In a clearing eight miles north of Benton there stands an old wooden railway depot. It's a simple white wooden building with a rusty tin roof. It stands next to another wooden building that was once the town's post office and beside that another building that was once the town's trading post. Beside the depot there's an old steam locomotive resting in an old section of line. A quiet section of road runs pass these three buildings before crossing the mainline of the “Yazoo & Mississippi Valley Railroad” that runs straight to Benton.

Across from the depot one would find an old white Methodist chapel. I mention all of this, because this is all that remains of the once thriving village of Vaughan. Vaughn was never a city, at its height it consisted of a railway depot, an Methodist chapel, a trading post, an post office and around one hundred handsome wooden houses, most of whom have fallen in or have been abandoned. By all means, Vaughan, like dozens of other tiny hamlets in Mississippi, with names such as Liverpool's Landing, Cutters Bluff, Willow River and Sand Hills should be forgotten.

But I doubt it will, all because of the death of one train driver by the name of Casey Luther Jones, who ghost according to the local lore is supposed to be seen wandering these tracks, waving an old railroad lantern in his hand. When I started doing research into local ghost stories and legends, I knew I had to check out the supposed legend that on foggy autumn nights when the moon was full, and the air was still and all the world was sound asleep that the phantom of Casey Luther Jones was said to come forth from his grave and pace these abandoned rails. Other accounts said that on such nights, one could hear the cry of the brass whistle of the doom locomotive, yelling out into the night.

Now, my sister hates driving at night. So she was a bit annoyed with me begging her to drive me out to the remains of Vaughn late one autumn night. But finally my prolonged campaign of pleading, begging and sulking had worn down and rolling her eyes and folding her arms across her chest she finally agreed to take me one night to check out the wreckage site. An historical marker is supposed to mark it.

The night my sister selected was in late October, just a few days before Halloween. A sudden cold front had pushed into our region, bringing with it near freezing temperatures add in seasonal rainfall and you had a cold and foggy night. Mist hung in the air and one's breath turned fine white smoke in front of them as they breathed out. It was around Eight O' clock at night when my sister pulled up at the old railroad crossing that located in the heart of remains of Vaughan to the right stood the old depot, post office, and trading post, to the right the old wooden church house and across the tracks there stood a dozen or so abandoned houses.

I sat there for a good solid minute, taking all of this in. My sister just turned off the car and turned her head and gave me a look. I understood that look, she wanted me to get down to business. And so gathering up my courage I reached down and pulled upon the handle and pushed the car door open and into the inky darkness I ventured.

I remember the minute I left the warm confines of the car a chill came over me. Darkness out here in the country is different from the darkness in the city. For one, you're not going to find any streetlights, and two, the houses are scattered out here and finally number three, the whole area is really wooded. And so as the gravel crunched under my feet, I really had to gather my courage and push on.

The weather outside the warm car was pretty nippy, with frost already starting to form on the old metal rails. The wind too was starting to blow, and I could feel bits and pieces of ice on its breath. The wind smacked me right on the face and caused me to shiver.

I remember the moon was full that night and the sky was clear. The light of the moon provided just enough light for me to see by. I soon put the crossing behind me. The historical marker is about a quarter mile from the crossing, and the true site of the wreck is around a bend about a mile from the marker. My intentions were to walk to the site of the wreck and then turn back around. I did not intend to spend all night walking up and down these railroad lines. Not on a school night and not with my sister sitting in the car keeping time. Unlike those professional ghost hunters you see on television I don't have the luxury of staying out all night. I have school and chores.

These thoughts tumbled through my mind as I passed the historical marker and started to the sharp curve in the tracks. A hundred or so years have passed since the wreck and so nothing remains. They still use this section of track from time to time. And so when the iron rails started to vibrate and a small ball of white light was spotted ahead, I thought I was peering into the headlamp of an oncoming train. Quickly I started down the steep embankment and soon I had reached the safety of the ditch. I figured once the train had passed I would start toward home, I had been walking then for twenty minutes had seen nothing, heard nothing, and sensed nothing. It seemed the expedition would in the end turn out to be a bust.

Waiting on a passing train is nerve wracking experience let me tell you, the ground shakes under your toes, the sound of the whistle pierces your eardrums and everything starts to rattle around inside your head. The passing seconds turn to hours as the whistling grows louder and louder. And so while I stood there in that ditch, my eyes firmly fixed on the track, I waited, then it appeared.

The locomotive that appeared was not one of those huge diesel kinds. No, this one was a steam powered locomotive, and she was all black and trimmed with gold. She looked sleek, and her whistle also sounded a bit magical, she was clean too, not a spot of coal dust on her, she reminded me of a lady going formal in her little black dress. But then I spotted her number on her tender and I knew then, that this lady was no lady at all, but was the devil himself, for painted upon her tender were the numbers “666” the mark of the beast.

I froze because I could see in the drives cab a beast of a man, half goat, half man dressed in a tux. His eyes are solid black and void of life. As the train passed he looked down at me and smiled a wicked smile that showed row upon row of sharp white teeth. The train was pulling three old Pullman cars, the cars though were on fire and I could see shadows pressing upon the windows and feel the flickering yellow and orange flames that danced. Then the silence of the night was broken by the screams of those trapped inside and the smell of burning human flesh filled the air.

Then to my horror the train came to a halt and the driver started to step down.

“Room for one more!” He chuckled. “There's always room for one more soul on the ten O' clock express train to Hell.” He said with another chuckle and then he started to move toward me, moving down the steep embankment with ease.

Then something clicked inside me, a voice from deep within told me to run. And run I did. I took to the woods like a deer and ran like hell. My chest heaved up and down, up and down as I forced myself to leap over rotten logs and narrow ditches. I pushed through thick patches of briers and moved through big swaps of low hanging vines that wrapped around my arms and legs. I snatched these up and kept pushing. I dared not turn around because I felt like that creature might still be chasing me.

Half an hour later. I reached the crossing. My sister was standing by the car, her arms crossed and a mild look of annoyance crossed her face as she watched me come running out from the woods that surrounded the crossing. My jacket was torn, my face was scratched and my hair hung loose around my shoulders. I had lost in my flight the ponytail holder. I could feel small rivulets of blood starting to ooze down from the scratches. My throat too was raw from the inhuman screams that had filled the night air halfway through my flight when screaming was the only thing I could do to keep me sane.
“Have fun?” She asked as she looked up and gave her head a quick shake. “Because it looks like you got into a fight with a tree or something. Please, don't tell me there's some kind of fight club out here in these woods and you had to try your luck?” She added in a joking tone of voice. My sister has a country girl sense of humor.
“No..” I said shaking my head.

She shrugged her shoulders and then as an afterthought she added.

“Did you see the train that just passed by?” She asked. “It was one of those old steam locomotive's. What was odd about it, was the number, I think the number was '666' or something like that. You know I'm not superstitious or anything like that. But that train really bothered me.” My sister paused and then tilted her head to the side. “Hey, you feeling okay kiddo? You looking pale, paler than normal..”

“Lets..” I paused. “Let's go home..” I said.
She agreed. As we pulled away from that old railroad crossing, I swear I heard another whistle. A whistle that sounded almost like a laugh, a very demonic laugh.