Chapter 1: A Quiet Morning
It was a cold and quiet morning. Mr. Raymond Lee sat in his soft chair near the window. He was seventy-five years old. His hair was white. His eyes were tired but still sharp. Every morning, he drank tea and read the newspaper. His house was small and old, but clean. It had wooden floors, simple walls, and one old clock that ticked very slowly. The sound of the ticking filled the room. Outside, the sky was gray, and the wind moved the trees gently. Raymond liked mornings like this. He liked quiet. He liked slow days. He had lived in this town for fifty years. Everyone knew him, but he liked to stay alone.
Raymond turned the page of the newspaper. Suddenly, his hands stopped. His eyes stayed on one photo. It was an old black and white photo of a train. The headline said, “The Ghost Train Returns After 50 Years.” The photo showed a silver train in the hills, half-covered in mist. The report said a farmer saw it at night. The lights were on. It made a loud whistle sound. But no one was inside. And then it disappeared again into the dark.
Raymond’s hands began to shake. He knew this train. It was the Silver Line. It had gone missing fifty years ago. One cold winter night, it left the town’s station with ten people. But it never reached the next town. It was lost. No one ever found it. No one found the train. No one found the people. Just silence. Police searched for weeks. People made stories. Some said it crashed. Some said it went off the track. Others said it went into the mountains and vanished.
Raymond remembered that night. He was a young man then. He was working at the station. He helped people find their seats. He stood on the platform and waved as the train left. He saw the faces of the people inside. Some smiled. Some looked tired. One woman held a baby. Raymond never forgot that image. He had written down everything he saw that night. He kept it in a notebook. He told no one.
Now, fifty years later, the newspaper said the train was seen again. Same shape. Same silver number. Raymond stood up. He walked to the back room of the house. The room was full of old boxes and papers. He opened one box. Inside was the notebook. The paper was yellow. The words were still clear. Times, dates, names, directions—all written carefully.
Raymond took the notebook and sat down again. He read each page. Then he looked at the photo in the newspaper. The silver engine. The strange mist. It was the same train. He knew it. His heart began to beat faster. He had waited many years for a clue. Now it had come.
He stood up. He went to the closet and took his long brown coat. He packed a bag with the notebook, a flashlight, some water, and a few snacks. He wore his old boots. He locked his door and looked at his quiet house one last time. Then he said softly, “Maybe my quiet life is over. Maybe it’s time for one last adventure.”
Raymond walked down the road. The wind touched his face. His hands were cold. But his heart was warm. The train was waiting.
