistle. His driver, Mark, greeted me as I climbed into my cab to meet up with them.
"Morning, Bob. You heard about the trouble yesterday?" Mark asked, his face lined with worry.
I nodded grimly. "I was there. It was worse than they're saying. Edward... he's not the same."
Mark's frown deepened, and he exchanged a glance with Skarloey. "That's what I've been hearing. Something's stirring out there, Bob. We've felt it up here too."
"Up here?"
"Near the mountains," Skarloey piped in, his usually calm voice carrying a trace of anxiety. "The land has been restless. There've been strange winds, rockslides in places where there shouldn't be any, and the fog... it's not natural."
I had never seen Skarloey so uneasy. As an engine who had served the railway for decades, he had faced his fair share of challenges. But there was something about this that unsettled even him.
"We're headed up through the pass today," Mark continued. "There's been some debris on the tracks that needs clearing, but Skarloey swears he's been hearing... things."
"Hearing things?" I asked.
Skarloey let out a slow, hesitant puff of steam. "Whispers, Bob. I hear whispers whenever I pass through the mountains. It's like the rocks are speaking to me."
I didn't know what to say. Engines don't just hear things—at least, they're not supposed to. But ever since the tremors and the strange mist appeared, I wasn't sure what was supposed to happen anymore.
Rheneas and Peter Sam joined us soon after. Rheneas, Skarloey's oldest friend, seemed less concerned, though I could tell he was hiding his own discomfort. Peter Sam, the youngest of the trio, looked nervous but eager to help. He always tried to keep a positive attitude, even when things were at their worst.
"We'll be fine," Rheneas said as we set off. "It's just some strange weather. We've dealt with worse."
Skarloey gave a small nod, though I could tell he wasn't convinced.
We made our way up the mountain pass, the fog growing thicker with each twist and turn of the narrow tracks. The trees, once familiar and comforting, now loomed like dark silhouettes, their branches reaching out as if they could snatch us from the rails. The air was cold—colder than it should've been for a summer morning—and with each mile, the feeling of unease deepened.
As we climbed higher, the first sign of trouble appeared. A small rockslide had covered part of the track ahead, forcing us to stop. Rheneas and Peter Sam quickly set to work, using their buffers to push the debris away, while Skarloey and I waited behind.
YOU ARE READING
Sodor: Echo
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