The Wreckage

This is based on a true story.

Before you start reading this, I will tell you that this story does not end happily, so if you are one of those people who prefer cheerful stories, I strongly advise you to turn away to something much nicer.

To be quite honest, I guess you could call us obtuse, going down to the Wreckage when it was clearly forbidden. We had heard the stories. You probably have too. If you haven't, this is a clear outline:

Right now it is called 'The Wreckage', but long ago, back in roughly 1903, it was a train station. Around 1930 it was to be demolished but was only ever half completed and left there. Later on in 1947 a group of teenagers came so they could devastate the place even more. They were never seen or heard from again. Rumour has it that they were crushed under a ceiling collapsing on them. The bodies were never located.

Passing dogwalkers and hikers have reported that they have heard trains departing and letting off shrill whistles, but when they had gone to investigate, they found it deserted, and the tracks are in ruins anyway.

So now you know.

It was me and two close friends, Lauren and George who chose to venture into the old station. Behind the skeletal shapes of the trees, the sun was just beginning to vanish. We pushed through the undergrowth away from the main road and there we were, the ruins standing in front of us.

Already I could feel an unknown fear of loneliness settling in to my stomach, twisting my guts into a tight knot. Ignoring it, I chased after George who was already racing ahead. I couldn't let George know I was scared. He would have teased me for years.

Together we clambered up the fallen bricks onto the low roof, while Lauren set off behind the back of the platform. We were leaping about the debris and slabs when we heard a choked cry from a cluster of oak trees. My heart skipped a beat, wondering what had happened to Lauren. Without thinking twice I jumped off a nearby ledge, George close behind and we jogged over to where we could see Lauren standing.

'Sup Loz?' I asked her,  then I saw what she was peering at, her usual twinkly eyes now pools of worry. Incredulously, I stepped towards it and blinked. No. My eyes were not lying.

A noose. Swinging in the cool evening breeze. Looking up, I noticed that it was hanging from the most gnarled old tree, close to where the train ticket booth would have been. I didn't know what to say. Neither did George.

Quietly, Lauren said, 'You know that thing I told you a while ago. The thing about my mother being psychic? Well I think it may have been passed down to me. '

I bit my lip. I wanted to leave, but Lauren continued.

'I am almost certain there is somebody standing over there. I hate to break it to you two but we are not alone'. She was pointing towards the far end of the platform; I couldn't see anything but typically George had already walked over there to inspect this mysterious figure.

'George, get back here. It's not a good idea. I just know it!' Lauren pleaded.

George did not listen. He never did.

We stood back and watched him, after all, after what Lauren had just been saying it was clearly not the greatest of ideas. As he reached the spot on the platform, he stopped dead, and his large brown eyes widened and bulged. He shivered once, as did Lauren and I, then from what I could see a strong but invisible force was pulling at him from his neck. He let out a strangled cough, then he plummeted to the ground.

The last noise his body made was a sickening crunch of bone as he hit the ground with a tremendous impact.

I froze for a split second, then I sprinted over to him with Lauren, desperate for him to turn his head towards us and tell us he was fine. But when we got to where he should have been lying, nothing was there, just a cracked concrete platform.

And then the sound came. A train departing, whistling abruptly. We saw nothing, felt nothing, heard something.

The End

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