Ghost Stories - Lorna Bradbury [12]
‘we have to warn them …’
‘I wouldn’t bother. I would leave them to it. There’s a bad lot hangs around here at night. You have a go at them, you end up with a bottle in your face.’ he shrugged. ‘That’s how it goes.’
‘I’ll phone the police.’ She weighed up the phone in her hand.
‘There was one lad, you know … he was waiting for the train. he was right here, at the station, on his own. a bunch of kids came down – well, a gang of lads, to be precise. Drunk, as usual. They caught a hold of him and threw him onto the tracks. Did you hear about it?’
Emma shook her head. There were several children on the line; some of them no older than primary school age. it was very difficult to make them out, but there seemed to be at least one little girl. a shrill laugh reached her through the gauzy mist, and she recoiled.
‘Yeah, they threw him on the tracks. Right there, just in front of us. he was on his way to a camp with an outward bound youth group.’ The boy laughed, as desolate a sound as the one carried to Emma had heard in the fog. ‘and they wouldn’t let him climb back up. and so the train came in, and…’ The boy smacked a fist into his palm.
A girl staggered into view on the line, not more than thirteen-years-old. She had short, spiky hair, almost a boy’s haircut except for a fringe tracing a wave across her forehead. it was too severe for her rounded features. The girl was in some distress, and from her swaying gait on the horizontal tracks it was clear she’d been drinking.
‘I want to go home,’ the girl moaned. Behind her, hidden in the fog, shadowy figures hooted and grunted.
Emma started forward. ‘hey. hey there! You have to get off the tracks. a train might come in.’
The boy stroked his chin. ‘i would just leave her.’
‘You can’t just leave her!’ Emma hissed. ‘She’ll be killed.’
‘I want to go home,’ the girl said. She rubbed her eyes and stopped short.
‘Here,’ Emma said, leaning forward. ‘Climb up onto the platform. Take my hand.’
The girl looked up. Behind her, in the distance, yellow pinpricks reflected the waning light.
‘Come on,’ Emma said. ‘i’ll help you.’
‘I want to go home,’ the girl said.
‘i’m cold.’ ‘i’m not surprised honey, you don’t even have a coat on,’ Emma said. ‘now come on, you have to.’
The faint reddish glow in the mist blinked and turned green. The girl on the tracks nodded, as if fighting sleep, and then sat down heavily.
‘Oh my God.’ Emma looked down the track; no sign of any approaching lights. She half-remembered some pedant telling her that the green light came on when the train was two stops away. That was plenty of time. The cold bit into her hands as she crouched and lowered herself down, the stones clicking beneath her heels. The girl stared up at her.
The boy, standing above, looked up the track and sucked in through his teeth. ‘i wouldn’t have done that. it’s a trick.’
Emma ignored him. The girl’s head had sunk, her wrists propped her wrists on her knees. Emma gripped her by the armpits. ‘Come on,’ she grunted. ‘i’ll help you climb up. There’s a train coming. Do you understand? There’s a train coming. Get up!’
‘Leave her. Seriously,’ the boy said.
‘Shut up and help me! I can’t lift her!’
Although Emma was sure she had the girl by the armpits, she didn’t have any impression of weight; and the figure didn’t budge. The girl looked up at her … and the expression changed from befuddlement to malign amusement. her eyes flickered yellow, just for an instant.
Then there were other children on the tracks, surrounding her. one round-faced lad with a cherub’s cheeks but a blank expression; a taller boy with a 1980s pudding bowl haircut and a fluffy moustache; two teenage girls with far too much make-up on, cobalt-blue eyeshadow smeared across