In the deep of night, a lone train emerged from the darkness, its approach signaled only by a distant, rhythmic clatter. The stars were barely visible through the shroud of heavy clouds, and the moon’s light seemed to flicker like a candle struggling to stay alight.
The train, an old steam engine with a polished brass nose, chugged steadily along its track. Each puff of steam was a ghostly wisp against the dark canvas of the sky. Its headlamp cut through the murk like a searchlight, casting long, wavering shadows that danced across the ground.
On the platform, where no one waited, the only sound was the whisper of wind rustling through autumn leaves. The train came to a slow stop, its brakes hissing gently. For a moment, it seemed to hold its breath.
Then, as if answering some unseen call, the engine released a mournful whistle. The sound echoed, fading into the night. With a final shudder, the train's doors creaked open, revealing a soft, golden light from within, promising warmth and mystery before the doors closed once more and the train slipped away into the darkness.