Episode Sixteen: The Night the Ghost Became a Memory

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.

About Ol' Big Jim

Jim L. Wright is a storyteller with a lifetime of experiences as colorful as the characters he creates. Born and raised in Piedmont, Alabama, Jim’s connection to the land, history, and people of the region runs deep. His debut novel New Yesterdays is set in his hometown, where he grew up listening to stories of the past—stories that sparked his imagination and curiosity for history. Today, Jim lives in Leeds, Alabama, with his husband Zeek, a tour operator who shares his passion for adventure and discovery. Known affectionately as “Ol’ Big Jim,” he has had a diverse career that includes time as a storekeeper, an embalmer, a hospital orderly, and a medical coder. There are even whispers—unconfirmed, of course—that he once played piano in a house of ill repute. No matter the job, one thing has remained constant: Jim is a teller of tales. His stories—sometimes humorous, sometimes thought-provoking—are often inspired by his unique life experiences. Many of these tales can be found on his popular blog, Ol’ Big Jim, where he continues to share his musings with a loyal readership. Jim’s adventures have taken him far beyond Alabama. For seven years, he lived in Amman, Jordan, the world’s oldest continuously inhabited city. His time there, spent in smoky coffee shops, enjoying a hookah and a cup of tea while scribbling in his ever-present notebook, deeply influenced his worldview and his writing. When Jim isn’t writing, he’s thinking about writing. His stories, whether tall tales from his past or imaginative reimagining is of historical events should read from his past or imaginative reimaginings of historical events, reflect a life lived fully and authentically. With New Yesterdays, Jim brings readers a rich tapestry of history, fantasy, and human connection. Visit his blog at www.olbigjim.com to read more of his stories, or follow him on social media to keep up with his latest musings and projects, one of which is a series that follows Bonita McCauley, an amateur detective who gets into some very sticky situations. His book, New Yesterdays, can be found at Amazon US, Amazon UK, Smashwords, and Barnes and Noble.

View all posts by Ol' Big Jim →