Brenna sat by herself on the bench of a remote railroad platform. Her phone sat on her lap, and a tear dropped onto it. She put the knuckles of both thumbs into the corners of her eyes and wiped away, then scrolled up through her message history again.

How could things have gotten this bad? She thought for sure Mikaela would be on her side, but even she had turned against Brenna.

Now she had nowhere to go. She couldn't go home — there was no way she could face her mom now — and none of her friends would take her in while things blew over. She just wanted to disappear.

Brenna was startled by the sound of a train whistle. She sniffed again as she looked down the track, where a bright light was coming closer.

This platform was her go-to place when she wanted to be alone, but she'd rarely seen a train come through, and never this late.

Things grew even stranger when the train braked loudly and slowed to a stop in front of the platform. The tiny little ticket office had a padlock on the door and boards across the window. The bench she was sitting on was covered in moss and pine needles. There was no way this was in use.

The train itself struck her as odd too. Pretty much the only thing taking passengers these days was Amtrak, but the engine on this train looked like they did in old movies, and had C&O written in big yellow letters across the side.

Two passenger cars went past before the train came to a full stop. The shades were pulled down, but she could see the silhouettes of people inside.

She watched the train for a while, expecting someone to get off, maybe clear the tracks or oil the wheels and head off again. But minutes dragged on, and no one appeared.

Suddenly there was a loud burst of steam, and the wheels began moving again. She looked down at her phone again and read that last text from Mikaela. "Oh my god, Brenna, you little slut! Your mom is right to freak!"

She made a sudden decision, and stood up. She ran to the train before it built up too much speed, and jumped up onto it. She'd wanted to disappear, and this was her chance. She didn't even care where it went.

She slid open the door and stepped into the car. Despite the fact that she'd seen people in the forward car, this one was empty. That was fine by her though, she wanted to be alone. She sat down in the back of the car and watched the trees pass by outside, sniffing back tears.

"Ticket please."

Brenna jumped. She hadn't heard the man come up on her. He was a pale, gaunt man in a dusty old uniform and matching hat. He had a booklet in one hand and a hole punch in the other.

"I-I'm sorry. I don't have one." She was suddenly worried that she'd be thrown off the train, or even arrested.

"I think you'll find you do," the conductor said. He pointed toward her lap.

She looked down at her hands, and sticking out from behind her cell phone was a paper ticket. A chill went up her spine as she pulled it out. She had no idea where she'd gotten it. It must have been laying on the seat, and she picked it up without thinking.

She handed it to the conductor, who punched it and handed it back. "Enjoy your ride. We'll arrive at your destination at midnight."

She read her ticket, which listed her destination as Shawhan. She didn't know it, but there were a lot of small towns around there she didn't know. She sniffed again. The conductor was gone again, as silently as he had arrived. She laid her head against the window and closed her eyes against the tears.

She woke up to a sound like an explosion. She was thrown forward, colliding hard with the back of the seat in front of her. The windows shattered two by two, from the front of the car coming back toward her, and suddenly, the whole car upended. She flew out of the seat, smashing several times against ceiling, floor and seats as the car tumbled.

It finally came to rest upside-down, with her broken body laying on the ceiling.

The train faded away, leaving her laying just a few feet from the tracks. Her phone buzzed, and the cracked screen activated. A text from her mother said, "Call me. We can work through this."


The coroner pulled the drawer open and slid out the girl's body, then left the sheriff and the Winchester brothers alone.

"That is pretty messed up," Dean said. Her skull was deformed, and the skin a mottled blue. There were scrapes and abrasions everywhere, but no deep cuts. The body had the overall appearance of a human-shaped bag containing nothing but liquid.

Sam read from the file folder. "Brenna Aitcheson, age 15, Sophomore at Nathan Hale High School in Garnett, Kentucky. Survived by her mother Janice, divorced, and her younger sister India. Her father, Casey's current residence is unknown, and he is so far unreachable. Autopsy concludes that Brenna died of severe blunt force trauma, and gave no hint as to the murder weapon." He closed the folder and looked at the sheriff for comment, but none was forthcoming.

"Murder with an indeterminate weapon? Surely you have some theory as to what happened?" Dean suggested.

"That's the coroner's opinion, not mine. I believe she was either dropped from a great height, or trampled repeatedly. There are cattle farms all through that area, as well as deer and elk."

"And yet, there were no hoof prints on or near the body," Sam said.

"She may have been tossed in the air, coming to land on the rocks far from where the trampling occurred."

"Right," Sam said, scoffing. "And as for the great height theory, were there any flight plans filed for this area at…" he opened up the folder again. "Between 11:30 and 1:00 am?"

"No, there were not."

"Is there any radar coverage of this area? In case someone flew without filing a plan?" Dean asked.

"We're thinking it might have been a hot air balloon. They don't file flight plans, and they tend to be low enough to stay under the radar.

Sam closed the file again and handed it to the sheriff with a skeptical look on his face. "Have you looked into the possibility of a train wreck?"

This time it was the sheriff's turn to scoff. "Trains don't run along that line past 9:00 pm, but mostly it was the lack of wreckage that had us ruling that one out."

"Thank you for your time," Dean said. He handed the man a card. "You can reach us at this number, you know, in case that hot air balloon lead pans out."

As they left the station, Dean turned to Sam. "Train wreck?"

"She was found next to the tracks at a crossing, with crush injuries consistent with a train wreck."

"So… what? You thinking it's some sort of ghost train?"

"Something like that. There's a lot of lore on the phenomenon —"

"But that's the point. Lore is all there is. Campfire tales. No hunter alive has ever reported one, and I'll tell you why. It doesn't make sense."

They'd reached the car, and Sam leaned across the top of it. "How so?"

"Think about it. Another word for a locomotive, Sam, is iron horse. Iron. Ghosts wouldn't be able to touch it. No ghosts, no ghost train. End of story."

"Maybe. But if it's not a train, how do you explain what happened to her?"

"I don't know, but next to your theory, I'm thinking we should put out an APB on Bessie the angry cow."


Sam lifted the crime scene tape for Dean to duck under. Dean turned on his flashlight, shining it around to be sure they were alone, before aiming it toward the scene of Brenna's death. Sam followed after him and pulled out his EMF detector. It immediately began warbling, and the lights across the top lit up, from green to red.

Dean was squatting by the chalk outline of a body, and looked back when he heard the noise. Sam turned the EMF detector toward Dean with his eyebrows raised in an 'I told you so' expression.

"Doesn't mean anything," Dean said, looking around for other causes. "The rails. They're probably conducting low level EMF. I bet you any track in the world does."

"That's not low-level," Sam said, shutting off the EMF detector and putting it back inside his jacket.

"Yes, well, it's all granite through here, and there's a storm coming. It adds up."

Sam looked around the dark, heavily-forested area, and blew out some air. "Alright, find me a cow to interrogate."

"Well, smart-ass, what do you call those?" He stood and pointed his flashlight at something metal in the road just past the tracks.

Sam turned on his own flashlight and stepped onto the tracks to get a better look. "A cattle guard," he said, surprised. There was a metal box stretched across the road between barbed wire fencing. In the middle of the box were a series of round horizontal poles with empty space between them. Cattle that tried to cross here would slip in-between the poles and get their leg caught, quickly learning not to go this way.

"Exactly," Dean said. "And where there's cattle guards, there's cattle. Maybe Brenna ran afoul of a herd that got spooked. She got trampled, and in the end thrown over here just past the fence, and coincidentally, the train tracks." He shut off his flashlight with a triumphant smile.

Sam had to admit that it was plausible. "Okay. So, maybe this isn't our kind of case after all. What next?"

"A good night's sleep, chicken and waffles in the morning, then we hit the road."

"Dean —" Sam started.

"Oh, come on. There are few benefits to being this far South. There's music, barbecue and breakfast. Don't make me miss out on breakfast."

"Dean!" Sam said again. He seemed frantic, and Dean took notice, turning his flashlight back on.

"The tracks are vibrating," Sam said.

Dean bent down and put a hand on the tracks. "They weren't doing that a minute ago?" he asked.

"No, Dean. Something's coming."

"Maybe we ought to step back…" Dean said, pointing his flashlight down the tracks in both directions.

They stepped away from the tracks, and gave it a few more feet.

"Over there! Over there!" Sam said, pointing. They could see a bright headlight in the distance and coming closer.

"The sheriff said there are no trains on this track past nine, right?"

Sam nodded.

The train's whistle sounded, and the brakes began to squeal. An old style C&O locomotive, complete with cow-catcher and steam-stack slowed to a stop in front of them. Pulled behind the engine were a trio of passenger cars. Lights were operating inside the carriages, and the shadows of people were cast against the closed shades.

The train sat at the crossing, looking just as solid as any other they'd seen. No one got on or off for at least two minutes before either of the brothers decided to do something.

Dean looked back at Sam, and nervously approached the train. It let out a sudden burst of steam, and he danced back away from it. Sam gave him a look, and Dean shrugged off his embarrassment, reaching out with one hand toward the train.

He touched the cold metal of the locomotive, then tapped on it, and finally pounded on it with his fist. "Seems pretty solid for a ghost train."

"Yeah, well," Sam said. He held up the EMF detector again. It was pegged at the high end, emitting a piercing whine. The bulbs popped one by one, and the noise stopped.

"Alright," Dean said. "So, what do we do now?"

"Should we get on?"

"And end up splattered on the rocks when it crashes, are you crazy?"

"Then what do we do?"

"I don't know!"

The whistle blew again, loudly, and the wheels slid on the tracks before catching. The locomotive began moving again, slowly at first, with each car banging in turn as the connections pulled tight, then faster and faster.

Sam had a sudden thought, and pulled out his phone. He quickly snapped a picture of the engine, then a few more of the cars as the train went past.

Dean came over to join him as they watched the train leave. A few feet past the crossing, the whole train vanished into the night.

Dean watched the empty space that the train just occupied, and turned to Sam. "Okay. It might be our kind of case."