The Box Car Ghost

It was just your usual type box car, coupled to several other freight cars. You might even say it was almost invisible, such was its common appearance. Over nearly a half century, the red siding had faded to a rustic reddish brown and the railroad logo had changed a four times. Still, it rolled along the tracks, dutifully hauling heavy loads of farm, store and builders' goods. Some say the box car groaned when full to its brim.

It would pull up to its loading dock at warehouses all across the USA. In the early days, hand carts moved several tons of boxed goods into its belly. Later, forklift drivers did this job faster and more efficiently.

When it was in need of repair, it would sit on tracks near a roundhouse, waiting patiently for its wheels to be replaced or its siding or roof to be patched. Other times, when shipments were delayed for processing at a warehouse, the box car sat on a track with hoppers, tankers, wagons and flat cars with nothing more than the wind and rain to keep them company. So, some believed.

But, this box car in particular had a "history." During the Great Depression, it was loaded down with hobos and vagrants with searching eyes and desperate souls, trying to keep warm or to hide from the law they were running from. The box car had its share of violence too. There was that time in 1939 when Johnny Ray Whiting pulled a knife on the transient hobo, Lemmy James. Johnny Ray beat a hasty retreat off the box car and disappeared into the wide open Oklahoma plains, leaving Lemmy James to bleed to death.

The box car was often home to the most peculiar people and not all were vagrants and hobos. There was Cliff Roscoe, running from the law that caught up with him when the box car was moved down the Kansas line to the next loading dock. Cliff had robbed a small town bank and had to pay for his crime. And, pay he did at a Kansas penitentiary.

One man, Sam Loyal, was left to care for his granddaughter, Daisy Lindsay, when her parents abandoned both of them. George and Maura Lindsay's home fell into foreclosure by the banks in those days and parents just up and left it all behind. Sam and Maura boarded the box car in Ohio. Same hoped to make it to Philadelphia where he had a son who could take them both in until he got back on his feet again.

The box car was home to Sam and Maura for nearly six months, mostly because it was empty. It was empty more often when money was scarce. No one runs food and other goods out of factories and warehouses when the money is dried up.

Little Maura was all of six years old. Sam had to watch out for her constantly for the unsavory characters who boarded the box car. Mostly, the men felt sorry for the child and did what they could to keep her fed. One man, John Bertram, in tattered rags, hopped on board the box car in Harrisburg and handed Maura what remained of his last meal, a half-eaten sandwich of bologna that had already begun to spoil.

"Here child. You need this more'n I do," John told the little girl.

"I do thank you sir for my granddaughter," Sam said.

When Sam arrived at his son's home in Philadelphia, he was already in poor health. His son and daughter-in-law, being childless were more than happy to take Maura in. But, they too were of meager means and told Sam he would have to find a place for himself. Their small one bedroom apartment was just "not big enough" for two more. Nor, was it possible to feed "two more mouths."

Sam slept in the railroad station for nearly a week before he boarded the box car again. The men inside were a collection of homeless, jobless and lawless individuals. Sam kept to his corner of the empty box car.

"You don't look good, mistuh," one of the men said.

"I am just fine," Sam said.

"Whatever you have, it ain't catchin', is it?" another asked.

"Not unless getting on in years is "catchin'" Sam replied.

"Say old timer, how long you been on riding this box car?" a young man asked.

"Longer than you. I'm sure," he answered.

"What's a young man like you doing riding the rails at your age?" Sam asked.

"Lost my job in New York City. Hopped this box car hoping it'll get me out west...California maybe," he replied.

"Don't as this box car goes that far. You can maybe hop aboard one in Kansas or Oklahoma that'll get you to California," Sam said.

The young man looked to Sam as if he might have had a decent job in New York City.

"New York, you say?" Sam continued.

"New York, where bodies of the rich men fly out of their skyscrapers on a daily basis," the young man said.

"You mean they are doing themselves in? But why?" Sam asked.

"Lost their money, why else?"

"Hang it if I'll ever understand that," Sam said.

"Lots these days that's too hard to understand. That's why I moving on," the young man said.

"You think it's better in California?" Sam asked.

"Got to be. I hear there's job there. I got a wife and two kids back in New York City. Gotta find work to help support them."

"I got no plans, short of dying soon as this old body gives out," Sam said, nodding off to sleep.

Sam never woke up. His body was found nearly two weeks later when the box car rolled into another dock for pickups. It would have been amusing, if not so sad, that the men who tried to board the box car were quickly repelled by the stench of Sam's decomposing body.

"What the hell?" Jim Tansey said, when he discovered the dead man's body.

"Looks like one of those tramps who just didn't make it," Charlie Adams, the  freight engineer said.

"Well? What now? You know we can't use that box car till you fumigate it," Jim said.

"I thought you had shipments to run out to Topeka?" Charlie said.

"Did, don't...until you get that old box car washed down," Jim said.

"Ain't no round house for that near by," Charlie said.

"Well, I can't allow you to load any boxes in that car. What? You want the FDA down on us?" Jim asked.

So, the old box car remained empty. The nearest round house was back in Harrisburg, nearly 900 miles from Boise, Oklahoma. When it finally moved out of Boise, men who boarded the box car, not knowing of the deaths of Lemmy James or Sam Loyal swore they heard groaning from inside the car.

"Just the wind," Archie Crane told the others.

"Wind, hell. Sounds like a man groaning," Carl Wither said.

As the days of poverty, hardship and deprivation abated, World War II, saw the old box car in use for hauling military supplies, mostly ammunition. The number of hobos and vagrants boarding the box car have diminished significantly. During the 40s, most of those who did were avoiding going off to war.

The old box car headed south to a munitions factory in Delaware where it was loaded with tear gas canisters and other powdered propellants. Then, it was back up to Baraboo, Wisconsin for another load. The box car got a real work out for a freight car used to being home to transients. Still, whenever the box car was emptied of its loads, it was the best free ride for a lot of men who needed a place to sleep or hide out.

Jack Lorman boarded the box car in Baraboo. He'd worked at the munitions plant there and had a big idea he could black market some of the smokeless powders to gun smugglers for a tidy little sum. Hiding out on the box car insured he wouldn't get caught with his goods.

While the box car idled on track fifteen miles from Moline, Illinois, Jack was sound asleep. It was pitch dark outside and the only sound was the occasional engine grunting. Jack was wakened by a loud groan. He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus.

The box car was empty. He turned over on a sack of grain in the corner of the box car and fell back to sleep. He was awakened a second time by that groaning sound. Only this time, it was in a lower pitch and less shrill. The inside of the box car was pitch dark. Jack felt a shiver up his spine.

I'm just being silly. I'm the only one here. 

No. He wasn't. Across the interior of the box car, Jack swore he saw a black shapeless form. It seemed to move closer to him. He figured he was still asleep and dreaming. He shook himself awake as hard as he could. The black form was still there, only now...it seemed to be nearly six feet tall and reaching out to him.

He rubbed his eyes. The form was still there. In all that blackness inside the box car, the form was blacker and had a kind of forceful energy. He heard the groan again. He thought about opening the sliding door of the box car and running. He rose. The form moved nearer and groaned again. This time, the groaning was long, drawn out and sounded mournful.

What the hell? I must be dreaming. I'm getting out of here!

He made his way to the door of the box car. Now, the blackened form was only a few feet away. He tugged and tugged on the handle to escape. The more he tugged, the more the door wouldn't budge. He felt beads of sweat on his brow.

When finally he managed to open the door, he dropped his bundle of gun powders just as the form moved toward the door. He jumped out and rolled onto the ground just as the box car exploded. He saw a large black plume hovering atop the remains of the box car and hear a shrill wail. He picked himself up and ran, never looking back.