Diary of Robert Lockwood
Entry: October 27, 1907
The morning unfurled in a typical European charm, sunlight streaming gently through the lace curtains of our home. The air carried a faint chill, a reminder of autumn's firm grasp, and the aroma of fresh coffee wafted in from the kitchen. Marylin, as always, was up before me, her hands deftly setting up breakfast. She had prepared a hearty spread-freshly baked croissants, a platter of assorted cheeses, smoked salmon, and marmalade gleaming like amber in its jar.
In the corner of the room, Arthur and Emma were in their usual morning bustle. Arthur, now eight, was already dressed in his uniform, but his messy hair was a stark contrast to his polished shoes. "Arthur, eat your eggs properly," Marylin scolded lightly, while he poked at them with his fork, clearly more engrossed in the adventure novel he had tucked beside his plate.
Emma, just seven, skipped around the table, her braids swinging with every step. "Papa, are you taking us to school today?" she asked, her big brown eyes lighting up.
I ruffled her hair and smiled. "Not today, sweetheart. I have a busy day ahead. But maybe tomorrow."
Marylin looked up from her cup of coffee. "Are you still planning to talk to Pavel?"
I nodded, thinking of the strange gaps in the schedules Pavel had mentioned last week at the station. Trains delayed without cause, workers reporting eerie occurrences, and now this absurd halt for twelve hours due to some supposed Romanian ritual. It all felt too peculiar.
Breakfast concluded in the usual flurry of coats, scarves, and hurried kisses. Arthur and Emma dashed out the door, their laughter echoing as Marylin escorted them to the carriage for school. Left alone, I put on my overcoat, grabbed my leather briefcase, and set out for the station.
---
By the time I reached, the news about the ritual had spread. The entire station was to cease operations for twelve hours starting at noon. Pavel stood by the platform, his face shadowed with worry.
"It's the Miezul Nopții ceremony," he explained. "An old Romanian tradition. The elders claim it's to honor the spirits of the tracks."
I raised an eyebrow. "And we're halting an entire station for this?"
Pavel shrugged helplessly. "The workers refused to come otherwise. They say the spirits grow restless in October."
Despite my skepticism, I decided not to push further. Superstitions ran deep in these parts, and though I didn't believe in ghosts, I respected their beliefs enough to avoid stirring trouble. With no trains to manage and a night shift ahead, I returned home early.
---
The afternoon unfolded quietly. Marylin had prepared a warm lunch-roast chicken with potatoes and a bowl of hearty vegetable soup. The children chatted about school as we ate together at the long oak dining table.
"You should've seen Mrs. Kent's face when Emma told her the answer!" Arthur exclaimed, laughter spilling over.
Emma blushed, her cheeks a rosy hue. "It wasn't that funny."
Their innocent chatter was a balm to the strange unease growing in my chest. Perhaps it was the idea of pulling an all-nighter, or maybe Pavel's ominous tone earlier in the day, but something felt...off.
By evening, the children had retreated to their rooms, and Marylin sat by the fireplace, engrossed in her embroidery. I tried to relax, but as the hours ticked by, an odd sense of foreboding crept in.
---
At midnight, I set out for the station. The streets were eerily quiet, the gas lamps casting elongated shadows that flickered like ghostly figures. When I arrived, the station was nearly deserted. Only a handful of workers were present, and even they seemed reluctant to meet my eyes.
The air was thick with an unexplainable chill. The usual hum of activity was replaced by an oppressive silence, broken only by the occasional whistle of the wind through the steel tracks.
As the clock struck two, the faint sound of an engine reached my ears. I froze. There was no train scheduled to pass, especially during the ritual halt.
I walked to the platform, my boots echoing on the wooden planks. In the distance, I saw it-a locomotive, its outline shrouded in mist. It moved slowly, almost hesitantly, as though it had lost its way.
"Pavel?" I called out, hoping for an explanation. No response.
The train rolled closer, and I noticed something unusual. There was no driver in the engine. The headlights pierced through the fog, illuminating the empty tracks ahead.
My breath hitched as the train came to a stop at the platform. The doors creaked open, but no passengers emerged. Instead, a gust of cold air swept through, carrying with it a faint whisper. I couldn't make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable-melancholic, almost pleading.
Against my better judgment, I stepped closer. Peering inside, I found the carriages empty, their seats covered in a fine layer of dust. Yet, there was something else-a faint outline of figures, like shadows etched into the air, lingering just beyond sight.
Suddenly, the whistle blew, sharp and piercing. The shadows disappeared, and the train began to move again, vanishing into the mist as abruptly as it had appeared.
---
By the time I returned home, dawn was breaking. Marylin was waiting by the door, her face pale with worry.
"What happened?" she asked, her voice trembling.
I hesitated, unsure of how to explain what I had seen. "Just...a strange night at the station," I replied, forcing a smile.
But deep down, I knew this was only the beginning. Something was stirring in the quiet town of Lakeshire, something far beyond my understanding. And for the first time in years, I felt genuinely afraid.
End of Entry.
YOU ARE READING
1864
Historical Fiction"They are here." "Don't go out." In the year 1864, when railway was introduced in Lakeshire, a small town in Romania, Railway Worker Robert Lockwood along with his family was transferred there to start its functioning in full phrase. A new town, new...
