The Light at Mile 19

The first time Drew saw the light, he thought somebody was walking toward us with a lantern.

The second time, he thought it was following us.

The third time, he understood what it was doing.

By then, it was already too late.

I grew up in a little town in southern Arkansas where people didn't need much encouragement to tell ghost stories.

Every creek had something living in it.

Every abandoned house had a woman crying in an upstairs window.

And every stretch of railroad had somebody who'd supposedly died there.

Most of it was just stuff older kids told younger kids because watching somebody get scared was more entertaining than sitting around a gas station parking lot on a Friday night.

But there was one story nobody laughed about.

Not completely, anyway.

A light appeared along an old section of railroad outside town.

People described it differently.

Some said white.

Some orange.

A few swore it was blue.

But everybody agreed on one thing.

It moved.

Not like headlights.

Not like somebody carrying a flashlight.

It floated several feet above the tracks and drifted back and forth like a lantern hanging from an invisible hand.

My uncle Ray claimed he'd seen it when he was sixteen.

He told me the story once while we were fixing a fence behind my grandmother's place.

He said he'd gone out there with two friends after midnight.

They walked maybe half a mile down the tracks before they saw something glowing in the distance.

Ray thought it was a railroad worker at first.

Then the light started coming toward them.

Fast.

They ran.

When I asked what happened next, Ray stopped pulling wire through the fence.

For a few seconds, he just looked at me.

Then he said,

"Nothing."

But he said it in a way that meant something had happened.

I kept asking.

Eventually he told me one of the boys with him, Calvin, had disappeared less than a year later.

His truck was found beside a logging road.

Keys still inside.

Wallet in the cup holder.

Nobody ever found Calvin.

Ray refused to say the light had anything to do with it.

He only told me,

"If you ever see it, don't follow it."

I was fourteen.

Of course I thought that was the coolest thing I'd ever heard.

Nine years later, I found out he should have told me something else.

Don't let it get behind you.

Drew had been my best friend since middle school.

Not because we were particularly similar.

We weren't.

I planned everything.

Drew's idea of planning was making sure he had enough gas to get somewhere and worrying about the return trip later.

He worked at his uncle's tire shop, drove an old Silverado that smelled permanently like motor oil, and had the kind of confidence that came from surviving years of bad decisions without suffering any major consequences.

One Friday night in October, we were sitting outside a convenience store eating fried chicken from a cardboard box when Drew brought up the railroad light.

He'd been scrolling through some local Facebook group.

"People are posting about it again."

I didn't even have to ask what he meant.

"The light?"

"Three people saw it this week."

I laughed.

"Three bored people."

Drew turned his phone around.

Someone had posted a blurry photograph.

Black trees.

Railroad tracks.

And a tiny orange dot in the distance.

It looked like absolutely nothing.

Naturally, Drew wanted to go.

I reminded him of Ray's story.

That made him want to go even more.

By eleven thirty, we were driving down an unmarked gravel road with two flashlights, bottled water, a pocketknife neither of us knew how to use properly, and enough confidence to embarrass both of us now.

We parked near an old crossing where the road disappeared into trees.

The railroad tracks stretched ahead through the woods.

There hadn't been regular traffic through that section in years.

Grass grew between the ties.

Rust covered the rails.

There were no streetlights anywhere.

Once we killed the truck's headlights, the darkness felt almost physical.

Drew slammed his door.

"Still think it's fake?"

"Especially now."

We started walking.

For the first twenty minutes, nothing happened.

We joked.

Recorded stupid videos.

Drew tried to convince me he'd heard footsteps.

Then I heard them too.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Somewhere behind us.

We stopped.

The sound stopped.

Drew pointed his flashlight down the tracks.

Nothing.

"Deer," I said.

Drew nodded.

Neither of us believed it.

We kept walking.

Another ten minutes passed.

Then Drew grabbed my arm.

"There."

Far ahead of us, between the trees, was a light.

Small.

Pale orange.

It hung directly above the tracks.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then Drew whispered,

"No way."

The light brightened.

Dimmed.

Brightened again.

Almost like breathing.

I pulled out my phone.

The screen showed nothing except darkness.

I zoomed in.

Still nothing.

The light was clearly visible with my own eyes, but through the camera it wasn't there.

Drew tried his.

Same thing.

That's when I stopped enjoying myself.

"We saw it. Let's go."

Drew laughed nervously.

"We drove forty minutes for this."

"And we saw it."

"We should get closer."

Ray's voice came back to me.

If you ever see it, don't follow it.

I told Drew no.

He called me scared.

I told him he was right.

That surprised him.

We started back toward the truck.

After maybe a hundred yards, Drew stopped again.

I nearly walked into him.

"What?"

He didn't answer.

He was staring past my shoulder.

I turned around.

The light was closer.

Much closer.

Before, it had been hundreds of yards away.

Now it couldn't have been more than fifty.

Neither of us had heard anything.

No footsteps.

No branches breaking.

Nothing.

The light simply occupied a different part of the track now.

Drew whispered,

"How did it do that?"

I didn't answer.

We started walking faster.

A minute later, I looked back.

It had moved again.

Thirty yards.

Maybe less.

"Run."

Neither of us argued.

We made it to the truck out of breath.

Drew unlocked it from twenty feet away.

I climbed into the passenger seat while he started the engine.

Before he pulled out, we both looked toward the tracks.

Nothing.

No light.

No movement.

Just darkness.

Drew laughed.

Not because something was funny.

It was the kind of laugh people make when their body doesn't know what else to do.

"Okay," he said. "That was actually—"

He stopped.

His face changed.

"What?"

He wasn't looking toward the tracks anymore.

He was looking in the rearview mirror.

I turned around.

Behind the truck, maybe thirty feet back on the gravel road, the orange light was floating between the trees.

Drew hit the gas.

Gravel sprayed behind us.

The truck fishtailed before catching the road.

I kept watching through the back window.

The light stayed exactly where it was.

Then we rounded a curve.

It disappeared.

Neither of us spoke until we reached pavement.

Finally Drew said,

"Don't tell anybody."

I stared at him.

"You dragged me out there."

"Yeah, and if I tell people a floating orange ball chased us through the woods, I'll never hear the end of it."

That sounded reasonable.

So we agreed.

We wouldn't tell anybody.

For three days, nothing happened.

Then Drew called me at 2:17 in the morning.

I remember the exact time because I checked later.

His voice sounded different.

Quiet.

"Are you awake?"

"I am now."

There was a long pause.

Then he said,

"It's outside."

I sat up.

"What is?"

He didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

I went to the window even though Drew lived six miles away.

"Where?"

"Behind the house."

"Are you sure?"

Another pause.

"It followed me home."

I told him to wake his mother.

Turn on every outside light.

Call the police if somebody was on the property.

Drew laughed once.

Very softly.

"You think I'm calling the sheriff and telling him about a ghost light?"

"Then call me."

"I just did."

"No. I mean I'll come over."

That made him quiet again.

Finally he said,

"No."

The answer came too quickly.

"Why not?"

"Because I think it wants you to."

I didn't understand.

Then Drew said something that still bothers me more than anything else that happened.

"When we're together, it follows you."

Before I could ask what he meant, the call ended.

I rang him back.

No answer.

Again.

Nothing.

I didn't sleep.

The next morning, Drew acted like the whole thing had been a joke.

He said he'd been drinking.

He hadn't been.

Drew was a terrible liar.

Over the next week, he stopped coming by.

Stopped answering messages.

Missed work twice.

His mother said he wasn't sleeping.

Every time I asked him about the light, he changed the subject.

Then one evening, he showed up at my apartment.

He looked awful.

Eyes red.

Face unshaven.

He pushed past me and closed the blinds.

"It's every night now."

I didn't say anything.

"It starts far away. Across the field. Then every night it gets closer."

"Have you told Ray?"

His eyes lifted.

"Why Ray?"

"He saw it before."

Something strange crossed Drew's face.

Not fear.

Recognition.

"You never told me that."

I had.

The night we went to the tracks.

I reminded him.

Drew shook his head.

"No, you didn't."

I knew I had.

I remembered the conversation perfectly.

At least, I thought I did.

Drew sat down.

Then he said,

"There's something else."

He pulled out his phone.

"I recorded it."

He opened a video.

The screen showed his backyard.

Dark fence.

Tool shed.

Trees.

At first I saw nothing.

Then Drew raised the brightness.

A pale orange glow hovered near the tree line.

For the first time, the light appeared on camera.

But that wasn't what scared me.

Behind it, barely visible, was a shape.

A person.

Standing perfectly still.

Drew paused the video.

"You see him?"

I nodded.

He zoomed in.

The image pixelated badly, but the figure was unmistakable.

A man.

Head slightly lowered.

One arm hanging at his side.

The other raised.

Holding the light.

Drew whispered,

"I think he's pointing at something."

I looked closer.

He was right.

The man's free hand wasn't hanging.

His arm was extended.

He was pointing.

Toward Drew's house.

No.

Toward the camera.

Toward Drew.

The next morning I drove to Ray's.

I hadn't visited in months.

He was in his garage working on an old mower.

When I mentioned the light, he stopped immediately.

I told him everything.

The tracks.

The truck.

Drew's backyard.

The video.

Ray listened without interrupting.

When I finished, he wiped his hands on a rag.

"You need to stay away from Drew."

I thought I'd misheard him.

"What?"

"For a while."

"Why?"

Ray wouldn't look at me.

I got angry.

I reminded him about Calvin.

Asked him what had really happened that night when he was sixteen.

For a long time, Ray said nothing.

Then he closed the garage door.

He made me sit down.

"When we saw it," he said, "there were three of us. Me, Calvin and another boy named Pete."

I'd never heard of Pete.

Ray continued.

"We ran when it came toward us. Same as you."

His hands were trembling.

"Calvin was behind me. Pete was behind Calvin."

Ray swallowed.

"We reached the car. Calvin was there. Pete wasn't."

They thought Pete had fallen.

So they went back.

They found him standing on the tracks.

Alive.

Not hurt.

Just staring into the woods.

After that, Pete changed.

Stopped sleeping.

Said the light followed him home.

Exactly like Drew.

Then, two weeks later, Pete disappeared.

I frowned.

"You told me Calvin disappeared."

Ray looked at me.

"I know."

The room suddenly felt very small.

"What do you mean, you know?"

Ray leaned forward.

"Because after Pete disappeared, none of us remembered him."

I didn't speak.

"Not at first. His parents remembered having a son, but they couldn't remember his face. Teachers couldn't remember where he'd sat. Pictures changed."

"Pictures don't change."

"They did."

Ray's voice cracked.

"Then Calvin started remembering Pete. Little pieces. More every day."

He looked toward the closed garage door.

"And when Calvin remembered everything, the light started following him."

My skin went cold.

"What happened?"

"Calvin disappeared."

Ray nodded slowly.

"And after he did, everybody forgot him too."

My mouth went dry.

"But you remember."

"Now I do."

"Why?"

Ray looked at me for a long time.

"Because you saw the light."

I stood up.

I didn't believe him.

I couldn't believe him.

Then Ray said,

"You said Drew claimed you never told him my story."

I froze.

"Yeah."

"Think carefully. Did you?"

I tried.

I could see us walking along the tracks.

Hear our shoes hitting the wooden ties.

I remembered telling him Ray had seen it.

Except the memory felt wrong now.

Blurred around the edges.

Like something I'd dreamed.

Ray asked me a different question.

"How long have you known Drew?"

"Since seventh grade."

"What was his last name?"

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

The user asked for first names only, so no surnames were used.

But standing in Ray's garage, I realized something much worse.

I couldn't remember Drew's.

I drove straight to his house.

His truck wasn't there.

His mother answered the door.

"Is Drew here?"

She stared at me.

"Who?"

I laughed.

I actually laughed because my brain refused to understand what I'd heard.

"Drew."

Nothing.

"Your son."

Her face changed.

Not recognition.

Offense.

"I don't have a son."

I stepped backward.

There were family photographs hanging inside the hallway.

I had been in that house hundreds of times.

Drew's graduation picture used to hang beside the kitchen.

It wasn't there.

I pulled out my phone.

Our text history was gone.

His contact was gone.

Every photograph of us together showed only me.

Me sitting alone in the truck.

Me holding two fishing rods.

Me standing beside an empty space at a bonfire.

Then I remembered the video.

The one from his backyard.

It was still on my phone.

I pressed play.

The yard appeared.

Fence.

Trees.

Orange light.

But Drew's voice was gone.

Only mine remained.

Except I hadn't been there when it was recorded.

In the video, I could hear myself whisper,

"I think he's pointing at something."

I dropped the phone.

That night, I called Ray.

No answer.

I drove to his house.

The property was empty.

Not abandoned.

Empty.

Like nobody had lived there in years.

The garage door was gone.

The fence we'd repaired when I was fourteen had collapsed into weeds.

I stood there until sunset trying to understand what was happening.

Then I saw something glowing between the trees.

Orange.

Small.

Faint.

I drove home without looking back.

That was six months ago.

I've been writing everything down.

Names.

Dates.

Memories.

Drew.

Ray.

Calvin.

Pete.

Every morning I read the notebook because sometimes pieces are missing from my head.

Yesterday I couldn't remember what Drew sounded like.

Today I couldn't remember where we met.

But I still know what the light does.

People around here got the story backward.

It isn't a dead railroad worker searching for something he lost.

It isn't somebody carrying a lantern.

And it doesn't kill you.

The light appears when someone has already been taken.

The person carrying it isn't hunting the living.

They're trying to warn them.

Because something else walks behind the light.

Something you never see.

Something that doesn't take your body.

It takes every place your body ever occupied.

Pictures.

Records.

Conversations.

Memories.

One person at a time.

Until nobody remembers you were ever here.

Except the next person it's chosen.

That's why the light follows them.

That's why Ray remembered Calvin.

That's why Calvin remembered Pete.

That's why I remember Drew.

And that's why, three nights ago, the light finally reached my backyard.

It was closer last night.

Tonight, it's standing outside my window.

I can see the man holding it now.

I recognize him.

It's Drew.

At least...

I think his name was Drew.

He's pointing at me.

But he's not warning me about himself.

He's pointing behind me.

And for the last five minutes...

I've been trying to remember whether I closed my bedroom door.