The Ghost Train and the Scarlet Moon

By Jack Roney

INSPIRED BY QLD'S WORST RAIL DISASTER

Labour Day 1982 - a 'super-blue-blood-moon' looms high in the sky, thirty-five years since it last appeared. Three boys set out on an adventure, exploring the trail of a ghost train long since forgotten. It is also the 35th anniversary of the Camp Mountain

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hawkeye Publishing Pty Ltd
• Release date: Oct 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9780645502404

Jack Roney

Jack Roney lives with his family in Brisbane, Australia. His writing is inspired by over thirtyyears in law enforcement where he gained experience as an investigator, tactical skillsand firearms instructor, police academy instructor, strategic policy writer and mediaofficer. Jack was a police consultant for the ABC television series Harrow. The DemonsWoke is book 2 of a three-book series.

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THE GHOST TRAIN

AND

THE SCARLET MOON

Jack Roney

A picture containing text Description automatically generated

PROLOGUE

Monday 5th May, 1947 – Labour Day holiday

‘I can do it... I can do it... I can do it,’ a young mother and her children chorused as the steam train rattled over sleepers, inching up the incline. Passengers in the next compartment sang Atchinson, Chopeka and Santa Fe to the rhythm of the train’s clatter.

‘I did it... I did it... I did it!’ The woman and her children clapped with glee as the train reached the top of the hill.

Excited chatter of two hundred and fifteen men, women and children buzzed throughout the six wooden passenger carriages of Special Train E91, bound for Closeburn. A fun-filled day in the countryside lay ahead. The morning was bright and cool, a perfect day for a picnic, dancing and games of cricket.

Engine 824, a bottle-green C17 class locomotive, rattled and strained over the summit crest before sling-shotting down the incline. Steam chuffed from the boiler. A column of white smoke rose from the chimney and trailed behind in a cottonwool cloud. The whistle hooted woo-woo! Hitched to a coal tender and water gin, the locomotive took off down the slope towards Samford. The rhythm of steel wheels rolling over rail joints quickened ka-clunk, ka-clunk, ka-clunk. Songs to the beat of the train had to be sung faster and faster, until the speed of the beat became too rapid to keep up with. The train was going too quick, showing no signs of slowing.

The engine heaved, steam puffed from the stack and the air pump hissed. Inside the carriages, children squealed and scampered from window to window to peer at the bushland rushing past. Their parents called for them to sit and hold on. Anxiety crept among the passengers like a toxic mist, leaching away their glee. Carriages lurched from side to side and brakes screeched with no effect as the train rounded the first bend.

One woman shot her husband a look, her huge blue eyes wide. Her trembling fingers reached for his hand, her face ashen. The man froze, tight-shouldered with bulging neck tendons. They gripped their seats, eyes locked onto each other like magnets.

The train snapped around another bend and gathered frightening speed as it careened through a narrow granite cutting, jagged walls towering above the carriage roofs. The cutting opened to a picturesque valley, stunning yet ominous. On both sides of the track, the edges fell away into deep ravines, opposing ridges rising high and steep. Tall, straight trees emerged from the acute slopes. Boulders balanced on the hillsides as though the slightest nudge would send them crashing towards the valley floor.

In the fifth carriage, a little girl wriggled from her mother’s grasp. Standing on tippy toes, she poked her head outside the compartment window. She looked back at her father, face beaming. ‘Bushrangers are chasing us, Dad. They’re gaining on us!’

Her father gave her a sharp look. ‘Come and sit down, Bethie.’

The child returned a questioning stare.

‘Now, Bethie!’ he scowled.

As the train swung around another bend, the little girl stumbled and toppled into her father’s lap. He pulled her close, her slight body melting into his protective cocoon. He gave his wife a pained look, the skin bunching around his eyes. He drew her close, the three huddling in a tight embrace.

The locomotive strained and the tracks’ driving rods clacked loudly beneath its weight as it barrelled ahead, increasing speed. The carriages swayed violently.

‘Something’s wrong!’ another woman shouted. Her face bathed in terror. She stiffened and was sent sliding across the seat towards the window. Her husband squeezed his arm around her waist as she gripped the window ledge, bracing herself. She gathered her two children, holding them tight.

From other compartments, women and children screamed and men cursed. Light bulbs rattled in their fittings. Luggage spilled from overhead racks. The carriages rocked and swayed as the train picked up even more pace.

‘The train has bolted!’ A man braced against the opposite seat with his feet.

The train bumped madly, wheels screeched, the carriage shook. The coupling rods propelling the wheels rotated as fast as they could go.

‘The Queensland Railways have gone mad,’ exclaimed another man sitting opposite, gripping his seat between his legs with both hands. ‘The damn train’s out of control!’

The six carriages aligned briefly as the train followed a short section of straight line, hurtling towards a tight S-bend. Momentum flung the locomotive around the sharp curve with too much speed, its outside wheels lifting. The first two carriages tilted, about to topple. The locomotive slewed from the tracks. Sparks flew as the wheels scraped the steel rails and carved trenches into the ground, ballast gravel spraying in their wake. The coal tender and water gin broke free of the tracks and roared towards the cutting, followed by an explosion of carriages and a thunderous rumble.

Towards the back of the train, a sudden jolt threw everyone forwards. Impact shuddered through the seats. One man flung himself over his wife as suitcases and packages fell from the racks. A father cradled his baby boy against his chest and pushed his foot against the seat, jamming his shoulder against his wife to hold her back.

Metal ground and woodwork splintered in a huge crash up ahead. The rear carriage jerked to a stop. At the back of the train the guard was thrown against a wall in the rear compartment, his ribcage jarring the air from his lungs. The end carriages surged forward one last time, coming to an abrupt halt. Eerie silence hung in the air.

The guard picked himself up and leaned over the railing. The last three carriages were still upright and clung to the tracks, undamaged. The third carriage had derailed at a drunken angle but he couldn’t see beyond this due to the curvature of the track. He blew his whistle in panic but there was no response from his colleagues at the front of the train.

His pocket watch dangled by its chain, the glass broken. The hands, no longer ticking, read 9:48am. He jumped from the train and clambered to the top of the cutting, stunned by the sickening sight up ahead. He returned to screw on the handbrake.

‘Go for a telephone!’ he yelled to a group of confused passengers leaning out the windows of the last carriage. He hurried back along the tracks where he placed red warning flags and detonators to alert the next train.

At the front of the train, a scene of horror unfolded. A mushroom cloud of coal dust and steam billowed from the engine. Escaping steam whistled like a siren. The engine had rolled onto its side and ploughed deep into an embankment. The coal tender had flown off the tracks and dug in nose first, tilting upwards and sideways with the rear end more than fifteen feet from the tracks. The water tank had wrenched from the tender, the leading carriage striking it squarely and telescoping as the tank passed through its centre like a missile. The second carriage had concertinaed into the first, the two merging into a single pile of wreckage. Both carriages had exploded into matchwood, crushed and mangled beyond recognition. The bogeys and wheels of the tender had ripped free and tumbled in a mass of twisted metal.

Inside what was left of the first carriage, a man sat frozen with shock, the chilling screams of a family in the next compartment piercing his eardrums. His face covered in grime, he looked around in a daze. His sports coat was spoiled by the blood of the dead woman sprawled over him. Thick steam filled the carriage. Two men, both dead, sat upright, crushed from the chest down. A third man had been thrown on top of them, his body impaled by splintered timber. A woman’s sandal, yellow with blue stripes, lay on the floor, but its owner was nowhere to be seen.

The third carriage had skipped off the tracks to the right, smashing into the rear of the second carriage, before coming to rest against the bank of the cutting. Those able to free themselves scrambled from windows, dazed and covered in dust. A teenage girl, tossed from the train, lay on the embankment moaning in agony. Some people were jammed so tightly between the buckled floorboards and steel undercarriage there was nothing anyone could do to free them. It was hopeless.

One young man, who had been seated in another part of the train to his parents and brother, jumped from the third carriage and dashed along the embankment. With blood streaming from a gash over his eye, he clambered onto the buckled roof of the first carriage, calling for them. Unbeknownst to him, all three laid dead, buried in the carnage. Though he could not find his family, he spotted a small boy’s face peering up from beneath a tangle of bodies. The boy reached out through a small gap and clutched the man’s hand. The man tossed away debris, clearing a small space for the boy to wriggle through. With a final pull, the man dragged the boy free.

A woman in the second carriage was wedged tight between crushed seats, blood seeping from her ears and nose. Her arms and legs dangled, her head giddy from hanging upside down. She called for her husband, but there was no reply. The roof had collapsed on the corner in which he and another woman had been sitting. Day had turned to night inside the cramped cavity, the windows pressed against the earth. A single shard of sunlight pierced the dust through a tiny hole in the debris where the end of the carriage had been.

Nearby, a husband and wife, and another man, lay dead in the twisted crush. Another woman and a little boy cried out for help. A young man dragged his sister from the wreck, her clothes torn to shreds. Two women and a man, injured but alive, were pinned by their legs, held firm by a broken seat. Wedged on top of them, crushed by wooden beams, slumped the bodies of three boys, a woman and a man. From beneath it all came the cries for help of the trapped and injured.

The driver was alive but pinned inside the cab of the engine. He was bent over in a sitting position, jammed across the thighs and knees by the twisted metal of the control lever and steam pipe. The dead fireman had been thrown from the train, crushed beneath the engine’s wheels.

Flames from burning coal leapt from the firebox in the engine’s cab. Out of nowhere, a strangely dressed man appeared in the doorway. He moved feverishly to the aid of the driver, giving the handle several thrusts with his boot until the hatch to the firebox slammed shut.

‘How did this happen?’ he called to the driver.

The driver’s scalp bled from a gash, the skin on his cheeks scalded red raw from escaping steam. His face contorted in agony.

His words slurred. ‘My mate didn’t know the way... We were going too fast... We couldn’t slow it down.’

Amid the chaos, he drifted in and out of consciousness to the shrill of agonised screams and the deafening wail of the locomotive’s whistle.

Hot air above the train shimmered. Pulsating waves radiated outwards from the epicentre of the crash. A ball of energy appeared and intensified, engulfing the scene of devastation in a strobing half-dome of light. White tendrils of electricity emanated from a central orb inside a huge, neon globe of plasma. Matter and energy blended as one, atoms and gravity were pulverised. For the briefest of moments, a disruption occurred in the continuum between the past, present and future. An ancient cosmic phenomenon had revealed itself.

A portal through time had opened, a tiny tear in the fabric of space.

PART 1

1

Monday 3rd May, 1982 – Labour Day holiday

THE pre-dawn air was brisk and fresh, the world outside dark and still. A billion specks of light dotted the blackness above. As the last remnants of the night clung on, a bright moon loomed high in the sky. It was stunning and burned with an eerie red haze with black splotches.

Our house was set in a hollow off the street, so I had to push my bike up the steep driveway. When I reached the mailbox I jumped on my Dragster and rolled out onto the street. I adjusted the straps of the knap-sack slung over my shoulders. Chirping crickets broke the silence, circling me like a Mexican wave. I pushed the pedals hard for the climb up Petersen Road until I reached the intersection with Camp Mountain Road. I stopped in front of the sad fibro cottage, slumped on the corner in its overgrown yard, where Jimmy and his mum lived. It had been Jimmy’s grandfather’s house before he died.

Jimmy’s bike was gone from the front porch and the place was in darkness. I looked at my digital watch.

Damn!

He must have gone without me.

I pedalled on and held my breath as gravity shot me down the hill towards Samford Village. The old Sacred Heart Catholic Church came into view. Perched on a small hill, the tiny chapel stood silhouetted by a reddish haze of moonlight. As night faded, a glow beyond the horizon was a tangible whisper of daylight, a foreshadow of the inevitable rising sun. A group of stargazers had already gathered on the highest point of the church grounds.

I steered into the church ground’s driveway and rode up to the meeting spot. Some of the boys and girls from my Grade 7 Samford State School class lay on blankets. Others sat on foldout chairs, pointing to the sky in excited whispers. I spotted the lanky frame of my teacher, Mr Harms, studying the moon through a pair of binoculars. He stroked his spindly goatee as he chatted with other enthusiasts setting up elaborate-looking telescopes mounted on tripods. I wheeled my bike up to my group and set it down, relieved to see I wasn’t the last to arrive.

‘Spewin’ we have to be here at sparrow fart, and on a public holiday. This is lame,’ Ralph Plunchard mumbled from the corner of his mouth. He plopped his lard-arse frame onto a blanket and flicked off his Ugg Boots, his big toes poking through holes in his socks.

‘Shut up, Ralph,’ scolded Melonie Jenkins, her brow creased. ‘This is so cool.’

Melonie Jenkins. She was right there. My heart thumped. She was as pretty as Tina Arena, my secret crush from Young Talent Time. Her dark hair shone like the sea under the moonlight, her pink lips glowing. Her eyes were a deep brown, the colour of hot chocolate. She glanced my way, and I drew my eyes away from her.

‘What-ever ya reckon, Smell-oh-nee. Teacher’s pet,’ said Ralph. ‘I still say this sucks.’ Other kids sharing the blanket shuffled away as he picked his nose and examined the findings.

Melonie scrunched her nose. ‘Eww! So gross.’

Ralph ignored her. He whistled, and two of his mates slunk beside him on the blanket like blue heelers getting in behind their master.

‘Ah, Mr McIntyre. Good to see you on this beautiful morning.’ Mr Harms came up to me and placed a pencil tick against my name on his clipboard list. He pushed his round spectacles up the bridge of his nose with the tip of an index finger and adjusted the peak of his tweed beret cap. He glanced over his shoulder as he walked off. ‘Where are your two partners in crime?’

I shrugged. ‘Don’t know, sir. Thought they’d be here already.’ My head swivelled like a periscope, checking the faces in the pre-dawn gloom.

‘Oi, Toby!’

I spun around and smiled. Dan threw his arm around my neck in a playful headlock and tousled my hair with his knuckles. Jimmy stood behind Dan, giving a gap-toothed smile. His scraggly blonde hair was flat on one side and sticking up in a wild mess on the other.

‘Dude, you’ve got some wicked bed hair.’ I licked my fingers and motioned to pat down Jimmy’s wild mess.

He jumped back, giggling as he ducked and weaved his head like a boxer to avoid my slimy fingers. ‘Get out, McIntyre. Don’t touch the hair.’

I lunged towards Jimmy with my palms raised, threatening to slime him.

As Jimmy reeled back the heels of his tattered Dunlop Volleys caught the meaty shins of Ralph Plunchard who was sprawled on the ground behind him like a giant marshmallow. Jimmy waved his arms to regain balance. I reached out, clutching for him, but it was too late.

‘Arghh!’ groaned Ralph, as Jimmy toppled onto his belly. He raised a chunky foot and booted Jimmy’s wafer-thin frame off him.

‘Get off me, you little runt!’ Eyes darting, face red with anger, Ralph jumped to his feet with more agility than I’d ever seen him move before. His weight pressed forward, he grabbed Jimmy by the front of his tattered woollen jumper and hauled him to his feet like a ragdoll. He raised a clenched fist, his eyes full of rage, threatening to pummel the living hell out of poor Jimmy. Ever since I’d known Ralph he’d always had a hair trigger. Punch first, ask questions later was the mantra Ralph lived by. I stood frozen, like the gutless wimp I was.

Dan jumped in between them like a matador, using his athletic frame to shield Jimmy from Ralph’s fist. Dan looked impressive. His body contours and muscles were already starting to sort themselves out under his brand-new Adidas tracksuit.

‘Let go of Jimmy, or you’ll have to deal with me.’ Dan’s voice remained even, low enough to not draw attention but with enough sting to get his point across. He clenched his jaw, narrowing his eyes at Ralph, but kept his arms down by his sides, almost inviting him to have a go. They stared each other down, their eyes at the same level and just a few centimetres apart. Six months earlier, I reckon Ralph would have taken his chances but Dan had sprouted a foot taller since then.

Ralph let go of Jimmy’s jumper with a final shove. ‘You’ll get yours, you little gutter rat,’ he spat. ‘Better watch your back, Bishop. Your boyfriend Peters won’t always be there to come to your rescue.’

Dan didn’t react. He stood his ground and ignored the petty insult.

‘It was an accident, Ralph. It was my fault,’ I said, timid.

Ralph snapped his head towards me, shooting a pointed finger. ‘Shut your pie hole, McIntyre, or I’ll shut it for you.’

I stood frozen with the weight on my heels, mouth ajar. I wished I had the courage to stand toe-to-toe with the likes of Ralph Plunchard. I wished the right words would come to my head, something smart, something witty. But my brain was an empty void, nothing but mush. Who was I kidding? I couldn’t intimidate anyone if I tried. I wouldn’t know how.

‘Hey! What’s going on over here?’ Our heads turned in unison as Mr Harms appeared, his glare bouncing to each of us in turn. He eyeballed Ralph. ‘Mr Plunchard, is there any trouble here?’

Ralph opened his big gob, about to speak.

Dan stepped forward, a Cheshire grin playing on his lips. ‘Oh, it’s nothing, sir. We’re just mucking around.’ He wrapped an arm around Ralph’s shoulders. ‘Hey Ralph? Just havin’ a bit of fun.’

An awkward smile plastered across Ralph’s face. ‘Yeah, sir, like Peters said, just mucking around.’ He casually crossed his arms.

Mr Harms eyed them with a sceptical frown. ‘Well, settle down now. We’re about to get started.’ He examined his clipboard and counted heads. ‘Looks like everyone’s here. Everyone, quiet now. Find a comfortable spot and let’s enjoy the spectacle.’

Ralph dropped his fake smile the moment Mr Harms turned his back. He threw Dan’s arm off his shoulders and gave him a shove. ‘Get off me!’

Dan chuckled.

As Ralph brushed past, he snarled at me like a wild dog. My skin crawled. He huffed away and slumped back down onto the blanket beside his two mates who sniggered like hyenas.

‘I’m so sorry, Jimmy,’ I whispered, still shaken. I couldn’t look him in the eye. ‘I shouldn’t have chased you. It was stupid.’

‘It’s alright, Toby. Don’t worry about it.’ Jimmy looked down at his feet. ‘I just hate it when he calls me that... ya know, gutter rat.’

‘He’s an arse-wipe. Don’t let him get you down, bud,’ said Dan, loud enough for Ralph to hear. Ralph glared back but Dan ignored him. Dan’s face then lit up with a smile, unflappable. ‘Anyway, I brought this to sit on. Help me spread it out.’

He pulled a folded blanket from his bag. Typical. You could always rely on Dan to come prepared. He’d already shrugged off the whole incident with Ralph as though it was nothing. I was still trembling.

‘Come on Tobes, snap out of it. Give us a hand, will ya?’ said Dan.

The three of us pulled at the corners and spread it out on the dewy grass alongside Melonie Jenkins and her friends.

Dan ran his hands through his sandy hair, parted in the middle with a cowlick at the front. He winked at Melonie. ‘G’day, babe.’

‘Shut up, Peters. Moron.’ She then whispered and giggled with her friends.

Dan nudged me in the ribs with his elbow. ‘She likes me. I can tell.’

‘In ya dreams, Dan,’ said Jimmy.

I glanced at Melonie and caught her eye. She gave me a subtle smile and my face grew hot. No one noticed.

We settled on the blanket, huddling together so we’d all fit. Dan made sure he sat on the outside, closest to the girls. Bashful, I sat on the far side with Jimmy in the middle.

‘Where were you this morning?’ I said to Jimmy. ‘I thought we were going to ride into town together?’

‘Um, I couldn’t sleep. I was up helping Mum.’ His voice was barely above a whisper. ‘She was sick. Drunk again.’

I just nodded, not really knowing what to say.

Jimmy squinted, his brow lowering. ‘I just wanted to get out of the house, so I left early and rode over to Dan’s place.’

Dan leaned forward with a beaming smile and wrapped an arm around Jimmy’s shoulders. ‘Yeah, we rode in together from my joint, hey Jimbo.’

Jimmy nodded, staring at the ground as he plucked strands of grass. He selected a long stem and slid it into the corner of his mouth, nibbling at it.

‘Anyway, what food did you two bring?’ Dan rifled through his bag. He carefully removed his new Polaroid camera.

I pulled out my dad’s Dolphin torch and clicked it on, its bright glow illuminating the space within our huddle.

‘Not much.’ Jimmy opened the tattered satchel slung over one shoulder. He’d told me it was his grandfather’s kit bag from the Second World War. ‘Mum doesn’t have much money this week, all we had in the cupboard was this.’ He pulled out a half-empty packet of Arrowroot biscuits.

‘That’s all right, you can share mine. I brought extras just in case.’ Dan handed Jimmy a muesli bar and a banana. ‘I’ve got some Poppers as well.’

Jimmy accepted the snacks and juice with a glum face. ‘Thanks.’

Dan held out a juice to me. ‘You want one, Macca?’

‘No thanks. I chugged some Tang at home.’ I looked in my knap-sack and pulled out my lunchbox. ‘I’ve got some buttered ginger