|Chickens (standard:Ghost stories, 1518 words)|
|Author: Lev821||Added: Apr 28 2022||Views/Reads: 146/69||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|This is why chickens should never play on railways.|
Playing truant was always appealing. Always. Two nine-year olds deep into their school days would always know better than what adults told them. Your years in school were not the best days of your life, and you don't need to attend classes to get clever to get good jobs. They knew it all, so didn't need to bother attending, and why do maths lessons and cross-country runs when it was much more appealing to play on railways? Which is what they did. Two pupils who should be attending music class were walking along a rail track embankment, bushes, trees and shrubbery on either side, sloping high to shield them from any prying eyes. It was a sunny day and a few insects flew around happily. Tubby Baxter, as his friends called him, real name Charles Baxter, was exploring along the edge of the undergrowth, looking for anything of interest, whilst Kenneth Wright wielded a piece of wood he used as a baseball bat to hit stones. “Look, a dead rat,” said Charlie, pointing into the undergrowth where a small thin-skinned skeletal corpse of a rat lay. Their interest in that lasted seconds before they moved on around a gradual bend, the only sound that of their footsteps under the trackside stones, and those stones as they were cracked on the baseball stick. “Tubby!” shouted Kenneth. Charlie turned to see Kenneth swinging the stick in his direction. His mind, in a split-second thought a stone was flying his way and he ducked, raising his hands in defence. No stone came his way. “Only messin,'” said Kenneth, and they continued. Tubby was one of those kids that was always teased and made fun of, and never gave it back. It all just went over his head. Kenneth always thought he was more mature than he really was, as though in a rush to be an adult. As they walked further and further around the curve, the track straightened out where just up ahead there was a tunnel. The dark gaping maw did not look appealing as such exploration did to a lot of children. There was nothing here that beckoned them inside. There were no other exits. They either braved going through, or simply turned and went back. A slight rumbling on the tracks caused them to think a train was coming, and they were right. “A train,” said Kenneth, and him and his friend simply stood there looking both ways, not knowing from where it was coming, and both instinctively stepped away, pressing themselves into the bushes. The 14.21 from London to Newcastle emerged from around the bend, and as it approached, a moustachioed driver saw the boys and shook his head. He probably knew exactly what they were doing, as he will have seen school children playing truant before, hiding down railways instead of town centres in their uniforms because they should have been in class. The train thundered past, swallowed by the tunnel. “Do you think he will radio the police and they'll come and get us?” said Charlie. Kenneth thought for a moment. “Nah,” he said. “By the time he radios the police, and get told where we are, then the police have got to get in their cars, drive here, then come down and find us. It'll be a while before they get here, and we should be gone by then, cos' I'm not going in that tunnel,” he said. The gaping maw was around fifteen metres in front of them. Angry twigs and undergrowth threatened on both sides. “Look at that,” said Kenneth, pointing to the trackside, where several bunches of flowers were long dead. “Someone's been here before us,” said Charlie, “wonder what for?” They both stared at them for a while when Charlie suddenly said: “Let's have a game of dare”. Kenneth threw away his stick. “Okay, what shall we do?” “I dare you to stand on the railway in the path of a train”. “That's easy,” said Kenneth, approaching the trackside, but then stopped. “I heard that rail tracks are electric or something like that. Click here to read the rest of this story (84 more lines)
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