Hell of a story
Hell of a story
This is what happened.
I had heard the story of the Kress City light since I was a child. Kress City had once been a whistlestop on the rail line between Little Rock and Shreveport. No stores, no houses, not even a wide spot in the road.
Supposedly the rail crossing there was haunted by the spectre of a man searching for his head, lost in a tragic accident. The ghost would appear as a mysterious floating light late at night. There were several eyewitnesses, all claiming that when they saw the light, their cars wouldn't start. And it was rumored that the light actually got in the car with a local policeman.
But alcohol always played a part in the story (even with the cop) so I tended to shrug it off as a bit of smalltown sci-fi. However, it was nice for the occasional double-date with high school friends. We'd carry the ladies out highway 29, turn west onto a dark gravel county road, and park next to a train crossing with no lights or cross-arms, not even a streetlight.
Of course, we never saw the Kress City light. That's just stupid.
Gilbert and I were out on a Saturday night, errr Sunday morning, and yes, we had been drinking. It was about 1 am, and we were in my Plymouth Arrow. Our wanderings brought us not to the Kress City train tracks, but to the stop sign on the east side, the opposite side of highway 29---still about a half mile away from the tracks. And without warning, the car died.
Hmm?
I tried to crank it. It would barely turn over.
Hmm!
I tried again to start. Only the groan of the starter pulling on a near-dead battery. The headlights faded way down to a dull orange glow.
Well, hell. What are we gonna do now? Nothing really to do, in a time before cellphones, we couldn't call for a tow. But look, I said, here comes a car from across the highway, maybe he can give us a jump!
We watched what appeared to be a car with one headlight creep very slowly and very quietly up the gravel road toward us, then at about 20 yards the headlight just floated off into the woods and faded from sight.
I don't know how long we watched it---it kinda felt like time was suspended---but when it was gone, my car cranked right up.
This is what happened.
I had heard the story of the Kress City light since I was a child. Kress City had once been a whistlestop on the rail line between Little Rock and Shreveport. No stores, no houses, not even a wide spot in the road.
Supposedly the rail crossing there was haunted by the spectre of a man searching for his head, lost in a tragic accident. The ghost would appear as a mysterious floating light late at night. There were several eyewitnesses, all claiming that when they saw the light, their cars wouldn't start. And it was rumored that the light actually got in the car with a local policeman.
But alcohol always played a part in the story (even with the cop) so I tended to shrug it off as a bit of smalltown sci-fi. However, it was nice for the occasional double-date with high school friends. We'd carry the ladies out highway 29, turn west onto a dark gravel county road, and park next to a train crossing with no lights or cross-arms, not even a streetlight.
Of course, we never saw the Kress City light. That's just stupid.
Gilbert and I were out on a Saturday night, errr Sunday morning, and yes, we had been drinking. It was about 1 am, and we were in my Plymouth Arrow. Our wanderings brought us not to the Kress City train tracks, but to the stop sign on the east side, the opposite side of highway 29---still about a half mile away from the tracks. And without warning, the car died.
Hmm?
I tried to crank it. It would barely turn over.
Hmm!
I tried again to start. Only the groan of the starter pulling on a near-dead battery. The headlights faded way down to a dull orange glow.
Well, hell. What are we gonna do now? Nothing really to do, in a time before cellphones, we couldn't call for a tow. But look, I said, here comes a car from across the highway, maybe he can give us a jump!
We watched what appeared to be a car with one headlight creep very slowly and very quietly up the gravel road toward us, then at about 20 yards the headlight just floated off into the woods and faded from sight.
I don't know how long we watched it---it kinda felt like time was suspended---but when it was gone, my car cranked right up.
(post is archived)