Island of Sodor, March 2015, 9:00 pm.
The sun has set on the Island of Sodor, yet the tracks were lit by the street lights that hung above them and the roads beside them. The engines were returning to the sheds from a long hard days work. Casey shunted the last of his freight train back into place, ready to go to Tidmouth for the night. Then it would be off to the Vicarstown roundhouse that he shared with a few other American engines. Some were on lease while others had made the island their new home. As he left Knapford yards, he noticed dark storm clouds above him and a thick yet low level fog rise from below to just above his pilot. It would seem that he would not be able to go back to Vicarstown after all. Not in this weather at least, Vicarstown was too far away to travel with such poor visibility.
"Hmm, I never thought he'd ever come here." He said thoughtfully.
"Who?" Brittney asked from the cab.
"You'll see, keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary, don't want any surprises tonight." Brittney shrugged and did as her engine told her, Jerry knew all too well what he was talking about and he kept his eyes peeled as well. As they slowly made their journey up the line, the clouds became darker and darker to the point of becoming pitch black, and the fog became as thick as a baseball. It was spooky, and the new falling rain was of no help to their sight. But they could still see the lights of Tidmouth Sheds, they gave a sigh of relief and carefully made their way to the turn table. The rain increased into a torrential downpour, yet the fog remained as Casey was turned around on the table and backed into the stall. His crew dropped his fire and carefully left the sheds to a nearby shack for crews.
"Oooh, Casey, you just missed one of Edward's stories!" Emily said excitedly.
"Yeah, he was telling us about the Spirit of Barry Scrapyard, and how he's the reason so many British engines survive their trip there." James added. Barry Scrapyard is a yard where many British engines were sent to die by British Railways in the sixties located in Barry, South Whales. It is known to hold onto engines long enough for preservationists to rescue them from being cut up, and the reputation is for good reason. Of the three hundred steam locomotives sent there by B. R., two hundred and thirteen of them were rescued by preservationists. Of course, it wasn't perfect.
"Oh it's just a ghost story, to fit the mood of the weather outside." Edward laughed.
"Ah really?" Casey asked.
"Yes, it's not that scary, unless you work at a scrap yard." Henry replied. "Or an LNER engine like Gordon." Yes, most of the engines that were scrapped at Barry were London and North Eastern Railway engines, however it was not common for BR to send them there, most of them went to scrap yards on the eastern side of England.
"Do you have any scary stories from America Casey?" Thomas asked. The Southern consolidation smiled, but in a more intimidating manner than his normal grin.
"Y'all are in luck, I've got just the story for ya." He announced in a sinister kind of way. "It even explains the bad weather outside."
"Well, what is it?" Edward asked. Casey's smile become even more wicked and creepy, and he answered with a deep, growling, rough sounding tone.
"The Specter of Saluda Grade." And right as he finished, lightning flashed outside the windows followed by a powerful thunder crash that rattled the entire shed. It scared the hooey out of Thomas and Percy, who screamed in terror.
"I ain't told the story yet." Casey told them flatly.
"Don't be a pair of scared'y-diesels!" James huffed. "It's just a ghost story so it can't possibly be real."
"It is real!" Casey shouted, it grabbed the other engine's unchanging attention.
"Wh-wh-what's S-s-s-s-saluda g-g-g-rad-d-d-de?" Percy asked as he trembled on his wheels.
"Saluda Grade is the most feared stretch of track on the Southern Railway system, it is also the steepest standard gauge mainline grade in the entire United States, with it's climb averaging four point twenty four percent for three miles. But the worst of it, is a hundred yards of five percent. It's no surprise Norfolk Southern decided to finally stop traffic on it nearly fifteen years ago." The other engines gulped at the thought of climbing such a hill.
"How did you bloaks do it?" Edward asked.
"Easy." Casey answered. "We split up the trains at the bottom of the hill and had several engines take it up one at a time, we ain't crazy like the boys up north. That and we had them Ls-1 2-8-8-2s to help us after the 20's"
"So what's this have to do with a ghost?" Emily asked.
"Well, it all started on a night like tonight, in the 1890s, the Southern was a young railway at the time, and it hadn't formed the reputation that it had when they merged with Norfolk and Western in 1980."
Saluda, North Carolina, some time in the late 1890s:
A pair steam locomotives sat in the small station, awaiting their next orders, one was a Civil War veteran 4-4-0 American of the Richmond and Danville Railroad, one of the predecessors of the newly formed Southern Railroad Company. Another was a young Rodgers built D Class 2-6-0 mogul number 3039 with freshly painted Southern markings. As whatever light from the storm cloud blocked sun began to diminish, the dispatch was given to the crew of the mogul, he was to take a short freight train up the steep hill that stood ahead of them. The Civil War veteran was told to take a train of commuting passengers the opposite direction. The old engine looked at the eagerness if the young one's face, but he knew the engine had never been up this slope before, and this was the worst of times to introduce him to it. The rain was pouring down hard, the sun behind the clouds was going dark, causing the area to become very dark, and on top of that, there was a thick fog that arose high enough to touch his chin. He looked to the young with a worried expression and warned him to be careful up that dangerous hill. But the young mogul scoffed at the old American.
"I can manage a simple hill Old Man! I ain't no out dated fuss pot like you!" He said. Who was this old timer to tell a modern mogul type like he? Surely he didn't need to be careful dealing with a simple hill. But what he didn't know was how steep the grade was, nor how heavy the train was going to be while climbing it.
Later that night, the old veteran engine had left with his passengers, and 3039 set off to his destination at the other side of the hill. At first, it seemed easy. What did that old coot know? He wasn't modern like the mogul, who was going to be ten years old in the future. But slowly and surely, he noticed the train become heavier as the hill became steeper and steeper. He gave more effort and it seemed to work for a short time, and then he put in more effort, and even more, despite this, the train continued to become heavier as the gravity of the hill pulled tightly against him. He strained to turn each wheel, why is it hard all of a sudden? It's just a hill, if old fashioned American types could do it that so can he. However, he finally noticed he was sweating fiercely as one sweat band rolled into his eye, causing it to sting. Before that he couldn't tell he was sweating at all due to the heavy rain leaving him soaked to his frame, and even threatened to put out his fire. His stinging didn't last as the rain washed away the sweat from his face. Well, if there was one thing rain was good for, it can make any engine feel less hot and bothered while they worked, especially in the summer. His fireman opened up the sanding mechanism, and it proved to help the engine at least get a grip on the soaked, slippery rails and make the climb a little easier. However, the fireman was a new one, he forgot to fill the sand dome back up again at the depot. 3039's sand box emptied half way up the hill, and his wheels slipped fiercely every few turns. This caused him to take three times longer than he thought to get up, it was about two hours later that he finally reached within a few feet of the top. His wheels were spinning like tops now, but the engine believed that the worst was almost over. Finally, at least he wouldn't have to fight this nasty climb again tonight, especially in weather this bad. He cheered for joy as he managed to get himself literally on the top. However, he gained a new respect for the American types that had to climb this every day, he doubted that even the new G class consolidations would be able to climb this hill without extreme effort. A smile grew on his face at the thought of seeing those suckers stalling at the bottom, and he did it on his first try. He made a mental note to rub it in one of their faces and use it as proof that the D class moguls will survive much longer than the G class would.
But suddenly, it happened, something inside 3039's frame broke, and he suddenly began to slip backwards, slowly at first, but his heavy train pulled him back faster and faster. His driver attempted to apply the brakes, but it was no good, almost as soon as he applied full pressure, they broke from the weight of the train behind them. Now he was really picking up speed. He wondered what he should do, what could he do? He was entirely helpless against the grade and the cars behind him. But he kept fighting with all of his might until finally the sharp curve at the bottom appeared. The freight cars jumped the tracks, and dragged him with them. The minute he hit the dirt, he flipped on his side and rolled several hundred yards away from the tracks until he finally smashed into a large bolder with a loud and mighty crash. He was knocked unconscious initially, but about ten minutes later, he slowly forced his eyes open. Despite the fact that he was already soaked from the rain, he could feel every single raindrop fall on him. He looked around, but he could see nothing, it was so dark and foggy, he wondered if he was still unconscious, until he felt a screaming pain fly through every last nut and bolt of his body. He let out a loud moan in agony, he was indeed conscious, but he wished he wasn't and he tried to pass out to make the pain stop. But he couldn't, all he could do was continue to moan and cry in agony, and the pain got worse and worse. He called out to his crew like a child calling to his parents, his tears streaming from his eyes faster than the pouring rain.
"Make it stop! Make it stop! Please! Driver, please help..." But there was no reply, both his driver and his fireman were dead. But that didn't stop the engine from calling out repeatedly, until finally, after what felt like an eternity, he slowly blacked out, never to open his eyes again.
Fast forward a few years later, a G class 2-8-0 hooked up to the back of a split up freight train to take up the steep grade. The weather was almost exactly like it was the night of the accident, but the mistakes that were made in that event were not to be repeated, so Southern had added some manned spur tracks with sixty feet deep soft dirt piles to stop run away trains. At the front of the train, a K class consolidation waited impatiently for the clearance signal to change.
"Come on you stupid signal, change already! We're gonna be later than a last place horse racer by the time we get to the other side!" He shouted to it, the G class rolled his eyes and spoke up.
"Take it easy son, the weather is awful tonight. The folks who took their half of the train probably hadn't reached the top yet because of it." But as soon as he finish his statement, the signal changed into it's straight up appearance, meaning that the track is clear.
"Finally! Let's go make up for some lost time!" The lead engine cheered and he immediately began to pull, giving the helping G class little time or warning to start pushing. Slowly but surely, they climbed the hill, but unbeknownst to either of the engines, something will return to the tracks that killed it. But the G class boy in the back, began to feel something odd in the air. He felt cold, yet he was still steaming very well, the wind began to pick up in a manner that felt like repeated quarter of a second blows to his face, as if he was facing the smoke stack of a working engine, it even sounded like puffing. But suddenly, almost as soon as it all began, it ceased.
"It's just the wind act'n ornery." The helper told himself nervously, he was not a superstitious engine in the least bit. The wind was indeed unpredictable at times, so what did he have to worry about? All he needed to focus on was getting the train he was pushing up the steep grade over the top, and to help it down the other side, nothing more, and nothing less. But what he didn't know, was at the bottom of the hill, on the tracks that he touched several minutes before, an engine stood, faceless, snow white yet transparent, and with a huge dent in the boiler that looked as if an elephant decided to play American Football with it. A few workmen saw it and called for it to clear the line. But the engine didn't move, it simply disappeared in the fog. The men murmured among each other, what was that? They all came to the conclusion that that it was their half-sober imagination was playing tricks on them, and they decided to hold off on the moon shine for the rest of the night, and reported nothing to the foreman. On the other side of the hill, at midnight as the crew reported in, the G class consolidation had disconnected from the train and he headed back to the shed for a good night's rest, with both halves of the train on the other side, he didn't need to worry about extra work. As he climbed the hill again, the wind picked up a small rock and flung it so hard, it broke the headlight glass that sat atop his smoke box and allowed the rain to come in and dowse his oil lit lamp. Now, he could see nothing.
"Ah no, what do we do now?" He asked as he came to a stop at the top of the hill. His driver lit up a hand held lantern and slowly but surely walked into the rain to tie it down on his pilot. But when he got to the front of the engine, he could see a faint light down the steep hill. Without hesitation, he ran back into the cab the blew the whistle into oblivion. But the light remained, for a moment, and then it disappeared.
"That's odd." Said the fireman to the driver, who had seen everything.
"Do you think we should press on?" The driver asked.
"If there's another engine down there, we shouldn't block the line. Let's move into one of the sidings to let the train pass, then we can decide if we should go on or hunker down for the night and press on in the morn'n." So it was agreed, the driver blew the whistle, and rang the bell as he began to move the engine, who couldn't see five feet in front of his own cow catcher. At first, things went smoothly, and then, without warning, lightning exposed the white faceless engine that was seen at the bottom on the grade appeared and it charged right at them, with a whistle that sounded as if it was made by Satan himself, and the same speed! And then, whoosh, the G class engine opened his eyes to find that he was alone again. But that was just the start, every year on the night of the accident, the ghost mogul runs again up and down the grade. Shrieking his devil whistle as a lost soul in search of eternal rest and his crew. You will not find a single engine in the area who has not seen him. Even modern diesels claimed to have seen him, scaring the living daylights out of all of them. When he's not haunting that grade at night, he's causing trouble for foreign engines by day. It's why Madison, the Norfolk and Western J class stalled on the grade, it coincidentally happened to be the same exact day that the accident happened. But beware, he has been known to travel to other railways at different times of the year, as a warning to all engines, but every now and then, an unlucky engine will fall prey of...
"The Specter of Saluda Grade!" Casey shouted, and he blew his whistle very hard with what remaining steam he had along with a loud thunder crash from the storm, and scared the daylights out of all the other engines in the sheds. As they screamed in terror, Casey laughed out loud. "Ah, I really scared y'all! hahaha! Ya should'a seen your faces! Ha ha haa!"
"That was not funny Casey!" Emily snorted furiously.
"You're right, it was hilarious!" Casey laughed even more, and eventually it became contagious and the others laughed along with him for a little while. "I swear, it scares the new engines every time, it don't ever get old."
"So, the Specter of Saluda Grade is not real?" Percy asked, nervously.
"Oh, I never said he wasn't real, in fact I've done seen 'em myself in my final days on the Southern."
"Oh yeah? Then why are you still here?" James asked, suspiciously.
"It was a warn'n, and I hope to never see him again." Casey replied.
"How will we know if he's near?" Edward asked, who was the least frightened of them all, after all he's told his fair share of ghost stories and he can remember seeing a couple of ghosts in his long life on Sodor.
"The weather we've had tonight, it's the only sign, after that he appears without warning, and disappears just as soon." The reply sent shivers down the boilers of all the others, well, almost everyone.
"Stuff and Nonsense." Snorted James. "You all are just being ridiculous over a silly story from an old superstitious Yankee." Casey cleared his throat and glared at the haughty red engine.
"Aren't you supposed to be help'n Gordon with a freight train tonight?" He asked. And at that moment, Jame's crew came along and got him steaming again. And then he puffed away in an effort to avoid a confrontation with Casey, for he remembered how much he hated being called a yankee. Meanwhile, over at the yards Gordon had to deal with a very long freight train and he was not very happy about it.
"Why do I have to pull this filthy goods train? This job is better suited for Henry, or the American engines, not an express engine like myself." He complained. "And on top of that, the weather is some of the worst I've ever seen, and where is James?" His answer came in the sound of a familiar whistle.
"Where have you been?" Gordon asked.
"Sorry, Casey was telling us a ghost story about some gradient on his home railway." James replied.
"Well you can tell me about it when we're on our way, now come on, we haven't all day you know." Gordon grumbled. And so James coupled up to the front of Gordon and the two puffed away. As they pulled the long heavy train, James told Gordon Casey's story and truth be told, Gordon did feel uneasy afterward.
"Well it is unnerving I'll give it that, but I wouldn't classify as terrifying. You didn't scream like a little girl did you?"
"No! Certainly not, I'm not a scaredy diesel." James scoffed.
"Oh, that reminds me, Diesel will be our banker up my hill tonight, and Spencer will most likely be waiting for us on the other side."
"Perfect, is there anything else that can go wrong?" James grumbled.
When they finally reached Gordon's hill, it had been so dark and thick that Gordon couldn't even see the top half of Jame's tender and James couldn't see two feet in front of him. He squinted his eyes to help focus them on whatever light his small lamps showed. This is where he envied American locomotives, with a big bright headlight like theirs he'd be able to see better in this weather. He gave a sigh of relief when he finally saw a red glow.
"Oh, finally, the signal, we're at the base of the hill!" he exclaimed.
"Good, now all we have to do is wait for Diesel." And so they waited, for about ten minutes until they finally heard a horn toot and felt a bump at the back of the train. They wasted no time to respond and move ahead. Diesel however felt a sudden drop in temperature around him as he began to push the train.
"Hmm, strange, I thought the low for tonight was to be seventeen Celsius." He said to himself quietly. He also noticed a change in the wind, it came right at him, blowing rain right into his face. He squinted his eyes every time he felt a drop come close to them, and then he felt something couple up to his back coupler and hold back. Diesel fought hard, but whatever was holding him was too strong. Gordon and James felt the sudden change of force and found that the job at hand was now a lot harder and they immediately assumed that Diesel was doing it on purpose.
"Hey! Come on Diesel! Let's go!" James called out angrily.
"Do you honestly want to be as soaked as we are?" Added Gordon. Suddenly, the tugging turned back into pushing. "There, that's better."
Diesel didn't answer, for whatever held him back let go and then moved beside him. The BR class 08 shunter's mouth was agape, his face turned pale, and he became speechless. As dark and foggy as it was, he could see what was there quite clearly. For right next to him was a white yet transparent 2-6-0 puffing next to him. Diesel could see no face on the engine, but he noticed that the boiler was smashed in like an elephant decided to dive into it. He noticed the number on the cab and the railroad lettering on the tender: 3039, SOUTHERN. Just as he was about cry out in terror, the engine blew it's whistle loudly. It sounded like it was made by the devil, even more so than what many engines thought when they hear American whistles. It had the cry of a screaming banshee, and Diesel screamed and pushed as hard as he could to get away. Meanwhile, Gordon and James heard the whistle and felt the new found surge of force from Diesel. They were about to call to him when they saw it: Southern 3039.
"It's the Specter of Saluda Grade!" James cried and the two engines raced up to the top of the hill and rushed dangerously down the other side.
At Maron Station, Spencer was waiting impatiently for Gordon and James' train to pass so that he can climb Gordon's Hill himself. If it were any other day he would have taken a chance to mock the two engines about their task but the weather kept his mind off of it and moreso about how much time they were taking. He began complaining about it until he heard James' familiar whistle.
"Ugh, finally!" he said aloud. "When those two slow pokes come around I'm gonna..." His thoughts were interrupted when he finally saw the two engines, their faces were very pale and they looked very shaken up. He didn't have time to say anything to either of them, they just raced past him, dragging an equally terrified looking Diesel with them.
"They look like they just saw a ghost." Spencer observed, but he didn't have time to dwell on it, the conductor blew his whistle and the signal dropped. Spencer's train was not a heavy one so he didn't need a banker engine tonight. But that didn't mean he didn't have trouble climbing the hill. It took a lot longer and much more wheel slipping than Spencer had hoped when he finally reached the top, and as he climbed down he began to pick up speed. But suddenly, he felt the air become cold, and up ahead he could see a faint light. Spencer blew his whistle loud and long.
"Out of my way! Important engine coming through!" He shouted ahead. The light disappeared, and then suddenly he saw the engine that scared Gordon, James and Diesel charging right at him. Spencer screamed and closed his eyes anticipating a crash. He felt a gust of wind blow right into his face and when he opened his eyes again, he was alone again, but he heard the banshee whistle again, and made a beeline out of the area. He never knew afterwards what that was, but we know it was the Specter of Saluda Grade, don't we?