Hey, Spooky Appalachia! I just watched your Bostian Bridge story, and it sent chills down my spine because I actually used to live right next to it. I have a story of my own—one that I’ll never forget.
This happened about four years ago, in the dead of night. It must have been around 2:00 AM when I woke up, feeling a little hungry. Half-asleep, I stumbled into the kitchen to grab something to eat when suddenly, I heard it—the distant, unmistakable sound of a train whistle.
That wasn’t unusual. Living so close to the tracks, I was used to the sounds of passing trains. But something about this was different. The whistle had a haunting, almost mournful quality to it, as if it were echoing through time itself.
Curious, I walked over to the window and pulled back the curtain, expecting to see the familiar glow of a train’s headlights cutting through the darkness. But when I looked out, there was nothing. The tracks were empty—no train in sight. Yet, the sound didn’t stop.
Then, I heard something that froze me in place.
Screaming.
Bloodcurdling, panicked screams, as if dozens of voices were crying out in terror, carried on the wind. It sent a chill down my spine, and I felt the hair on my arms stand up. It wasn’t just the train I was hearing—it was something else, something trapped in the past.
My heart pounding, I ran to my parents’ bedroom and shook them awake. “Mom, Dad! I just heard a train, but there’s nothing out there! And—and I heard screaming!”
My mom, barely opening her eyes, just sighed and said, “Oh, honey, that’s just the phantom train. We’ve heard it before. Just go back to sleep.”
She said it so casually, like it was just another part of life. But I just stood there, still shaken by what I had heard. I couldn’t believe how calm she was about something so terrifying.
That night, I barely slept. Part of me was scared, but another part of me was fascinated. I had always heard stories about the Bostian Bridge train wreck, but I never thought I’d experience something like that firsthand.
To this day, I still think about that night. About those phantom screams, those lost voices echoing through time. And I can’t help but wonder—how many others have heard them too?
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