The Train

Newspaper

I froze, still processing what had happened. Mechanically, my legs started carrying me away, running in the opposite direction as fast as they could. My frozen mind faintly tried to order my legs to go back, help those people trapped in the train I couldn't see. But I was like a spooked rabbit, bolting blindly from danger, survival instincts taking charge. Breathing hard, feet pounding, I didn't dare look back. I shot out into sunlight, nearly careering into a sign in front of me, rusted with age. ABANDONED IN 1932 was clearly etched into the iron, glaring out in front of me. A faded newspaper article was framed and nailed up on a post next to it.

DOZEN INJURED IN TRAGIC TRAIN CRASH
Police are still investigating the crash of No. 26, which had left 23 injured and 14 dead. Survivors report the driver had been seen to be unsteady on his feet before driving the train and that several asked if he was quite alright.
"I blame the driver, he was drunk as a fish!" Mr Spenlow quoted our reporter.
Frank Alder, it seems, has disappeared without a trace. Most likely the conclusion will be a case of drunken driving.

My blood turned to ice. My grandmother's last name was Alder.
"Alder....."
I whipped around. There was nothing I could see. That didn't mean there was nothing to be seen. A cold finger crept down my spine. Whispers just too quiet for me to hear. Whispers from a past long gone.
"We blame Alder......"
Shadows enveloped my body. I fell through the ground and darkness filled my last thoughts.