Joe moved into his new house ten days ago, and each night a train whistle woke him up around two in the morning. It can’t be. The realtor told him those real lines shut down twenty years ago. And he didn’t have neighbors to ask if they heard the same.

Joe vowed to stay up that night to see if he could catch what, or who was imitating a train. At one-thirty in the morning Joe, armed with a flashlight and revolver, set out for the train tracks. The moon was full and helped to light the way.

Twenty minutes later the tracks were in sight. A train’s whistles could be heard in the distance. He shined the light down the tracks in each direction. No train. Again, he heard the whistle. Nothing.

The whistle was getting closer and louder. Still, no train in sight.

“What the hell is going on?” he whispered to himself, reaching for his gun.

The whistling was right on top of him, it sounded. Joe also heard a dull hum. Looking up and down the tracks again, he couldn’t figure it out. What the hell? He shone the light above him. Joe caught a glimpse of something hovering in the sky. Instantly it was out of sight.

All the way home Joe pinched himself and whispered, “Did I really see that?”

Published by authorjturley

R James started writing bad poetry in his mid-30's. While taking a couple writing courses he wrote short stories with interesting characters. R James has been published in, Creepies 2: Things that go Bump in the Closet, Deviant Shadows: Tales of the Parabnormal, among others. R James got sick of the northern winters, and writes from the sunshine state, where the sun sets into the Gulf of Mexico.

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