09-04-2011, 07:56 PM
Here's one:
On one night, in the outskirts of a small town, about a hundred miles from the nearest big city, a couple was driving through a valley between small hills late at night when their car got a flat tire. The husband got out to put on the spare. As he changed the wheel, the wife noticed an odd sound in the distance. As the husband put the jack back in the trunk, she heard a loud whistle and saw a light coming over one of the hills, and realized the noise was a fast train headed for the bridge that spanned the valley a little ways off.
As they climbed into the car and started the motor, they watched the train head over the bridge -- and then gasped in horror as the train buckled and curved over the edge. They heard the scream of the passengers as the train hit the rocks, and saw the bright burst of fire as the smokestack from the old-fashioned steam engine exploded. The wife immediately got out and headed towards the tracks, grabbing her purse with the first-aid kit in it, while the husband started up the car and drove as fast as he could towards the small town, having no cell phone.
The wife caught up with the conductor, who had been at the rear of the train and managed to stumble away from the flaming wreck. "It's useless," he said. "The whole thing's ablaze. I only got away because the caboose got flung away from the rocks." The wife stared in horror at the burning train and bridge, and the conductor in his bloody and torn uniform. It was clear that there was nothing a fire brigade or paramedic squad could do here, much less a puny little first aid kit.
Half an hour later the husband arrived in the town. He rushed to the police station, which was nearly deserted. There was only one officer at the desk, whom he rushed up to and yelled, "A train's gone over the bridge a few miles up the road!" The officer immediately called the fire department of the next town over, as this town did not have one. "Is this supposed to be a prank call?" asked the Chief. "That bridge has been out for exactly a hundred years, after an express train shot over it at midnight and burned the whole thing down."
When the husband and the police officer returned to the scene, there was no trace of the bridge or the train except some ancient charred rocks. The only thing unusual about the scene was an ancient skeleton, holding a rusted box. The officer examined it; it was a woman's, looking about a century old -- definitely a victim of the crash. Then the husband gasped in horror. On the rusted box was clearly a red cross and his and his wife's name.
On one night, in the outskirts of a small town, about a hundred miles from the nearest big city, a couple was driving through a valley between small hills late at night when their car got a flat tire. The husband got out to put on the spare. As he changed the wheel, the wife noticed an odd sound in the distance. As the husband put the jack back in the trunk, she heard a loud whistle and saw a light coming over one of the hills, and realized the noise was a fast train headed for the bridge that spanned the valley a little ways off.
As they climbed into the car and started the motor, they watched the train head over the bridge -- and then gasped in horror as the train buckled and curved over the edge. They heard the scream of the passengers as the train hit the rocks, and saw the bright burst of fire as the smokestack from the old-fashioned steam engine exploded. The wife immediately got out and headed towards the tracks, grabbing her purse with the first-aid kit in it, while the husband started up the car and drove as fast as he could towards the small town, having no cell phone.
The wife caught up with the conductor, who had been at the rear of the train and managed to stumble away from the flaming wreck. "It's useless," he said. "The whole thing's ablaze. I only got away because the caboose got flung away from the rocks." The wife stared in horror at the burning train and bridge, and the conductor in his bloody and torn uniform. It was clear that there was nothing a fire brigade or paramedic squad could do here, much less a puny little first aid kit.
Half an hour later the husband arrived in the town. He rushed to the police station, which was nearly deserted. There was only one officer at the desk, whom he rushed up to and yelled, "A train's gone over the bridge a few miles up the road!" The officer immediately called the fire department of the next town over, as this town did not have one. "Is this supposed to be a prank call?" asked the Chief. "That bridge has been out for exactly a hundred years, after an express train shot over it at midnight and burned the whole thing down."
When the husband and the police officer returned to the scene, there was no trace of the bridge or the train except some ancient charred rocks. The only thing unusual about the scene was an ancient skeleton, holding a rusted box. The officer examined it; it was a woman's, looking about a century old -- definitely a victim of the crash. Then the husband gasped in horror. On the rusted box was clearly a red cross and his and his wife's name.