least on this side of the gate I’m clear for a quick getaway, should the need
arise.’
‘Should the
need
arise?’
‘Aye, if things go pear-shaped. It’s alright for you, you can slip through ’owt. Not so easy for me. I’d rather have a clear sprint if he doesn’t fancy
visitors.’
‘Because he was
so
welcoming the last time we met him,’ I said, phasing through the gate and on to the platform.
The station was empty, the ticket office locked up for the night, shutters down, door padlocked. I looked down the tracks in each direction. Eastbound toward town, the tracks disappeared through
the bridge arch, the road running over the top of it. To the west, the rails shone in the moonlight, cutting through the natural woodland that crowded the train line. I walked along the platform,
peering into every nook and cranny within the station house, searching for any sign of the Lamplighter. I looked up at the old gas lamps, rusting and redundant. I was waiting for them to spark into
life, just as they had on Danger Night, but they remained dead and dull. I stared down the shimmering tracks, searching for movement and finding nothing. I turned back up the rails toward the
bridge, squinting into the gloom. Two lights approached down the line, no doubt the last express on its way through the village to Liverpool. You never got stoppers at this time of night. I stepped
away from the platform’s edge as the lights neared, keeping my focus fixed upon the station.
My skin was suddenly crawling, cold dread creeping through me. It had been so long since I’d been aware of temperature I’d forgotten the sensation. My ethereal flesh rippled with
impossible goosebumps as my attention was drawn back to the bridge’s arch. Trainspotting 101: trains usually make a noise as they approach. The two glowing lights that blossomed in the
blackness carried no such telltale soundtrack. His eyes burned with a terrible fire, white hot coals on an ebony field.
The Lamplighter stepped out of the darkness, peeling away from the stone archway and coalescing before me. His spindly legs carried him along the platform, long coat wrapped about his skeletal
torso. He struck his staff against the floor and a flame burst into life at its head. One after another the old station lamps flared, balls of blue light rolling within them. I didn’t need
any further prompts.
I scrambled back the way I’d come, the hare having coaxed the hound into the hunt. Dougie screamed my name, pointing out the obvious all the while.
‘Run, Will! He’s here! He’s coming! He’s right behind you!’
‘Cheers, mate,’ I replied as I dashed towards him. ‘You’ll let me know if he grabs me?’
I passed straight through the locked gate and Dougie as the two of us toppled clear of the phantom. We fell on to the footpath, a jumble of limbs both solid and ghostly. We looked back as the
Lamplighter halted at the station’s threshold, his stovepipe hat adding another foot to his already towering frame. He turned his blackened skull one way and the other, up and down the long
mesh fence. Craning his neck forward, dirty scarf trailing against the gate, the Lamplighter brought his lighting pole back before swinging it out, over the gate and towards where we crouched. We
both gasped as it
whooshed
forward, a ghastly scythe looking to sever heads from stalks. The moment the staff passed over the gate and the station’s border, it dissipated, leaving a
trail of black smoke in its wake.
The Lamplighter hissed with disappointment. We sighed with relief.
‘Come to taunt a hungry old man, have we, children?’ His voice was the whisper of knives down our spines. ‘It has been too long between meals, young ones. So cruel. Two feasts,
one of flesh, one effluvial, and both beyond reach.’
His dark tongue flickered as he smacked his withered lips. They cracked with each movement, scorched skin splitting and falling in flakes.
‘Well, he hasn’t eaten
arise.’
‘Should the
need
arise?’
‘Aye, if things go pear-shaped. It’s alright for you, you can slip through ’owt. Not so easy for me. I’d rather have a clear sprint if he doesn’t fancy
visitors.’
‘Because he was
so
welcoming the last time we met him,’ I said, phasing through the gate and on to the platform.
The station was empty, the ticket office locked up for the night, shutters down, door padlocked. I looked down the tracks in each direction. Eastbound toward town, the tracks disappeared through
the bridge arch, the road running over the top of it. To the west, the rails shone in the moonlight, cutting through the natural woodland that crowded the train line. I walked along the platform,
peering into every nook and cranny within the station house, searching for any sign of the Lamplighter. I looked up at the old gas lamps, rusting and redundant. I was waiting for them to spark into
life, just as they had on Danger Night, but they remained dead and dull. I stared down the shimmering tracks, searching for movement and finding nothing. I turned back up the rails toward the
bridge, squinting into the gloom. Two lights approached down the line, no doubt the last express on its way through the village to Liverpool. You never got stoppers at this time of night. I stepped
away from the platform’s edge as the lights neared, keeping my focus fixed upon the station.
My skin was suddenly crawling, cold dread creeping through me. It had been so long since I’d been aware of temperature I’d forgotten the sensation. My ethereal flesh rippled with
impossible goosebumps as my attention was drawn back to the bridge’s arch. Trainspotting 101: trains usually make a noise as they approach. The two glowing lights that blossomed in the
blackness carried no such telltale soundtrack. His eyes burned with a terrible fire, white hot coals on an ebony field.
The Lamplighter stepped out of the darkness, peeling away from the stone archway and coalescing before me. His spindly legs carried him along the platform, long coat wrapped about his skeletal
torso. He struck his staff against the floor and a flame burst into life at its head. One after another the old station lamps flared, balls of blue light rolling within them. I didn’t need
any further prompts.
I scrambled back the way I’d come, the hare having coaxed the hound into the hunt. Dougie screamed my name, pointing out the obvious all the while.
‘Run, Will! He’s here! He’s coming! He’s right behind you!’
‘Cheers, mate,’ I replied as I dashed towards him. ‘You’ll let me know if he grabs me?’
I passed straight through the locked gate and Dougie as the two of us toppled clear of the phantom. We fell on to the footpath, a jumble of limbs both solid and ghostly. We looked back as the
Lamplighter halted at the station’s threshold, his stovepipe hat adding another foot to his already towering frame. He turned his blackened skull one way and the other, up and down the long
mesh fence. Craning his neck forward, dirty scarf trailing against the gate, the Lamplighter brought his lighting pole back before swinging it out, over the gate and towards where we crouched. We
both gasped as it
whooshed
forward, a ghastly scythe looking to sever heads from stalks. The moment the staff passed over the gate and the station’s border, it dissipated, leaving a
trail of black smoke in its wake.
The Lamplighter hissed with disappointment. We sighed with relief.
‘Come to taunt a hungry old man, have we, children?’ His voice was the whisper of knives down our spines. ‘It has been too long between meals, young ones. So cruel. Two feasts,
one of flesh, one effluvial, and both beyond reach.’
His dark tongue flickered as he smacked his withered lips. They cracked with each movement, scorched skin splitting and falling in flakes.
‘Well, he hasn’t eaten
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