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

The little glow beside Samuel T. Norwood,
the faint outline of a child caught between the rails of two worlds,
grew stronger with every heartbeat.

Mrs. Delphine stood still as a stone.
Percy DuBar knelt like a man in the presence of truth.
And Samuel himself held that lantern like it was the last thread connecting past and present.

The Dixie Boarding House creaked overhead,
its old bones adjusting, settling, bracing
as though the whole place understood what was happening beneath it.

And somewhere outside, faint but real,
a train whistle moaned across the morning air.

Not a living train.
And not a dead one.

Something in between.

Part I: The Railroad Men Unknowingly Prepare the Path

Down by the actual Seaboard line,
Cap’n Potts and his crew were finishing their spectacularly misguided cleanup.

Virgil swept the last pine cone.
Hank vacuumed the ballast stones.
Fiddlestick hung reflectors the fire department would surely want back.

Potts stepped back, hands on hips.

“Gentlemen,” he declared,
“This track is now fit for spectral transit.”

Owen wandered by again, sipping a second cup of coffee.

“You do know ghosts don’t need you to sweep the rails, right?”

Potts ignored him.

“Git the lanterns ready! This line is open!”

And wouldn’t you know
at that very moment
a soft gust of wind swept through the men,
cold as memory.

Fiddlestick shivered.
“Did y’all feel…

Potts held up a hand.
“That…
was confirmation.”

They all nodded as though the universe itself had approved their work.

It hadn’t.
But it had helped something else.

Not the rails of the living.
But the rails beneath the Dixie Boarding House.

Part II: The Cellar Rails Awake

Down in the cellar,
the faint metal hum rose to a warm, golden buzz,
like the steel itself remembered it once carried something important.

Mrs. Delphine stepped back.
Percy grabbed a support beam.

The two rails
once rusty, still half-buried
gleamed brighter than they had in eighty years.

A warmth spread through the cellar floor.
Not heat
presence.

Samuel raised the lantern higher.

The child’s outline flickered.

A second voice, small, trembling,
formed out of the hum.

“…daddy…?”

Percy DuBar’s breath left him all at once.

“Samuel…” he whispered,
“You ain’t just tryin’ to bring the child through…”

Mrs. Delphine finished the thought.

“You’re tryin’ to reunite ’em.”

Samuel bowed his head.
A gesture of equal parts sorrow and hope.

Part III: The Doorway Opens

The house shuddered.
Lights flickered.
The staircase groaned like something ancient was waking in its timbers.

Outside, the train whistle moaned again.
Closer.
But the nearest line was miles away.

Mrs. Delphine’s eyes widened.

“Oh Lord…”
She looked at Samuel.
“You’re bringin’ a train through the house?”

Percy staggered.

“A ghost line…” he whispered.
“A crossover run…”

The rails in the cellar began to extend;
just a foot,
then two.
Steel forming from thin air,
laying itself like a ribbon of memory toward the back wall.

The wall trembled.

Then softened.

Then shimmered.

A portal,
thin as mist,
wide as a doorway,
glowing with the color of old coal embers.

Behind it,
movement.

Shadows.

Shapes.

Railway silhouettes older than the house itself.

And the sound.
Good God, the sound.

Wheels on rails.
Slow.
Approaching.

Mrs. Delphine grabbed Percy’s arm.

“Hold on to something, old man.”

He did.
Barely.

Samuel stepped forward, lantern raised,
the signal.
The welcome.
The guide.

The child’s glow brightened.

A small hand reached for Samuel’s lantern handle.

Samuel lifted it gently.

Part IV: The Crossover Train Approaches

The sound filled the cellar.
A low, steady thunder,
the weight of a train whose wheels had not touched earthly rails in decades.

The light behind the portal grew warmer.
Yellow-gold,
not frightening,
but comforting.

A shape emerged…

A locomotive.
Old.
Beautiful.
Brass fittings shining like memory scrubbed clean.

But no smoke poured from it.
No steam.
No heat.

It rolled forward in silence.
A train that ran on duty,
on sorrow,
on unfinished purpose.

Mrs. Delphine whispered,
“Samuel… this is your night train.”

Samuel didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t breathe,
because he could no longer breathe.

But the set of his shoulders said everything:

This is the train I never reached.
This is the last warning I never delivered.
This is the child I tried to save.
And now… at last…
I can finish my run.

Part V: The Child’s Form Solidifies

The child’s glow brightened to the shape of a small boy.
Barefoot,
in overalls,
lantern-light shining through him.

He turned his face upward,
toward Samuel,
hope trembling around his outline.

Samuel lowered his lantern.
Not to command,
but to offer.

The boy reached out,
small hand trembling.

And for the first time in eighty years
their fingers met.

Not solid.
Not firm.

But enough.

Mrs. Delphine sobbed.
Percy DuBar wept openly, shoulders shaking.

The boy whispered:

“…you came back…”

And Samuel’s lantern glowed with a white-gold light so pure
the whole cellar shone like sunrise.

*****

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.