"The Ghost Train pulls in 'round about midnight every February 20th,"
the
old man said, pulling his coat more tightly around him. "And The Ghost
Train, that's not the half
of it. What you're standing in, this station here,
it's a Ghost Station. You come back here tomorrow,
day after that, any day
but today, you won't see a station here. And that track. You can walk that
track from here to the sea if you walk it tonight. But you can't walk
that track
from here to two feet from here if you try to walk it any
night but tonight. That's Ghost Track. The
station appears just once
a year, with track to match. And the train rolls down that track."
He
stares down the line into the darkness. "You might try looking
for me while you're at it,"
he says at last, still staring into the
distance, a pale white ticket clutched in his hand. "You
might try.
But you needn't bother."
