THE SCARE
The drive through the country that night led us further and further away from civilization as
I turned to the travelers in the back seat and spoke above the rush of the wind outside.
"They say that everyone around here knows the legend of the Chapel Hill Lights. A long time
ago, there was a man who worked for the railroad company out of Chapel Hill. His job,
according to the company, was maintenance of this stretch of tracks. But the job he
performed much better was drinking from that old silver flask."
We passed a sign. "Chapel Hill- 5 Miles."
"One night, they say, after a particularly long night of drinking, or perhaps after a missed
opportunity or an angry fight, he collapsed. But not on the trellis or the road. But right
on the track.
"When they found his body the next morning, his head was taken clean off. His body lay flat,
and they knew he died a quick death. But no one could find his head. Now, they say, he
walks the track at night, stumbling along as if inebriated for all eternity, carrying his
lantern, looking for his head." There was not a word from my audience. "Spooky, huh?"
"You are so full of it..." one passenger said.
"Well," I continued, "A friend of mine thought the same, so she and a bunch of friends decided
to see for themselves. They were all about as drunk as the old man must've been the night
that he died. They parked just on the right crossing and waited."
It was silent, except for the rush of the wind. "There was a light in the distance, much
like that of a train approaching. My friend demanded they move, but the driver insisted
they wait." Their eyes were glued to me. "It only came closer and shined like the sun in
the darkness, but the driver wouldn't move. My friend insisted again that they move, and a
shouting match ensued, one that almost came to blows. But, their loud shouts were soon
silenced by the sound of something metal tapping on the window..."
The girl in the middle gasped. "It was an old lantern, held by unseen hands. It was him.
'It's never come this close before,' the driver screamed before locating his keys and peeling
away from the tracks, watching as the light faded behind them..."
The passengers were obviously mulling my words as we pulled into the small town. The town
was so miniscule, in fact, that we located the crossing easily. All there was left to do
was wait...
It seemed especially dark where we were. And the dark was rather frightening enough. We
waited, our senses heightened, for the first distraction. Then, I looked ahead, and broke
the silence, asking, "What if this isn't even the right crossing, guys?"
But there was no answer. I turned and saw what held their attention. In the distance, a
little ball of burnt amber floated above the tracks, moving side to side as if stumbling
along. The driver's hands were glued to the steering wheel, but none of us could take our
eyes away.
The light neared our car, whose windows were nearly fogged due to our heavy breathing and the
cold night air. It grew brighter and more unearthly, and we were all filled with a feeling
of dread. Just then a crackling voice from the back seat told the driver, "You can leave if
you feel uncomfortable." She didn't need to be told twice, and we drove quickly away,
feeling a strange mixture of pure and unadulterated fright as well as accomplishment. We
had just had our first true paranormal experience.
THE TRUTH
We drove to a gas station in town to recollect our thoughts. By that time, the driver had
stopped hyperventilating and my heart had dipped to below two-hundred beats a minute. There
was unspoken joy between us, but the absolute terror we had just experienced hadn't ceded yet.
In fact, we were ready for more.
I took the drivers seat, determined to confirm all doubts and answer all questions my mind
had put before me. I drove slowly, took a left turn off the main drag, and, before the next
left, we saw the answer to our question. A CSX Railways truck passed us from the direction
where we had seen the light.
We were actually downtrodden. We had experienced the zenith of fear, only to fall into the
pit of disappointment. It was obviously a railroad worker, of the living variety, shining
his light on the track at just the moment we were there.
We never spoke much about it on the long drive home, but we all knew the truth. The irony
was, that in an attempt to confirm the experience we had just had as belonging to the realm
of unexplained, we had discovered an irrefutable explanation.