Things Happen For A Reason
I had cut through those woods a million times, on my way to my cousin’s home, today was just another trek. Allie and I had planned to go shopping at the Mall and maybe have lunch; her house was just on the other side of the woods, about a quarter of a mile. The sky spat tiny raindrops, just enough for an umbrella and I was enjoying the cool moist air on this particular scorching August morning in Moberly, Missouri, 1984, when it appeared.
There, in a clearing where I had frequently spotted deer or rabbits, it lay sprawled upon the ground; an old, half-rusted train car. I stopped and stared at it a few moments, then sauntered around it, placing my hand upon an old pane of cracked glass to see if it was real. I looked further, on the side were calligraphied the letters, “L & P”; clearly this was a St. Louis and Pacific Railroad car. Where had it come from? It wasn’t there yesterday or any of the other times that I had passed through this wood.
The door was slightly open, I pushed it; no sound came from inside so, I slowly stepped in; I instinctively knew that I had to do so.
The velvet upholstered seats still felt soft to my hand; I touched several as I walked through. There were lamps overhead, some with broken glass, shattered on the floor; others intact and dust-laden.
I stepped cautiously over the glass and sat down in a seat. I guess I must’ve been there two or three minutes, admiring the oak armrests, the beautiful hardwood flooring when what appeared to be a conductor, walked through the door, at the opposite end.
I froze, there he was, about 6’2 and adorned in a navy blue uniform, complete with cap and watch fob chain dangling from his vest pocket.
“Tickets, ticket please”, he kept saying, stopping at each seat. He would reach out his hand and pull it back, as if he were taking tickets and placing them in his other hand. I watched transfixed as he came closer. When he got to my seat, he held out his hand and seemed to look directly at me; still frozen I started to tell him that I had no ticket when he pulled his hand away, as if he had just taken one, then walked on to the next seat. He went clear to the last one, turned and walked to the end from which he’d come and out of the door again.
Had I just seen a ghost? He seemed so real, I could’ve touched him; there was no transparency at all, he seemed as solid as anyone else. Oh sure, I felt a tad bit uneasy but, you would’ve too if you’d been there, I am certain of that.
I turned to look out of the window and the car was moving! I swear to you, the thing was moving down a track and I began to physically feel the rails beneath me, heard the clack-clacking of the train wheels rolling along. We were going through mountainous terrain, treetops passed by quickly and the next I knew, we were travelling over a river!
The light in the car slightly dimmed and I began to see other people in the seats, talking casually, dressed in clothing of the 1880’s; elaborately-ribboned hats adorned the heads of several women, the brocade on their dresses was amazing! Gentlemen in derby and bowlers sat, chatting and puffing on cigars and pipes; smoke curling above their heads...I could smell the burning tobacco. It could’ve been a scene from any train of the era. Why was I seeing it?
I looked across from me and saw a rather attractive young man, about twenty-two years old. He sported a grey tailored suit with a pin-striped vest and tie. His swarthy complexion held my attention and his hazel eyes met mine; I turned away quickly and looked back out of the window, wondering if he actually saw me or not. Were these ghosts in my world? If so, was I a ghost in theirs?
A few minutes later I looked over at him again. He was reading a book, quite a beautiful old volume, covered in brown leather with gold-leafed pages. I could barely make out part of the title, “...ke Zarathustra”; he was reading Nietzsche! He must’ve been able to see me because he glanced my way again. Again, I turned away and looked out of the window.
As a fan of Nietzsche, I recall thinking of how I slightly wished I had known this young man as he was so sexy. Were he a living man, I might’ve flirted a little but; this whole scenario was way too weird.
Suddenly I felt the car slow, stop and I saw that conductor walk through again. “Nothing to worry about, we’ve made an unscheduled stop. We’ll be moving again soon; please stay seated and enjoy the view, while you wait. He leaned over one of the seats, as if listening to someone speaking to him, mumbled something that I couldn’t clearly hear and walked back to the door at the other end again, then vanished.
I was just about to get up and walk out when I felt the car moving again, heard the rattling of the rails again and so I stayed a while longer. It wasn’t long after that when I heard a loud screech and knew we had crashed. Screams and yelling assaulted the air and I came to myself again, on the wet ground, of the woods with no train car in sight!
My Mom always said, “Everything happens for a reason.” When I got to my cousin’s house that day and spilled the story of my strange experience, she suggested that I go get cleaned up and leant me some clothing to wear; we never made it to the Mall. Instead she showed me an old book that she’d bought at a yard sale; it was a historical documentary of Moberly in the 1800-1900’s. There was a picture and a story about and L & P train that had wrecked on August 4, 1880. The train had driven through an open switch around Clark Station, which is less than 10 miles from Moberly. At some point previously, the train had stopped to remove the mail and baggage cars, then resumed its journey. The fireman was killed and an Engineer and his brother, were badly burned. Had I experienced what the people on the actual train experienced?
For several months the whole incident puzzled me; I simply couldn’t get it off of my mind. I wondered if the young man whom I admired had survived it. There wasn’t much detail about the incident, no mention of any of the passengers and I was left to assume that they had survived.
The following New Years Eve, I attended a party given by a neighbor. I had just gotten myself a cocktail when a voice behind me asked me if I’d like to dance. I turned and to my shock, there stood the young man from the train car! At least it was the image of him; I thought that I was seeing things. I must’ve looked stunned because he then asked if I was alright. I quickly gathered my wits and responded that I may have had a bit too many drinks and smiled. He then led me to the dance floor. Imagine my shock when he asked if I liked Nietzsche. Two years later, Jeff and I took our marriage vows. Truth can indeed be “stranger than fiction”;
Jeff’s grandfather had been on that very train.
Copyright, 2020, M.L. Kiser
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