Many years ago, when my sister and I were just kids, we embarked on a visit to our aunt’s house. The occasion was her upcoming birthday, and our parents had planned a surprise party to celebrate. However, the excitement of the impending celebration soon waned for my sister and me, leaving us yearning for some fresh air and adventure.
One evening, we decided to explore the quiet streets surrounding our aunt’s home. The night was shrouded in darkness and eerily cold, with few signs of life around. As we strolled, we suddenly heard the faint voices of children. Curiosity piqued, we halted to listen, but to our bewilderment, there was no one in sight. Dismissing it as a trick of the wind, we continued on our way.
Our leisurely walk took an unexpected turn when I stumbled and fell. As I rose to my feet, we discovered something unnerving—an abandoned railroad track that had seemingly materialized out of thin air. My sister was overcome with fear and began to cry. I tried to console her, promising that we would find our way back home, but deep down, I was lost and unsure how to navigate the unfamiliar surroundings.
As we stood there, two eerie figures, a little girl and a little boy, suddenly appeared before us. They had a pale and ghostly appearance that sent shivers down our spines. I inquired about their names, and they replied, “Sophia and Benjamin.” Hopeful, I asked if they could guide us to a road that would lead us back home. Without hesitation, they agreed and led us to the street.
Relief washed over me as I spotted my aunt’s house in the distance. Overjoyed, I invited the ghostly children inside to meet my parents. However, when I turned to look back at them, they remained outside, their expressions unchanged. I rushed inside to share our incredible encounter with my parents.
To our astonishment, my parents regarded us as if we were weaving a fantastical tale. I brought my mother to the door to show her the mysterious children, but to our dismay, they had vanished without a trace. A thorough search yielded no sign of them.
My aunt was deeply troubled when we shared their names, Sophia and Benjamin. She proceeded to recount a haunting story we would never forget. She said, “Long ago, there was a tragic accident involving a bus on top of these very railroad tracks. The bus broke down, and despite their desperate attempts to escape, the doors remained sealed. In an instant, a train approached, resulting in a devastating crash that claimed the lives of all 17 passengers, including the driver. Since then, people have reported sightings of these lost souls. It is believed that when you park your car on these tracks, they will push it out of harm’s way if a train approaches. They are here to save lives and have streets named after them.”
Though my aunt’s tale was haunting, I found it difficult to accept. I exchanged glances with my sister and remained silent throughout the night. The following morning, as we bid our aunt farewell and began our journey home, I spotted street signs bearing the names Sophia and Benjamin. From that day forward, I affectionately referred to them as our “Railway Spirits.”