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

That night, Mrs. Delphine wasn’t reading.
Wasn’t knitting.
Wasn’t even pretending to sleep.

She sat in the hallway just outside Room No. 3
lantern beside her,
hands folded in her lap,
waiting like a woman who knew patience was a stronger tool than force.

The house was quiet.

The kind of quiet that’s full of breath.
Full of presence.

And then,
as if the air turned a page,
he was there.

The ghost.

Not gesturing.
Not tidying.
Not saluting.

Just… present.

Like a man finally ready to speak without words.

She didn’t flinch.
Didn’t gasp.
Didn’t fidget.

“Well,” she said softly, “I reckon you think it’s time.”

He gave one small nod.

“And you’re gonna show me, ain’t you?”

Another nod.

She rose slowly.

“You go on, then. I’ll follow. But gentle-like. I don’t like bein’ yanked into nothin’.”

He extended his hand
not to hold hers (he couldn’t),
but as an invitation.

And the hallway dimmed.
The floor cooled.
The air thickened with the weight of old sorrow.

A memory unfolded.

The Memory Begins

It began with the faint clang of metal
distant, rhythmic
a locomotive bell.

Then the scent of coal smoke,
but younger, bitter, urgent.

Mrs. Delphine blinked
and the walls of the boarding house dissolved
like chalk washed by rain.

She stood now on a moonlit stretch of Seaboard track
miles from any station,
with pine shadows thick as velvet.

The ghost stood a few feet ahead,
solid enough to cast a faint outline.

His lantern, brass and polished, glowed real in his hand.

He looked younger.
Alive.
Steady.
Purposeful.

A man with a job to do.

He turned to her,
and though she couldn’t hear him speak,
she felt the words form in her mind:

“This is the night.”

The Warning

From up the line came the distant thunder of a locomotive.
A heavy freight barreling too fast,
too soon,
headed for a curve sharper than a preacher’s rebuke.

The ghost swung his lantern in the air.
High.
Urgent.
Warning.

His motions were crisp.
Precise.
Practiced.

He was signaling the engineer to slow.

To stop.

To heed the danger that lay ahead.

But…

The wind tore his voice away.
The forest swallowed the sound.
The lantern’s arc glowed, but not bright enough.

Mrs. Delphine felt it,
that cold bloom of helplessness.

“How far down the track were you?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer.

The memory answered for him.

The Consequence

The freight thundered closer
a roaring steel beast in full, merciless stride.

The ghost waved harder.
Lantern swinging.
Boots braced.
Heart pounding.

He stepped onto the track.
Closer.
Closer.

The lantern blazed.

Mrs. Delphine cried out
“Child, no!”

The train howled past
a blur of steel and sparks

And the ghost was yanked into shadow.

She gasped.
Her breath hitched.

But this wasn’t his death.

Not yet.

He stumbled back,
still alive,
still fighting for the next signal tower
still trying to warn someone else,
someone beyond the curve.

He ran.

Oh Lord, he ran.

Lantern swinging.
Breath frantic.
Boots slamming earth.

A conductor with a conscience deeper than the rails.

The Final Image

The memory snapped.

Mrs. Delphine found herself back in the hallway
knees weak,
heart pounding,
lantern flickering wildly beside her.

The ghost stood with his back to her
shoulders trembling just slightly
as though even in death,
the memory hurt.

She put a hand to her chest.

“Oh, honey,” she whispered.
“You tried to stop it.
You really tried.”

He turned slowly,
and his face
oh, Lord
that face wasn’t empty,
or frightening,
or cold.

It was grieved.

Not for himself.

For the ones he couldn’t save.

He Shows Her One Last Image

The lantern on the floor flared blue.

A single vision flashed before her eyes:

A hat
a conductor’s hat
with three embroidered letters inside:

S.T.N.

Then darkness.

Then silence.

Then the ghost bowed his head
not in apology this time,
but in sorrow.

Mrs. Delphine reached out,
tears stinging her eyes.

“You did your best, child,” she whispered.
“God knows you did your best.”

The ghost faded.
Not gone.
But weary.

And the house
the whole damn boarding house
seemed to sigh with him.

*****

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.