It was October, nearing Halloween. An engine from the mainland had come to visit. This was not uncommon, and the island engines scarcely batted an eye over it anymore. This engine, however, was different. Interesting. It was a lady diesel, who claimed to be a medium.

Now, considering the time of year, this alone was enough to peak interests around the island. The fact that she had taken a keen interest in Donald, of all engines, only added to the intrigue.

Donald was a sullen, ornery Scottish engine. He wore a filthy, black livery and was always up to his funnel in goods work. He'd been on the island for many years by this time, plenty of time for the other residents to get to know him, had he been willing to reciprocate. As it was, he seldom spoke and when he did, it was never about himself. As a result, no one knew anything about him.

Except for one thing.

Donald hated diesels, and with such vehement passion that the workmen had seen fit to go to great lengths to keep him separate from the island's diesel fleet. Ordinarily quiet as a field mouse, he was known to pick fights - both verbal and physical - with the diesels over the slightest things - or indeed, nothing at all. His long years on the island had not changed that.

The lady diesel, who had no name in the way of the mainland engines, did not know any of this when she approached him. He was puttering about Tidmouth yard, lining up trucks and coaches to be taken out by the other engines.

"Hello." She said, stopping in front of him.

He looked up, saw what was blocking his path, and glowered. "Ge' oot o' my way." He snapped in his rough Scottish burr. "I'm busy."

She ignored this. "What's your name?"

His eyes dropped to slits. "And what makes ye think I'd be telling that tae the likes o' you?"

"Why not?" She pressed.

"Just get oot o' my yard, ye filthy diesel." He spat.

She was mildly affronted by this, being young enough to have not encountered many steam engines in her time and fewer still of the highly abrasive sort.

"You're a curious one." She said after a moment.

"Am I?" He responded in a warning tone.

She was blocking his path directly, and he looked as if he were strongly considering moving her himself and damn the consequences, for he was never gentle. He'd already been relegated to shunting duty for the incident with Bear the other day, after all, and what more would they do?

"Yes." She said. "You don't seem at all happy here. I've heard stories of engines like you who'd have killed for a place on this island."

It was, perhaps, the wrong thing to say.

"Stories." Donald scoffed. "You've heard stories. 'O my kind."

"Yes."

I'm

He laughed humourlessly, a sound like something breaking. "How old are you?"

"Just about fifteen, why?" She was undeterred by him, and he didn't like it.

"Do ye ken how old I am?" He demanded crossly. "I'm eighty-one. I was built in 1909, in Glasgow. I worked for three different railways before here, carried three different numbers. Fifty years of devoted service and do ye ken how they repaid me? They threw me away!"

"Threw you away? No, you've been preserved." She said. "They scrapped the ones they threw away."

An odd, involuntary shiver ran through his frames. "Preserved." His voice shook now. "I never wanted this. No' - no' like this."

She looked at him strangely, then. "You weren't talking about yourself just now, were you?" Her gaze slipped to something behind him, then back.

"What?" He said, all traces of animosity gone.

Briefly, her eyes go to that spot behind him again. "You have a ghost following you, my dear." She said.

"Oh." He muttered sullenly. "Aye. I imagine I do."

o0o

One night, a day or two later, the main steam fleet, along with the lady diesel, were gathered for the night at Tidmouth sheds. Donald was also there, if only because it was more convenient than going back to where he normally slept in Arlesburgh when he would have to return for morning shunting duties the next day.

"Welcome, everyone." The lady diesel was sitting on the turntable, facing the occupied sheds. "Many of you have shared stories of engines past, who's spirits still linger here on this island. I must say, you've intrigued me, which is why I've invited you all to join me tonight." She gazed around the sheds." I know some of you have your doubts, so gather round and listen."

She paused as the engines hushed each other, bickering slightly as they did.

"Good evening, benevolent spirits of the island. We welcome you to join our circle tonight." She said.

There was a hush over the sheds as everyone watched and listened.

"If there is anyone here with us, please give us a sign, converse with us."

Nothing stirred save the wind whispering through the trees and the distant tolling of church bells, announcing the late hour.

"I told you this was nonsense." Gordon huffed, eyes rolling. "Ghosts, pah."

"Shut up, you great, galloping sausage!" Thomas hissed. "They won't come if you insult them." He paused, listening. "Spirits, Gordon apologizes. He's quite narrow-minded, you understand."

Gordon's face went red, but he didn't reply.

The lady diesel hushed them and spoke again. "Again, if any friendly spirits are here, please let us know."

There was another moment of silence, and James seemed about to say something when, quite suddenly, a shrill whistle split the still, night air.

Everyone jumped and looked around. "Who was that?" Henry said, sounding nervous. It was not a whistle they recognized, though it was not completely foreign.

In the end berth, where Donald was backed right to the buffers, he jolted and rolled forward, eyes wide with shock. He glanced around the yard, searching the wisps of fog for something he'd lost many years before.

The whistle sounded again. It was deep toned, carrying like an echo on the breeze.

"Hello, there." The lady diesel greeted it gently. "We are pleased to have you join us. Do you have a name? A number, perhaps?"

A moment went by. Then, James' headlamp blinked on, quite of its own accord.

"Hey!" He exclaimed. "What the -"

But before he had a chance to finish, it went out, followed closely by Toby's coming on. The old tram just blinked and raised his eyebrows, having seen stranger things in his time. It went out again, and Percy's came on. He yelped and jerked backwards.

"What's doing that!?" He cried.

The lady diesel hushed him. "I believe it's telling us its number."

Edward agreed. "Which would be. . .5-7-6 -"

"Four." Gordon supplied, as his lamp came on.

"And me again. Seven." Toby added, as his came on for a second time.

"57647." Said Edward. "Huh. I don't recognize that."

"It's not an island number." Said Duck. "It's B.R."

"Great." Said Henry. "The poor bugger was probably scrapped."

"Shh." Said the lady diesel. "Welcome, 57647. Do you have a message for us?"

She blinked and when she opened her eyes again, they had darkened strangely and her expression had changed.

"Donnie?" She spoke in a distinctly male voice, in an accent that was not her own. "Six?"

Donald swallowed his tears. "Aye. Aye, I'm here, seven."

The turntable turned so it lined up with Donald's berth. Everyone stared at him in shock.

"Dinna blame yerself, Donnie, please. It wasna yer fault."

"But I - if I had tried harder, then maybe -"

"You would only have been putting yerself in danger, and for what? They would never have let me go, Donnie."

Donald let out a sob. "I didna want to go either!" He cried. "I'd have rather stayed and gone tae the torch wi' you than leave and continue alone!"

"And give up yer life, when ye were offered the chance tae keep living? Tae be saved?"

"This isna living!" Donald wailed, breaking completely in the face of his ghost. "'Tis been y-years and I still feel so lost. I was never meant tae be wi'out you, seven."

"Ye're no' wi'out me, six - Donnie. I'm always here. Ye ken, I canna rest alone anymore than you can live alone. That's why I'm here at all, instead o' back in Scotland. I had tae follow you."

Donald whimpered, tears dripping onto his running board. "We were made tae be together, but I dinna understand why when we've been torn apart."

"We're no' apart, Donnie, we never will be. I'm always here. All ye need tae do is whistle, and I'll reply."

"Promise me." Donald pleaded.

"I promise. Now, I need tae go, Donnie, but dinna fash. I'll run wi' you in yer dreams tonight. Oidhche mhath, a bhràthair."

"G-Good night, little brother."