Piedmont Porchlight Stories — Mrs. Delphine’s Dixie Boarding House

If there was one thing railroad men excelled at, other than keepin’ steel leviathans from jumpin’ the tracks, it was arriving at the wrong answer with complete and unwavering conviction.

So, the morning after the Dixie Boarding House behaved like a train ovulating steam ghosts, the Seaboard crew marched into the Huddle House like a battalion of experts who had never once been right.

They sat together at the long table near the window—
a table known locally as “The Council of Misguided Elders.”

Sadie Mae approached, coffeepot in hand, eyebrow cocked.

“You boys look troubled,” she said, pouring without asking.

Cap’n Leland Potts cleared his throat.
“Sadie, we have come to a professional conclusion.”

Sadie sighed.
“That’s your first mistake.”

Cap’n Potts Presents the Theory

Potts stood, hat in hand, eyes narrowed like a man deliverin’ news of regional significance.

“Last night,” he began, “Mrs. Delphine’s house engaged in locomotive-like behavior.”

“We heard,” Sadie Mae said. “The whole town heard. You can hear that story echoing in Gadsden.”

Potts nodded solemnly.

“Well, after extensive deliberation…”
(This meant they argued for seven minutes, and Hank cried once.)
“We have determined that the ghost is preparing the boarding house to become… a mobile depot.”

The entire Huddle House fell silent.

Then it fell loud.

“What in heaven’s name is a mobile depot?” Sadie demanded.

Potts puffed up importantly.
“A depot… that moves.”

Virgil Capps chimed in, adjusting his suspenders.
“Like a train station on wheels. Or tracks. Or somethin’.”

“Somethin’” was the operative term.

Fiddlestick McGraw nodded vigorously.
“That explains why the house rocked like a boxcar. The ghost was testin’ its mobility.”

Sadie stared at them like they’d grown antlers.

“Y’all truly believe a grown ghost is fixin’ to drive that old house to Chattanooga?”

Potts nodded.
“We’re ninety percent sure.”

“Only ninety?” she asked.

“Well,” Hank Bailey said, “we’re accountin’ for variables such as the supernatural and gravity.”

Sadie pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Lord preserve us.”

The Second Layer of Wrongness

At that moment, Owen walked in and stopped dead at the sight of the assembled men.

“Oh no,” he whispered, “they’re theorizing.”

Potts saw him and waved him over.

“Owen, we have deduced the ghost’s intention.”

Owen sat slowly, like one does before hearing terrible news.

“The ghost,” Potts declared, “is convertin’ the Dixie House into an interdimensional railway depot.”

Owen blinked.

“Inter-dimen…what?”

Virgil clarified.
“A depot for passengers who ain’t exactly alive… or dead. Includin’ us, if we’re polite enough.”

Fiddlestick added, “He saluted us. That means we’re invited.”

Owen looked at the men with an expression usually reserved for medical emergencies.

“You boys,” he said softly, “need hydration.”

A Conclusion Even Wronger Than the Rest

Their “findings” escalated as follows:

1. The ghost was a conductor.
2. The ghost was assembling a ghost crew.
3. The house was preparin’ to move.
4. The boarding house was becoming a supernatural train car.
5. The ghost was planning a route.
6. The next “station” might be anywhere—
   • Dugger Mountain
   • The Borden Springs woods
   • The pearly gates
   • “Or maybe even Opelika,” added Hank, who feared the worst.

By the time the railroad men finished their pancakes, they had convinced themselves of the following official position:

The ghost is preparing for a large-scale, multi-stop, metaphysical railroad journey using the Dixie Boarding House as a vessel.

And wouldn’t you know, by lunchtime, half the town believed it.

Meanwhile… in the Boarding House

Mrs. Delphine sat in her parlor, arms crossed, foot tappin’, waiting for the ghost.

She had soot rings.
She had a frosted glove print.
She had a cookie tin on the table that did NOT get there by mortal hands.

And now the railroad men were tellin’ folks her house was fixin’ to sprint across Alabama like some kind of possessed caboose.

“Oh, I’ll deal with him tonight,” she muttered.
“And he’s gonna answer for his shenanigans if I have to wring it out of him one polite nod at a time.”

Upstairs, in the dim hallway, a faint glow appeared—
as if the ghost already knew the confrontation was coming.

And was… waiting.

Calm as you please.

*****

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