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

Mrs. Delphine had every intention of keeping quiet about the rails in her cellar.
Not because she feared the ghost,
but because she feared something far more troublesome:

Piedmont opinions.

Sadly, Piedmont opinions have the same survival traits as dandelions,
they spread on the slightest breeze, grow in places they shouldn’t,
and no amount of muttering can kill ’em.

And so, despite her best efforts, by sunrise the town already knew:

“MRS. DELPHINE HAS TRAIN TRACKS IN HER BASEMENT!”

Lord help us.

The First Sightseers Arrive

At 7:14 a.m., Clyde from the hardware store showed up on her porch with a flashlight so large it ought to’ve come with a license.

“I heard you got subterranean transportation issues,” he said.

“No, Clyde,” she replied, “I do not.”

He leaned in.
“Well, I ain’t sayin’ it’s a subway, but if your house is fixin’ to travel…”

She shut the door on him.

He shouted through it,
“I CAN CONSULT!”
She bolted the lock.

Rumor #1: The Rails Are a Portal

By 8:00 a.m., according to Addison, the rails were “positively glowing with portal energy.”

“What does portal energy look like?” Owen asked.

Addison frowned. “Well… glowy. And rail-ish.”

Owen nodded as if that helped.

“It’s obvious,” she continued, “that ghost is calling passengers from the other side.”

Owen said nothing, which was wise, because he had no idea which side she meant.

Rumor #2: The House Is About to Be Summoned

By 8:30 a.m., Hank Bailey was telling folks:

“She’s sittin’ on the Leviathan Line.”

“What’s that?” someone asked.

“It’s a secret train route used by spirits, angels, and occasionally government operatives.”

“What government?”

“Don’t matter,” Hank said. “The spooky kind.”

Rumor #3: Historical Significance Gone Wrong

By 9:00 a.m., Preacher Boone’s second cousin once removed, Edna Jane, declared:

“That house was obviously built over a forgotten depot.”

“Edna,” Preacher Boone said, “there was never a depot there.”

Edna Jane sniffed.
“Well, it’s forgot now, ain’t it?”

The Railroad Men Form a Committee

This was the moment history took a turn for the ridiculous.

Cap’n Leland Potts marched into the depot with authority in every step, slapped a clipboard down, and declared:

“Gentlemen, this is a matter above our pay grade. We’re formulating a task force.”

Virgil Capps whispered, “What’s a task force?”

“Same thing as us,” said Potts, “but official-soundin’.”

They gathered:

• Cap’n Potts
• Virgil
• Hank
• Fiddlestick McGraw
• And Ellis Pruitt, who wasn’t technically invited but showed up with a thermos anyway.

They formed The Dixie Boarding House Rail Investigation Unit.

Their official acronym:
DBH-RIU
confused everyone, including themselves.

Fiddlestick took minutes, which consisted mainly of:

“We was wrong again. Investigate further.”

Their Glorious Conclusion

After hours of discussion, debate, biscuits, and two near-fistfights, they reached the following monumental conclusion:

Mrs. Delphine’s cellar rails are the remains of a ghostly spur line that was never completed in life.

Virgil scribbled it down like Moses takin’ dictation.

Cap’n Potts explained:

“This ghost ain’t just hauntin’. He’s finishin’ railway business left undone. A route is incomplete. A message unmailed.”

Hank nodded deeply.
“Could be… this ghost needs us to help build the rest.”

Fiddlestick gasped.
“A spectral construction project?”

Potts slammed the table.
“BOYS. WE MIGHT BE ENGINEERS OF THE AFTERLIFE.”

It took fifteen minutes to revive Fiddlestick, who fainted clean out.

Meanwhile…

Mrs. Delphine watched them from her porch, shaking her head so slowly you could’ve timed it with a grandfather clock.

“These fools,” she muttered.
“My ghost ain’t installin’ no afterlife express lane.”

She turned to go back inside, and nearly tripped over something sitting neatly on her porch step:

A conductor’s lantern.

Old.
Dented.
Rusty.

And glowing with a faint, blue-white light.

Her breath hitched.

“Oh lord, no,” she whispered. “Not another message…”

The lantern flickered twice.

Tap. Tap.

Just like the ghost’s gesture.

She knelt slowly.

“What are you tellin’ me, child?”

And then she saw it:

Scratched faintly into the soot on the lantern’s glass
were three letters—

S
T
N

She whispered it aloud.

“STN.”

Behind her, the house creaked.
The cellar hummed.
The ghostly timetable pulsed.

“STN…” she murmured. “Station?”

The lantern flickered harder.

“Oh Lord,” she breathed.

“This ain’t about unfinished business…”

She stood.

“This is about a destination.”

And somewhere
in the thin, cold air between worlds,
the ghost knew she understood.

*****

New Yesterdays can be found at: Books-A-Million, Barnes & Noble, and Amazon, as well as your favorite bookshops. The Audiobook is available from Libro.fm, as well as Amazon.