Richard the black engine has a very important job. Every night, he hauls many important trains too and fro, these are done in the cover of night for convenience's sake, and Richard knows how to handle any train he's given.
Now, Richard is a brave engine, but one thing he doesn't like is fog. Whenever fog rolls in, it can cause many long delays, and as a whole, looks very sinister.
One night, Richard was running late. One of the cranes at the harbour was damaged, and it had taken some time to mend it. Richard was uneasy, the fog seemed to act like tenerals, waiting and itching to grab him at any second. He was hoping, more begging for a clear run. But a red glow in the distance caused a sickening feeling to appear in his firebox.
"Bother!"
His driver snapped.
"We were running so well too!"
Richard came to a shuddering stop, to a silent and dark void. He looked around, trying to adjust to the fog. He could make out a few shapes, enough to tell he was just clear of the viaduct, while many of his trucks sat on the old bridge. As his crew discussed, Richard became distracted, he was listening to the world around him.
Suddenly, he thought he heard something. The first few times he swore he heard it, he couldn't place what it was. The sound never became louder, nor quieter, it sounded like muffled words, like something not quite human, trying to impersonate what it had heard. Richard gulped. His eyes began to dart around frantically. The lights in the distance seemed to act like hollow eyes, staring at him like he was there next meal, ready to chew on his funnel, and swallow his buffers. The fog danced around like long fingers. Which seemed to try and scratch across his boiler. The disembodied sounds almost chanting him onwards, Richard began to panic. He felt his boiler tighten. He felt as though he could cry, he shut his eyes tight, hoping whatever it was would be quick.
The silence that plagued his mind was cut short by a distinct 'Clunk' sound, Richard looked up to see the signal had changed.
"D'ank goodnezz!"
His Stoker snarled.
"I d'ought we'd be zuck out here all night!"
Richard didn't reply, as he puffed sheepishly away.
The next morning, he told the other engines what had happened.
"How unexplainable?"
Alfie gasped.
"How odd."
Duck added.
"What do you think it was?"
The sheds fell silent, all unable to come up with a solution. Their thoughts were cut short by a deep toned whistle. As Douglas steamed in.
"Heads up lads!"
Douglas spoke.
"I was just told by Chosca that it'll be extra misty tonight. So please keep on high alert."
And just like that, the conversation shifted to the strange weather, and no more was said on the matter. Maybe it was wise if it had.
Richard was on edge, as he backed down onto his train. It was longer than usual, and Richard found it hard to start the train when it was time to leave. But with some sand and careful moves, Richard was away, although he wished he wasn't.
Of course. Trouble soon followed. As they passed the sheds, one of the trucks ran a hot axle box, and had to be shunted off the train. And when they passed the junction station, Richard's lamp was smashed by a stray stick, leaving it cracked and jagged. It felt like torture, but the worst, was yet to come.
That same sinking feeling came again, as a bright red light shone in the distance. The crew grumbled for a moment, before drawing the train to a halt.
It was all dark and quiet, with the sound of faint wind blowing through the trees, Richard was left once again to look around. He found, to his horror, he was once again stopped on the viaduct. Shortly, the guard joined the cab.
"It's freezing I tell you!"
She shivered.
"Nothing like a toasty warm fire??! Eh?"
There was some chuckling. The guard had made it just in time. As in the blink of an eye. The fog rolled in, only compared to all other times, it seemed thicker, and darker. Richard felt a chill run down his boiler. He wanted to leave, but he couldn't. The taunting red glow which held him back only seemed to become brighter. Almost mockingly.
"I've never seen such thick fog!"
His driver said darkly. The air felt thick. Seemingly seconds later, the signal changed.
"Off to the guards van..."
The guard sulked jokingly. Before she walked into the ever growing darkness. They waited for the guard's whistle. But instead, the guard hurriedly reappeared. Very pale.
"Where's the tail end of our train!?"
"It should be there?"
His driver raised her eyebrows.
"Yeah, but it isn't now!"
"Don'd be inzane!"
The stoker snapped.
"Maybe you just can't see them in the fog?"
"Have a look yourself!"
The guard gulped. Sure enough, when they checked, they found the last handful of trucks were no where to be seen.
"D'ey can't of juz'd vanizhed in'do d'in air!!"
The fireman gasped.
"They must've rolled away down the line?"
The three discussed the situation for a moment.
"We'll head to the next station. So we can turn around and look for the trucks."
They made it to the next station, and raised the alarm. Once the unaffected trucks were shunted away, and the all clear was given. Richard set off back towards the viaduct. His battered and shattered lamp doing little to light the way.
At last, they spotted a red glow in the distance. But something was wrong. To Richard, it seemed to low to the ground, like it was a single eye, watching him. His crew all turned to one another, and slowed their pace. At last, Richard's lamp caught something. Causing the train to stop.
"What is that?"
His guard asked. That's when Richard noticed something yellow, with a black strip. Something had pulled the signal down, something that hadn't been there minutes before. The team drew slowly forward. The red light that Richard had thought to be a warning to turn back, was the tail lamp of the train. The trucks were thrown around, torn to shreds, blood thrown around like dropped paint. Some of the trucks had been thrown off the bridge, and lay a wreck in the bottom.
"How.... How did this happen!?"
The driver asked, her mouth dry as a desert.
"I... have no idea..."
The stoker replied sheepishly. And that was true. The haunting realisation that something had been able to do something to such a scale didn't sit right with anyone. There was a soft, and barely audible noise, the same ones the black engines had heard the night prior.
"I think we've outstayed our welcome."
Richard whispered. His driver agreed, and slowly, they ventured back up the line. Richard whistled as they left. Hearing as it carried across the valley, and echoed through the trees. The echo seemed like it was just someone impersonating it.
News soon spread on the matter. The signalman claimed that the signals had been all set to green, and that no other engines had been in the area. To keep the night trains running safely, the signals, which had seemed to be a death trap, were moved further back, so trains wouldn't have to stop on the bridge.
Richard hasn't seen a thing since, and avoids the subject at all costs. Although, no matter what. He'll never be a fan of the fog. As whenever the fog rolls in, he remembers the disembodied trucks. The red glows of light which signalled the horror. And whatever makes its home at the viaduct.