Headlights of the train emerge from the tunnel on the tracks rimming the edge of the bay. I must have misjudged the time, the trains are never earlier than scheduled. It appears shorter than usual, only three passenger cars being herded by the massive diesel engine at the rear.

Before long I hear the clanging sound of the crossing gates lowering followed by the loud shattering blast of the train’s horn. As it rounds the curve and rolls into the station, light is absent from all but one window. As the first car comes at me I see the face of the engineer – a pale appearing woman wearing white that is a stark contrast to her long red hair. I wait for the vestibule door to open so I can board. Finally the door of the second car opens and the conductor steps out. I hurry forward only to stop in confusion for he dressed in black from head to toe. Not like a regular uniform, more like a cloak. He is hatless with a shock of platinum hair.  His eyes look aflame, the color of fresh blood. The face has a haggard look and is expressionless. He does not speak. He stretches out his hand as if to draw me forward only to jerk it back. With a pivot, the cloak sailing out behind him, he glides into the doorway. The pocket door of the vestibule slaps shut. The train eases into motion, picks up speed and vanishes into the night.