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"Hey, that's down there!"

When he heard a voice calling him, he was standing in the doorway of the guard post holding a rolled-up flag. I figured he must have guessed which way the sound was coming from, but instead of looking up, he was even celebrating and looking down at the end of the tracks. The way to find the sound sounds strange, but I myself do not really know why. To be sure his behavior caught my attention, though from where I stood he looked small and black because of a shadow. I stood so far over it with a blinding sunshine that I had to protect my eyes with my hands to see clearly.

"Hey, down below!"

He looked away from the tracks and looked around, then finally he looked up and saw me standing on it.

"Is there a way I can come down and talk to you?"

He just looked at me without answering, and I just looked at him without forcing him to answer by repeating my petty question. Then there was a faint vibration in the ground and the air, then turned into a strong vibration, and a very hard push seemed to have the power to pull me down. I fell on the ground. When the smoke from the train had disappeared and mingled in the air, I peered down again and saw him roll up the flag he had flown as the train passed.

I repeat my question. He looked at me intently, and after a short pause he pointed with his flag to a point about two or three hundred meters from where I stood. I shouted at her, "All right, thank you!" Then walked in the direction he was pointing. After looking around, I found a twisting way down.

The road is very slippery because it is made of moist rocks. The more I walk down, the more muddy and wet the way. I walked very slowly and cautiously, which made me think again with his hesitant and seemingly compelled attitude when he showed me this way.

When I was almost downstairs, I saw him standing in the middle of the train that had been passed by the train. His attitude shows as if he's waiting for me. His left hand holds his chin, and his elbow rests over his right hand that is crossed in front of his chest. Her expectant and caring attitude made me stop my steps and was astonished.

I continue walking down. When my feet got to the bottom, I walked over to him. He is a man with pale black skin, a black beard, and a very thick eyebrow. The guard post was the most desolate and desolate place I had ever seen. On each side was a rough stone wall, and there was no view of the guardhouse beyond the lines of the sky. If we look further, that looks just a long giant prison. In a cursory glance in the other direction, at the end of a gloomy red light, we can see the entrance into a gigantic dark tunnel with a sad and gripping atmosphere hanging in the air. Only a little sunlight can penetrate into this hole, making the air smell of soil and death. There was a lot of cold winds blowing from the inside so it made my feathers stand up and felt as if I had left my original world.

Now I'm close enough to touch her. Still staring at me intently, she took a step back and raised her hand to signal me not to move any closer.

The post was very quiet, I thought, and that's why my gaze was stunned when I saw it from up there. I do not think guests arrivals are rare here, but that does not mean he has to be rude to his rare guest, is not he? He only sees me as someone who has been locked up for the rest of his life, and when set free, there is a tremendous interest to admire this place. That's why I meant to talk to her, but I'm still not sure what to say to her, besides because I do not really like to start the conversation, there's something in this man that scares me.

He looked at the red light that was near the mouth of the tunnel in the strangest way. After examining her surroundings carefully, as if there was something wrong with the lamp, she looked at me.

"The light is still part of your equipment, is not it?"

He replied softly, "Do not you know?"

As I perused the meaning of his gloomy gaze and face, a terrible thought came to my mind; this person is not a human, but a spirit.

Now it's my turn to step back. But at first glance I see in his eyes there is a pent-up fear to me. This obliterates my bad thoughts.

"You see me," I say with a smile, "as if you're terrified of me."

"I'm just curious," she replied, "did I ever see you before."

"Where?"

He pointed to the red light he had noticed.

"Over there?" I asked in surprise.

Watching me closely, he replied (but almost silently), "Yes."

"My dear friend, what am I doing there? Besides I've never been there, I swear. "

"I think I did," he protested. "Yes, I think I've met you before."

His attitude then became more polite like me. He answered all my words with alacrity and well-chosen words. Is he busy there? Yes. That's for sure, he's taking a pretty big responsibility, but the real job demands more precision and more accuracy. No other work is more exhausting than this. All he has in his head is to change the signal, position the lamp, and turn the iron handle to change the train line. He thinks he's used to spending his long hours in solitude, and it's all shaping into a routine in his life. He even learned a foreign language here-if only he knew a cursory, and making his own pronunciation can be said to be learning. He also studied division, decimal count, and a little algebra. But since his little fate has been alarming. Did she really need to stay in the damp tunnel during the duties, and if she should not climb up the towering stone wall there to enjoy the sunshine? Of course it's okay, but it depends on time and conditions. In certain situations, there is not much work he can do on the tracks, and the occasion usually can appear at certain hours of the day and night. If the weather is clear, he sometimes climbs up, out of the darkness below. But that does not mean he can completely relax, as he is obliged to answer all calls coming from his electric bell, and sometimes he waits for the bell to ring with great alarm. So, even though she has a chance to relax, she can not be completely relieved.

He took me inside his fireplace post, a desk on which there was a book to write notes, a telegraph with the buttons, screens, needles, and little bells that had been mentioned. I commented that he was an educated person (I hope my way of saying it did not offend him), perhaps even too educated to work as a railway guard, and his intelligence is hard to find among people whose jobs rely solely on the physical. He agrees with me. He said there was no one like himself among the workers, the police, and even the most conspicuous, the army. So also among other railway staff. She said that when she was young, she was a student of natural philosophy and attended lectures (but I do not really believe in this), but she acted wildly, wasted her chance, and fell down without standing again. She did not want to complain about that. He has reaped what he planted. It was too late for him to plant another seed.

All I can do is listen carefully to his story. As I told her, her serious gaze was split between me and the fireplace. He spoke the word, "Sir," from time to time, especially when he told of his youth-as if he wanted me to understand that he was not at all like what I see now. Several times his story was interrupted by the ringing of the bells that brought the message to be interpreted, and answered immediately. Once upon a time he had to stand in the doorway, wave the flag as the train passed, and make verbal communication with the engineer. While I was at work, I noticed that he was meticulous and alert. If he is in the middle of a sentence, he finishes his sentence first, then stays motionless until what he is doing is done.

In short, he's the perfect person to run a job like this, but twice he talks to me with the center face, turns to the little bell when it's NOT ringing, opens the post door (which is tightly closed to keep the moist air in), then saw the red light that was in the mouth of the tunnel. On both occasions, he always sat back next to the fireplace that lay far away from my seat with an unexplained expression on his face.

As I stood up and about to die, I said, "You make me feel like I've met a happy person."

(I have to admit that I said it just to please her.)

"Yes, I used to be," he said after he regained consciousness, but his voice was still as soft as the first time we met, "but now there are things that worry me, sir."

If he could, he would have told her what it was that was worrying him. But because it was not already said, I had to quickly turn to ask him.

"What's troubling you?"

"It's hard to explain, sir. It is very difficult to say. If you visit me again in the future, then I will tell you. "

"But I do intend to visit you again. About when? "

"My hours are over in the morning, and start working again at ten tomorrow night, sir."

"Then I'll be there at eleven."

He thanked me and accompanied me to the door. "I'll run your way, sir," he said in a strange soft voice, "until you find your way up. When I've met, do not yell at me! And when you get to the top, do not yell too! "

His attitude makes me feel that this place is more intense than ever, but all I can say is, "All right."

"And if you want to go down tomorrow night, do not yell at me! There's something I want to ask before you leave. Why did you yell, 'Hey, down there!'

"I do not know," I said. "Looks like I'm shouting something else-"

"There's no other word, sir. Those are the only words you shout. I still remember it clearly. "

"I'll admit that's all I'm saying. I said it because I saw you downstairs. "

"No other reason?"

"What other reason?"

"You do not feel that the words you threw in a supernatural way?"

"No."

He said good night to me and raised his torch. I walked down the tracks (uncomfortable with the thought of a train coming from behind) until I found my way. It was easier to climb than downhill. Finally I went home to the inn and arrived safely.

By being on time, I had set foot on a declining path as the clock in my hand showed almost eleven o'clock. He was waiting for me downstairs with a flashlight in his hand. "I have not called you yet," I said as we got closer; "Well, sir." "Then, good night, and this is my hand." "Good night, sir, and this is my hand." After that we walked side by side to his post, entered, closed the door, then sitting by the fireplace.

"I've decided, sir," he said, leaning toward me as we sat down, and he spoke in a slightly louder voice than a whisper, "that I should say what's troubling me right now. Last night I thought you were someone I knew. That's what troubled me. "

"Misidentify?"

"Other people."

"Who?"

"I have no idea."

"Similar to me?"

"I do not know. I never saw his face. His left hand closed his eyes, and his right hand waved vigorously. Like this."

I saw him imitate it, and it looked like someone who used hand gestures while talking very fiery, "Oh my God, step aside!"

"One night, when the moon shone," he said, "I was sitting here, then heard a shout, 'Hey! Down there! 'I stood up, startled from the door, and saw this Other Person standing beside the red light near the tunnel and waving as I had been told. His voice was hoarse for shouting, and he kept shouting, 'Watch out! Beware! 'Then,' Hey! That's down there! Beware! 'I grabbed my torch, turned on the red light, and ran towards him while calling,' What's up? What happened? Where? 'He remained standing outside the darkness of the tunnel. I ran until very close to him and saw him close his eyes with his arm. I approached and when I was about to get rid of her arm, she disappeared. "

"Into the tunnel?" I asked.

"No. I kept running into the tunnel for five hundred yards. I paused, and raised my torch as high as my head, and saw his figure already in the distance, then I noticed there was water seepage dripping from the ceiling of the tunnel. I ran again very fast (because I was scared to death with the place), and I checked around the red light with my red light, then climbed the iron stairs to the top, then went back down, and ran back here. I sent a telegram to both lines, 'I received a warning sign. Is there a problem? 'The answer came from both lines,' Everything's fine. '"

Working hard against the chilling sensations that reached my bone, I told him that the person's figure must be just a hallucination of his sense of vision; and that the figure is merely the result of a neurological disease that impairs the function of the eye, and has been found in some patients who are some aware of the disease and have proven it by experimenting with themselves. "As for the hallucination of screaming," I explained, "listen to the wind in this strange hill for a while, maybe it's just the sound of aingin hitting the telegraph cable."

There is nothing wrong with the wind there, he replied, after we sat quietly listening to the wind for a while, and even if it was wind or cable, he must have known before because he had often spent the winter nights here alone and on guard with silence. Next he said that the story is not finished yet.

I apologize to him, and he slowly adds these words while touching my hand-

"Six hours after the Appearance, there was a big accident on this line, and four hours later the bodies and the wounded were rushed from inside the tunnel exactly where the figure stood."

Horror creeps all over my body, but I try hard to restrain him. I'm not arguing but just saying that it's all just a great coincidence that has been carefully calculated to influence his mind. But it is undeniable that the great coincidence can happen continuously, and should be considered when it comes to understanding such a thing. Although I clearly admit it, I add (because I feel he will argue with me), people usually will not consider coincidence when it comes to human life.

Lag-again she said that her story is not over yet.

Again I apologize for interrupting her story.

"This incident," he continued, and again touched my arm, and gave me a blank stare, "happened a year ago. Six or seven months passed, and I had recovered from my shock and shock. Then one morning, the day before dawn, I stood in the doorway, looked at the red light, and saw the ghost again. "He paused with a look fixed on me.

"Is he shouting?"

"No. She did not say anything. "

"Did he wave his hand?"

"No. He was leaning against a red light pole, with both hands covering his face. Like this."

Once I watched him imitate it. It is a gesture of mourning. I've seen such an attitude on a stone sculpture at a funeral.

"Did you approach him?"

"I went in and sat at my post, partly because I wanted to think, and partly because it made me want to faint. When I get out the door again, it's day, and the ghost has gone. "

"But nothing happened after that?"

He touched my forefinger with two or three fingers while nodding his head.

"That same day, when a train came out of the tunnel, I saw in the train window a shadow like a waving head and hand. I immediately signaled the machinist to stop. He stopped and installed the brakes, but the train had passed through the post for about a hundred and fifty yards or more. I ran after him, and as I was running, I heard a hysterical scream. A young woman died suddenly in a car. His body was brought here and laid on the floor right between our seats.

I was startled and pushed back my chair as I looked at the floor he was pointing at.

"Right, sir. Correct. Right here. "

I did not know what to say, and my mouth was very dry. The sound of wind and wires sounded like a cry that wailed, adding to the horror of his story.

He went on to tell. "Now, sir, listen to this carefully and imagine how my heart made me restless. The ghost reappeared a week ago. From then on, the ghost remains there, occasionally emerging and disappearing. "

"On the lights there?"

"Yes, at the Hazard Sign lamp there."

"What's he doing?"

He reproduced the wave of "Oh Lord, move out!" With a louder.

Then he went on. "I'm not calm made. He kept calling me with that attitude, 'That's down there! Watch out! Beware! 'She stood up and waved at me. She even rang my little bell- "

I immediately asked, "Did he ring your bell last night when I was here so you were out the door?"

"Twice."

"Well, see for yourself," I said, "you're just imagining. My eyes were fixed on the bell, and my ears were on alert, and if I was still sensible, your bell did NOT ring at that moment. Not at other times, except when your bell rings when the station wants to communicate with you. "

He shook his head. "I've never made a mistake like that, sir. I never wrongly distinguish the ringing of man with the ghost. The ghost rattles made the bells vibrate in a strange way that I could not possibly mislead them, after all I forgot to say that the bell seemed to move in my eyes. I'm not surprised if you can not hear it. But I can hear it. "

"And is that ghost there when you look out?"

"Yes, he is there"

"On those two occasions?"

He repeated firmly, "Yes, twice."

"Will you come out with me and look for him now?"

She bit her lower lip as if she was reluctant to do it, but she finally stood up. I opened the door, and stood on the stairs while he stood in the doorway. There is a Sign of Hazard light. There was a grim mouth of a tunnel. There was a towering, moist stone wall. On it were stars.

"Did you see it?" I asked her, looking at her expression. Her eyes were protruding and taut, but probably not as tight as my eyes as I pointed her eyes to the same point.

"No," she replied. "He's not there."

"Agreed," I said.

We went back in, closed the door, and sat down. I was wondering how to fix this exaggeration, if so, when he started the conversation casually as if there would be no serious questions between us, so I felt placed in a difficult position.

"Right now you must be fully understood, sir," he said, "what really bothered me was the question, 'What's that ghost mean?'"

I do not know, I replied, but I understood his condition.

"What did he warn?" He mused. Her eyes were fixed on the fireplace and only occasionally looked at me. "What danger? Where is the danger? There is a distress hanging up somewhere on this railroad track. An awful catastrophe will happen. I'm sure of the third time, after knowing what happened twice before. But I was terrified of it. What should I do?"

She took out her handkerchief and wiped the sweat droplets from her warming forehead.

"If I send a Warning Hazard telegram to one or both lines, I can not give a reason," he continued, rubbing his palm. "I can get into trouble, and it's no good for me. They'll think I'm crazy. It will be like this-Message: 'Danger! Be careful! 'Reply:' What danger? Where? 'Message:' Do not know. But be careful! 'They will also fire me. What else do they have to do? "

Her mind was so heartbreaking. It is a mental torment for a sane person who is pressed far beyond the limits of ability by a foolish responsibility concerning human life.

"When he first stood under the Danger Sign," he continued as he combed his black hair back and rubbed his forehead like a man with a high fever, "why did not he tell me where it would happen, if it had to happen? Why not tell me how to prevent it, if it can be prevented? When he comes a second time, instead of covering his face, why does not he say, 'The woman is going to die. Make his family keep him out of the house '? If he shows up on those two occasions just to show that his warning is right, and to get me ready for the third, why does not he blink me out now? As for me, may God help me! just a guard at the train crossing at the remote guard post! Why does not he meet someone who can be trusted, and the power to act? "

When I see him in this state, I feel the only thing I can do now for this poor man, also for public safety, is to calm his mind. Therefore, to the exclusion of the question of whether this is real or not, I told him that whoever relieved him of his duty should be able to work well, and at least he must understand his duty, even though he could not understand this doomed Apparition. This time my efforts can be said far more successfully than my efforts when trying to change his mind. He became calm. The work he had to do tonight demanded much attention. I left it at two in the morning. I offered to spend the night with her, but she refused.

Honestly, more than once I saw the red light while climbing the road, my feelings disturbed when I saw the lights, and my sleep would not be comfortable if my mattress is placed under it, there is no reason for me not to admit this. I was also disturbed by the accident and the girl who died. I also have no reason to cover it up.

But what I'm really thinking about is how should I behave after knowing this strange thing? I have proven myself to be intelligent, alert, conscientious, and careful, but how long can he survive that harmony? Although he still shows signs that he is still trustworthy to perform his duties as usual, do I want to risk my life to prove it?

Because it would be disrespectful to me to betray her by telling her to her boss at the company without telling her first and looking for a middle ground, I finally volunteered to accompany her to a prominent medical practitioner we could meet in the area and ask for her professional opinion. She told me that her schedule would change tomorrow night, and she would come home an hour or two after sunrise, and start work again after sunset. I'll decide to come back tomorrow night.

The atmosphere tomorrow night was fun, I went early to enjoy it. The sun had not fully set as I crossed the road near the end of the clogs. I will extend my hour-long stroll, help my way, walk away for half an hour, and come home for half an hour, then it's time for me to meet the crossing guard.

Before I started my walk, I stepped to the edge, and automatically looked down, from where I first saw it. I can not express the vibrations in my soul as I see, near the mouth of the tunnel, there is a human appearance with his left arm covering his eyes while waving his right hand hard.

The horror that compresses my soul passes quickly, for at first glance I see that this apparition is indeed a human being, and there is a small group of people standing not far from it. He looked like he was practicing his waving gesture with them. The Hazard Sign light is not yet on. In front of the bar, there is a small tent made of wood and tarpaulin. I had never seen the tent there before. The size is no bigger than the mattress.

With a firm hunch that there was something very odd-with the fear and guilt that if there had been a fatal mess because I had left him alone there, so no one could prevent his actions-I went down the winding road as fast as I could.

"What's wrong?" I asked the crowd.

"The custodian was killed this morning, sir."

"You mean the guard at the crossroads that post there?"

"Yes sir."

"Can I recognize him?"

"You'll recognize him, sir, if you do," said the man who spoke for the others. He took off his hat and raised the tip of the tarp, "because his face looks very calm."

"My God, my dear, how did this happen?" I asked, staring at one by one as the tarpaulin closed again.

"He got hit by a train, sir. No one in the UK knows better about his work. But for some reason he was at the edge of the track. It happened at noon. He flicked on his flashlight and held it in his hand. As the train emerges from inside the tunnel, he looks his back to him, and the train bumps into him. The train driver explained the incident. Tell him, Tom. "

A man in a rough black suit stepped forward from where he stood in the mouth of the tunnel.

"The train comes from a curve in the tunnel, sir," he said, "and I saw clearly the man standing at the end of the tunnel. There was no time to check the speed of the train, and I knew he was a cautious man. Since he does not seem to heed the train whistle, I kicked his whistle when the train was near him, and I shouted at him as hard as I could. "

"What are you shouting about?"

"I'm shouting, 'That's down there! Watch out! Watch out! Dear God, step aside! "

I was surprised to hear it.

"Ah, that was a terrible time, sir. I do not stop screaming at him. I closed my eyes with my arms because I could not imagine what I was going to see, and I waved this hand as hard as I could, but it was all in vain. "

Without a long-windedness to make this strange occurrence more strange, then allow me to close it by emphasizing the coincidence that happened; warnings and movements of the engineer, imitated by the guards crossing me to tell him what haunted him, as well as wailing as he leaned against a lamppost that I-not him-added to the attitude he imitated.

****[finished]****