Ashlyn's Radio by Norah Wilson, Heather Doherty Page A

but she let it out on a laugh. “Hell, no. I’m … I’m a fashion model. Didn’t you know? You may have seen me gracing the cover of Cosmopolitan . Or was that Vogue ? No wait … it was Fish and Tackle . Yeah, that was it!”
    Caden wasn’t falling for it. Neither was Ashlyn. She wasn’t allowing Rachel to hide behind the dismissive joking. Not this time. If she was cutting herself on the neck…. Sometimes friends had to step in. “Did you hurt your neck?” Ashlyn asked.
    Rachel wet her lips. “No.” Her whisper was anxious.
    Caden’s voice was gentle. “Rachel, did someone else hurt you?”
    Her eyes shot wide, the whites flashing in the darkness, and when she spoke, Ashlyn could hear the tears in her voice. “I … I can’t tell you.” She turned to Ashlyn. “I can’t tell anyone.”
    “We’re your friends, Rachel,” Ashlyn said. “Whatever it is that you’re going through, we’ll try to help.”
    She shook her head slowly. “No one can. It’s … it’s gone too far. Gone on too long.”
    “What has?” Ashlyn asked.
    The tears rolled down Rachel’s cheek in the moonlight and she dashed them away with her hand. “People stay in their beds in Podunk Junction. No matter what they hear. No matter what they know. They just—”
    Rachel stopped abruptly and leapt to her feet.
    Ashlyn reached for her friend’s hand. “Come on, Rach—”
    “Listen!” Caden commanded. He raised a silencing hand in the air as he jumped to his feet himself. “The train whistle. I … I hear it. Omigod, I hear the ghost train coming!”
    And then Ashlyn did too.
    A chill hooked her, caught on her bones as if to shake her where she stood. The whistle was far away, but definitely closing in. Soon she could hear the rumble of the train as it moved along the tracks. Growing louder, more ominous. More threatening as it came closer still.
    And then she saw.
    The hulking black beast seemed to race as it approached the river, so much so that it was almost a blur. But it slowed drastically as it came down the approach to the bridge, reducing its speed to a comparative crawl as it crossed the span above them.
    And Rachel was right — this was the perfect vantage point. This close, the train looked like a skeleton in the night, its wide windows riding just above the top of the bridge’s deck. What she thought to be ghosts, but knew to be hundreds of lost souls, crowded around and pressed themselves against the windows, their hands palms out and wide to the glass, their faces wreathed in sorrow and grief. Men, women. Soldiers, civilians. A young girl about Ashlyn’s age. Ashlyn heard the wails when the train came to a complete stop as the engine rolled just past the end of the bridge. The train rested there, its engine gently and rhythmically chugging, like a blood beating heart. The cries of the tormented souls rose into the night.
    But those cries became whimpers and the sorrowful souls cowered when the engine door flew open and a tall man in a dark suit stepped into its frame. His head was bent beneath his conductor’s cap. He pulled something – a long, wide paper – from his pocket, examined it carefully, nodded approvingly, then looked up again. The conductor leaned from the train. He looked left, then right, up and down the tracks. And then finally, he looked directly to where Ashlyn, Rachel and Caden stood. That’s when Ashlyn realized, when the conductor fully looked their way, there was no flesh on his face. His high cheeks were bones. His eyes black pits. And his even grin widened as he marked the three standing by the river’s edge. Slowly, in invitation, the conductor extended the ticket out toward the three.
    “Holy God!” Caden whispered. “It’s … it’s real.”
    “It’s horrifying!” Ashlyn said.
    “No.” Rachel shook her head. “It’s … it’s beautiful. Can’t you see … can’t you see how peaceful?”
    “All aboard!” The conductor’s voice boomed into the blackness as he held