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For Terrace, Robles, Malick, Hirsch, Gabrielle, Brown, Whitman & Robinson

Now future generations can grow up feeling more comfortable with who they truly are,
Thanks To Them.

THE OWL HOUSE

A Halloween Special

Written by Broa Island

Proofread by the S:TTS Team

Isle of Sodor: 1934

James the Red Engine was in disgrace. After he, Gordon and Henry had gone on strike, things had quickly spiraled out of control, and the Fat Director had put them on goods work until he could trust them again. But it wasn't just any goods work – oh no – it was the bottom of the bin kind of goods work. The textbook definition of "Community Service". The jobs that had to be done, yet no engine wanted to do them.

In James' case, he had been sent away to Killdane Station, where the Fat Director's men were preparing to build a new line up to Peel Godred to serve the new power plant. James would bring trucks of new rails and sleepers which the men would lower into place. The work was long and tedious, made worse by the fact

"There's no turntable!" James had cried when he arrived at Killdane for his first shift.

He'd passed by the station many times during his stints up the Main Line, yet never paid too much attention to the yard. Now that he would be calling that yard 'home' for the time being, he'd finally gotten a good look at it, and had noticed one fatal flaw.

"How am I meant to assist with this new branch line's construction if I can't turn round?!"

"We've been meaning to install a turntable for a while now," said the Stationmaster, addressing the Red Engine via a megaphone out his office window. "I submitted a request for the required funds to the Town Council. But they've yet to come back to me."

"Sorry, James," sighed his Driver. "Looks like you'll have to push your trucks down the line. Means we'll have to go slowly though, as we won't have a good view of the track."

"Especially when most of that track doesn't exist yet!" added the Fireman grimly.

James let off steam angrily. "Brilliant! An already slow job made even slower! I cannot fathom how this could possibly get any worse!"

James was wrong.

Much to the surprise of himself and his crew, James actually enjoyed building the new line.

Every day work was scheduled, James would push his trucks of supplies as far as the line went. The workmen would lay down the new rails he'd brought, making that line just a bit longer than it was a day before. During those long autumn days while he was stationary, James found himself mesmerized by nature surrounding him, untouched by the railway until now.

The birds sang in the trees. Those same trees swayed peacefully in the wind. Squirrels, rabbits and other woodland creatures would occasionally poke their heads out from the trees and bushes, curious, though wisely kept a safe distance from the men and their tools.

It all seemed so safe and tranquil.

"Enjoy this while you can, James," said his Driver at the end of another day's work. "You'll probably be the last steam engine to witness this part of the island for a long time."

"Why's that?" asked James. "Does it have something to do with those strange telephone poles the men have been putting up on the lineside?"

"Indeed, it does, old boy," the Driver chuckled. "This line's gonna be run by Electric Locomotives, because the gradients are too steep for steam engines to handle. Instead of coal and water, they use an electrical current supplied by these here overhead power lines." He pointed at the poles. "Of course, they can only go where the powerlines go," he added, noting James' concerned expression, "so you don't need to worry about being replaced anytime soon."

"Right then, lads!" boomed the Foreman as they packed up their tools. "Forecast says there'll be snowfall this weekend. Thankfully we're ahead of schedule, so we'll reach the Harwin Checkpoint either tomorrow or the day after. Once we've got tracks down, we're done. Can't do anymore work until the snow melts next spring."

Murmurs were shared between the workmen. "I've heard from my grandfather that Hawin Lake is one of the most beautiful places on Sodor," one voice said wistfully.

"And you'll have time to take in that beauty once we've rails running past it," replied the Foreman. "We're at the half-way point, boys. Maybe Old Bailey can spare us a few drinks in that old shack of his!"

Needless to say, the men were excited. Though as James pulled them back down the line, he couldn't help but ponder over a few details in their conversation.

"Whose Old Bailey? What Old Shack?"

Overlooking the Hawin Lake, atop a tall cliff, stood a lonely old cottage. It had white brick walls and a sloping blue roof. Thick green moss crawled up the walls reaching as far as the windows of the second-floor. Above the front door was a large, circular stained-glass window which some say gave the impression of a reptile's eye.

Several large owls had made themselves at home on and under its roof. It was as if it was the Owls' House more so than Old Bailey's.

Old Bailey was a railway fog man. He was waiting for James at Hawin Lake Station. Compared to the Owl House, the station was brand new, fresh brickwork glimmering in the afternoon sun, and not a crack nor a speck of dust to be seen on the platform. It wasn't finished, however. It still needed tracks to serve.

Soon, James appeared pushing his supply train, stopping where the line ended a few dozen yards from the station. Old Bailey strode along the bare ballast to greet the convoy.

"You boys are early," he said to the workmen as they climbed down from their coach. "I wasn't expecting you till tomorrow."

"We're ahead of schedule, Sir," said James proudly. "The sooner this new line's finished, the better! The people of Peel Godred will finally have their own rail-connection, and more importantly, I will be back pulling coaches on the Main Line."

"You don't understand," Old Bailey said again, more firmly. "I wasn't expecting you to reach the lake till tomorrow. I'd hoped you'd reach the lake tomorrow. Not today... Of all days..."

James and his crew exchanged a look. "What's today?" the Fireman asked.

"Today is their day," answered Bailey, the old man growing more uncomfortable by the moment. "Every fifteenth day, on every sixth month, when the Owls call them, they gather round the lake. They like it here, mostly because they've nowhere else to go."

"Pah!" scoffed James. "I've had my buffers bashed in by shell-fire, troublesome trucks and a lunatic Atlantic! I can take a few vagrant drunks if they try something!"

"Fortunately for you," continued Old Bailey, "they mean no harm. They're just... scared... And people do silly things when they're scared. If you don't want to be on their receiving end, I suggest you give them some space. I am, for starters."

It was then that James noticed Old Bailey was carrying a packed suitcase. "You're leaving?!"

"Staying the night at a motel in Abbey," the fog man explained. "My house belongs to them whenever their day comes. It's the arrangement we've made. An arrangement you should uphold by leaving here! Now!"

"But you're the fog man!" protested James. "And it's going to be misty tonight! It's your job to keep the line safe when it's foggy!"

"Well, let's hope you're not here tonight!"

"I'm afraid we will be," the Foreman cut in. "We're so close! I can literally see the Checkpoint! If we work into the night, we'll reach the station before the snow hits! And if some hooligans try to get in our way, they'll have the Fat Director to answer to! As will you if you don't remain at your post!"

The Foreman and Old Bailey stared coldly at each other for what felt like hours. At last, Old Bailey turned and walked past James down the line.

"When you hear the owl hoot, that'll be your final warning," he said grimly. "I suggest you take it." And with that, Old Bailey disappeared into the forest.

The Foreman rolled his eyes. "Bloody fool actually did it! Sir Topham's gonna rip that bastard a new one when he finds him not doing the job he's paid to!"

"Well, no matter," said James' Driver. "We've still got a job to do. Come on, James. One more night and we're done for the winter."

James was relieved. But he was also disappointed. He'd just started liking working on the Peel Godred too.

He looked up. There, on the other side of the lake, stood the Owl House high on the hill. James couldn't say why, but he could feel the house watching him intently.

It was dark by the time the rails finally reached the tip of the platform. The ground by the lake was weak, so the men had to reinforce it as they went along. Along the worksite, large flood lights had been erected to help them see in the black of night.

James was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open. "Who knew that standing still all day could be so exhausting..." he yawned.

"Just one more section, and we're done," announced the Foreman. Quiet murmurs of relief met this. The workmen began to unload the last of the rails and sleepers off James' trucks, when

"HOO. HOO."

James jumped! If his Fireman hadn't reacted quickly, the Red Engine's firebars would've most certainly collapsed right there and then!

"Calm down, James!" the Fireman soothed. "It's only an Owl."

He was right. A large brown owl watched them curiously from the safety of a tree. For such a little bird, it was incredibly loud.

James let off steam loudly. "Clear off, you Stupid Bird!"

Startled, the Owl retreated. James watched it fly over the lake, glowing in the moonlight, before the creature disappeared behind Old Bailey's now vacant house.

The light from the lake also disappeared. As did the moon. It wasn't until it was right on top of him that James realized the station had been enveloped in a thick mist, the floodlights being the only things strong enough to cut through the inky grey void.

"Where did this come from?" asked a Workman.

"From the lake I think," replied another. "It can get really foggy near large bodies of water."

"Oh, quit prattling on about that education of yours, Keith! We've got bigger things to worry about!"

"Cut the backchat, all of you!" the Foreman rapped. "Let's just set these rails down, then we can be off. Even if we had more tracks to lay, no point in continuing in this fog."

"Whose that?"

The men turned. "Who's who, James?"

"I saw someone swimming in the lake," explained James. "Near the cliff face. Look! There she is!"

His Driver, Fireman and the workmen all looked to what James was referring to.

The silhouette of a woman, standing knee deep in the water, could be vaguely made out through the fog. She had short blond hair and had her back to them. She seemed to be looking for something, buried at the bottom of the lake.

The Foreman was cross. "This must be one of Old Bailey's friends. I knew that tosspot was a creep, but... convincing women to go skinny-dipping in the lake in front of his home..." He reached for his megaphone, but was stopped by one of his men.

"But Old Bailey isn't here, Sir," he reasoned. "He left for Abbey, remember? We all saw him leave. He gave us a reason! If he was a peeping-tom, why would he respect her privacy? If anything, we're the peeping-toms more so than him!"

"Look!" another workman cried. "There's another one!"

A second silhouette had appeared next to the first. She was fat and had tanned skin. She too appeared to be looking for something in the water. James was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

"HELLO?!" called the workman. The sound bounced off the trees and rocks "ARE YOU LADIES ALRIGHT?! DO YOU NEED ANY HELP?!" He would've called out more if the Foreman hadn't clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Fool!" he shouted in a hushed voice. "What are you doing?!"

The Foreman's face seemed to flicker. As did those of his men, James and his crew. It was then they all realized that the floodlights were on the fritz. The light they shone weakened, and their frames rattled, as if someone was violently shaking them like one would an apple tree.

Out of the corner of his eye, James could make out another light, flickering on and off. He looked up.

"Oh... Oh My..."

The Owl House seemed to be glowing a bright yellow. It was as if someone had gone through and turned on every light in every room. The big circular window – the house's "eye" – was looking down directly at him.

James choked on his steam.

Did it just blink?!

"That's not possible!" his Driver cried. "There isn't any electricity supplied to that old wreck! There never has been!"

But James wasn't listening. He didn't care if the house could have electric lighting or not. His attention was now focused on what the lights revealed below.

An army of black silhouettes stood along the water bank. Some were men, others were women. Some were grey and bloated, others had been cut open and gutted. All were now staring directly at James and the workmen.

Suddenly, the floodlights burst, showering the station with sparks and broken glass! The men ran for the safety of their coach!

"GET US THE RUDDY HELL OUT OF HERE!" screamed the Foreman.

"You don't need to tell me twice!" replied James. With a terrified blast of his whistle, he began reversing down the line. "Come On! Come On!" he barked at the trucks. The whole train was screaming.

"Hoo... Hoo..."

The hooting of the owl came again, this time part of a chorus of hisses and squarks coming from every direction!

James couldn't understand what the owls were trying to say. If they were mocking him, scolding him, begging him to stay.

He didn't care.

James just wanted to be as far away from the Owl House and the Lake as physically possible!

Another strike came the next morning. The second in two months. None of the men wanted to set one foot near the Lake. The Fat Director was furious at first, but when he finally managed to get the full story out of the men, he became just as pale as they were.

"You're all dismissed," he said sadly. "I'm sorry you all had to experience that."

At Killdane, Luke and Kevin shunted James into the carriage shed, while Klondike took away the petrified trucks. All three engines were respectfully silent, which was very uncharacteristic for them. Even Beresford the Yard Crane kept his mouth shut.

"I heard what happened," said the Fat Director sternly, yet sympathetically. "Or... what supposedly happened. How are you feeling, James?"

"Like I've been hit by a goods train," James groaned. He hadn't slept that night. No one could blame him.

"Look, Sir!" interjected James' Fireman. "I know it seems mad, but what the workmen told you is true! We all saw it! There were dozens of them, all wading through the lake!"

"I believe you, Fireman. Only because, to be frank, I don't know what to believe anymore." The Fat Director paused. "The men mentioned something about the old house on the hill. The one with the – err – eye."

"Do you know something about... whatever the hell that was, Sir?" the Driver asked.

The Fat Director shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't. But I do know about the home's previous resident before Old Bailey claimed it. It was someone you're... most definitely familiar with, James."

He needn't say anymore, as James knew exactly who the Fat Controller was referencing. "Lord Harwick." Lord Harwick had been a member of the Board of Directors that had sent the tank engines away all those years ago!

"That used to be his home," the Fat Director went on, grimly. "It was on his estate, as was the lake. Twenty years ago, he invited me to his house for a very important meeting with members of state. That meeting, as I later learnt, was about establishing a strategic railway on Sodor during wartime."

James' eyes widened. "You're joking. Are you saying that old shack is where the North Western Railway came to be, Sir? Really?"

"It's true," sighed the Fat Director. "I'd assumed its significance to Sodor's history was the reason it had been left standing for so long, but-"

"But you assumed wrong."

James, his Driver, Fireman and the Fat Director turned to see Old Bailey had appeared from behind the signal box. In a few quick strides, he stood next to the stout gentleman.

"I assume you'll be giving me the slip, Sir?" he asked coldly. "Given I abandoned my duty to the railway?"

The Fat Director grew stern. "Considering... recent events, I believe that'll be no longer necessary, Mr. Bailey." Old Bailey nodded a silent 'Thank you'.

"But that still doesn't explain what we saw," the Driver cut in. "Sure, Lord Harwick was a horrid man, but he'd never..."

Old Bailey shook his head. "Tell me, gentleman," he began. "Have any of you heard of the Standing Stones?"

"Y-y-yes," said James. "They're quite popular with the passengers."

Old Bailey sighed, as if he was trying to stall.

At last, he spoke again.

"Once upon a time, there was a group of men doing business on the Island of Sodor. They believed the world was broken and... a-and God had chosen them to help him fix it. Before they could begin, however, they needed a headquarters. So, they built the Owl House."

"The what?" gawked the Fireman.

"That's its name," Old Bailey replied. "Or... at least one of them. They built the house within the vicinity of the lake, which supplied the group with water during their stint on Sodor.

"The men viewed the Standing Stones as a sacred place," he continued, "a place where the walls between the afterlife and the land of the living were at their weakest. God had promised them he would repair the world given time... But such a large job required payment. Said payment, once acquired, was kept safe within the Owl House until it was time for them to be sent to the Standing Stones for God to collect. It was little things at first; lambs, cattle... then they started offering people."

James' boiler went cold.

"God collected their spirits as arranged, but their bodies remained. Eventually, they began to pile up, and the people of Sodor grew more suspicious of the group's dealings. The group needed a place they could dispose of their 'leftovers'. So, they began dumping the bodies in the lake. They thought they were untouchable. They thought God wouldn't let anything happen to them as long as they were useful. They didn't even realize they were polluting their own water supply until it was too late.

"They abandoned the Owl House shortly after they began dropping dead, leaving about half-a-dozen corpses they never got the chance to toss over the cliff behind the house. The smell of rotting meat was what attracted the owls." Old Bailey paused, as if to recompose himself. "They built a new House, conveniently closer to the Standing Stones. Then they built another. And another. Until, well..." he gestured an arm behind him... towards the town of Killdane.

"Do you know what Killdane means, James?" asked Old Bailey.

James didn't want to answer. He couldn't stop himself, however. "N-n-n-n-no, S-s-s-sir..."

"It..." cut in the Fat Director. James realized he'd never seen him look so scared. "It derives from Keeill-y-Deighan. I was taught this in school when I was a lad, it... Oh... Oh dear..."

"It's Sudric," said Old Bailey. "It means 'Church of the Devil'."

The yard went silent. James wanted to cry. But he didn't... he was too tired.

"The group disbanded once Sodor's monarchy was established by King Godred. Either he scared them off, or they fell apart due to in-fighting, I do not know. Though what I do know, that every June and every December, whenever the owls hoot, a mist rolls in. When the mist's about, they return, trying to find their remains buried within the weeds and mud, as if to give themselves a proper burial. That is, of course, if the owls don't get to them first.

James' Fireman blurted out something incomprehensible. After a few quiet babbles, he finally asked, "H-h-h-h-h-h-Harwick. W-w-w-what ab-about Lord Ha-harwick?"

"I tried to warn him," was all that Old Bailey said. "He was a changed man after that."

"Oh," the Fat Director said quietly. "I wish that didn't explain so much."

"I'm... I'm sorry, we didn't listen to you, Sir," James said. "We should've heeded your warning, but we... We just..."

"Well, regardless of who's to blame, thank you for listening to an old man's story. I'm – err – sorry too, if it helps."

With a tip of his hat, Old Bailey walked away without another word, seemingly disappearing into the morning mist as the first snows began to fall.

The other engines never noticed that James seemed to be a lot quieter than usual, as about a month later, Henry had an accident with the Flying Kipper which became the talk of the line. James was secretly grateful. He didn't want to talk about what happened that night with anyone, not even Edward. Eventually, as the years passed, James thought less and less about the Station by the Lake.

The Peel Godred Line was completed the following year, and was a massive success, pulling the NWR out of its financial slump. The Electric Locomotives were many things, but they were all kind and took great interest in what the steam engines had to say about the Island of Sodor. James was quick to warn them.

"Whenever that owl hoots, a mist rolls in over the Lake. There's a legend that when the mist's about, there's a ghost about too. The owl's call is your first warning. I suggest you take it."

The Electric Engines usually think James is just pulling their wheels. All the same, they couldn't help but heed the Red Engine's warning. It seemed in their best interests.

Old Bailey continued living in the Owl House for many years after. Some say he lived there for decades. Others say, after the war, he became a Merchant for a short while before rejoining the railway as the Stationmaster of Hawin Lake.

The Owl House is still standing to this day. A family of five currently resides there, and wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

Though when the air cools, and when the old owl hoots, they leave their home for a fun night out.

Because, on those nights, the House belongs to the Owls.