#hazel is evil

Ch.8 Shatter

Warning:This Chapter contains an Eldritch Horrror doing Eldritch Horror Things. The Events are not cruicial to latter chapters, so you can skip it if need be.

Other Chapters

The following days saw Screech settle into a routine. Early in the morning, Geyn would steam her, Freda joining him shortly thereafter. Her dawns were spent racing along with the Morning Pike. After the morning run, she brought the previous day's fish vans back to Uman. Then she would make the quarry pickups along the line. After Gwyn and Freda ate lunch, her days varied based on what was needed that particular day.

Nearly a week after her arrival, she was sent up a branchline near Coedwig to collect a mixed goods for the harbour. The Branchline was named the Blaidd line after the engine that ran it. A small 2-4-0 metro tank of Cambrian design, she was nearly as old as the railway itself.

When Screech arrived, Blaidd was attaching the last vans to the train. The little engine ran back alongside the eldritch giant.

"Mind yourself with this lot lass. They're proper devils today," the tank engine spat. The trucks and vans giggled.

"It can't be as bad as October," Gywn called as he walked to the switch to let Screech through.

"Worse," the 2-4-0 groused, "they've heard of the big lass from the other yards, and are determined to show her up." She glanced up. "They'll fight you all the way to Dyfnder if you let them. You need to put them in place now or there will be uffern to pay on the hills.

Before Screech could respond, an empty truck from the sidings called out. "Oi boys, look what crawled out of the scrap heap!" The trucks and vans in her train cackled.

"Show him his place," hissed the whisper.

"Oh look, a talking matchbox." Screech drawled, "did they run out of toothpicks when building you? Or did they know you weren't worth the wood?"

Her train roared with laughter.

The truck seethed, "A sight better than you monster. Not even fit for scrap metal." He smirked, "unlike your sisters. I heard they made soup cans out of them."

Screech went very still. All sound seemed to vanish, the wagons in her train daring not to breathe. Even the whisper fell silent within her mind.

"Blaidd?" Screech asked quietly, the sound echoing back in the silence from a thousand angles. "Are you in any way attached to this beast?"

Blaidd shook her head nervously.

"Good."

The sky darkened as Screech stretched her tendrils towards the truck. The temperature dropped drastically, the water dripping from the shed roof freezing in place mid-air. 

Despite the unnatural silence, a ringing seemed to fill everyone's ears. In the dark, Screech's eyes glowed, and the trucks looked away as quickly as they could, instinctively knowing that to look within them would shred their minds like paper in a gale. The air around Screech distorted and refracted her image, but the lone truck somehow knew the terrible glimpses he saw through the shards were closer to the true Eldritch form of the 47xx.

Even before the tendrils touched him, the truck rose into the air, vibrating from some unseen energy. He cried out as the sound of splintering wood and straining metal was heard. Everyone in the yard shied back as the shriek of metal overwhelmed his cries. The tendrils surrounded the truck like serpents made of shadow. It had only been seconds, but it had felt like hours when his eyes finally met Screech's.

As he felt his mind tear from the strain of glimpsing her true self, a tendril finally, almost tenderly poked a corner of his chassis.

The silence was ended by the shattering of wood and metal into thousands of infinitesimal pieces. One second the truck was there, the next, nearly imperceptible pieces of metal and wood rained down on the forest and yard.

Screech closed her eyes and took a deep steadying breath. When they opened again, they were a burning ice blue.

"I expect," she said shortly, "that we will have no problems on our journey?"

Everyone in the yard, freight car and human, nodded frantically.

"Wonderful." Her tone remained clipped, hinting at her still simmering anger.

"Uh… Screech..."

The ice blue eyes swung to Blaidd, only to find the small tank engine off the rails. The track next to Screech had warped from mere proximity to her rage. Blaidd had been left tilting on the edge of the ballast.

"Apologies"

Screech slapped the rails with a tendril, and the rails snapped back into place. She then reached out with several tendrils and gripped the tank engine's frames, lifting gently.

She brought Blaidd in front of her to inspect her for damage, and finding none, gently set her back on her own rails.

"Thank you." Blaidd watched the tendrils curiously as they retracted. 

 "Normally anything they touch turns to rust, how do you control that?"

"Who says I do?"

"The fact you picked me up without turning me to scrap."

Screech barked a dry, but genuine laugh. "Through pain. I'm not meant to be in this world, so it damages anything that touches me. If I desire, I can protect the object..."

"By taking the damage yourself."

"Indeed."

Blaidd was quiet for a long moment, "You didn't have to help you know. We have a breakdown train that could have picked me up."

Screech flicked a tendril carelessly as if shrugging. "It was my fury that put you there when you had done nothing deserving my rage. Putting you back was only correct."

Blaise frowned, "but it hurt you."

Screech snorted dryly, "hardly any more than existing."

Blaise looked at her sharply, "You're in pain just from being here?"

"Such is the price of my existence."

Blaidd looked searching then sighed, "there's nothing we can do to help, is there?"

"Unless you can reverse death? No. I would not ask even if you were capable of such a feat. This is what I am now. To change that would change me."

The tank engine nodded slowly, "I think I understand. I wouldn't ask to become a diesel even if it kept me up to date."

"Exactly."

The Tank engine glanced over at the trembling trucks in Screech's train and smirked, "Any chance I can convince you to come down every once and awhile to keep this lot in line?"

"It would be my pleasure." 4702 purred while the whisper cackled.

Where to find me: Trainchat Discord

Here is every Fanfic I’ve written for TTTE/RWS so Far!

Nowhere Model Railway Au

Guardian Au:

Multie Chapter Fics:

Gaurdian- Tumblr / AO3  On a cold midnight run, Thomas's crew are thrust into an unexpected quest to help a fallen engine complete its final run.

A Life Well Lived-  Tumblr/Ao3 In 1956, Sir Topham Hatt I is given a terminal diagnosis by his doctor. Upon hearing the news, Thomas asks him and Lady Jane Hatt to come with him on a trip. Its time for them to learn a secret hes been keeping from them for almost 15 years.

A Screech in the Night- In the dying days of Steam, a small railway in rural Wales is visited by a Shadow.

A Western Summer- When a storm ravages in the island in 1976, the Ffarquhar Branch is split in two, and the line's No.1 is transfered to the Little Western...

Traintober 2025

Christmas 2025-Lightbringer

Sodor Lightshow 2024

Traintober 2024

List-(I'm not adding 62 links to this post, it's already breaking)

Five till Midnight

Traintober 2023

Traintober 2022

Daisy the Drifiting Railcar

Headcanons:

Betla the Steam Outline

Why Thomas is called an E2

Thomas the Engine Thief

Eric backstory

Sad Story of Henry

Diesel 10 heacanons

Henry headcanons

Sheila headcanon

Hiro Headcanon

Gordon Whistle Headcanon

The Whistle Incident

Gordon keeps adopting pacifics

Emotional Support Diesels

The Concept of Family in British locomotives

LNER U1 Garratt Typhoon

Big Emma/Bertha

Hank

Grey-'The Marklin Engine'

Knight of Thistle/Flying Thistle

S.S. America and other Liners

Sodor in the Age of Social Media

1. Edward

2. Henry

The Cronk and Harwick

Founding to 1914

The Great War

The Quiet Years

The Coal Rush

Star Trek

Enterprise F

Ask Prompts:

Prompt 1 (Dissonance): Impulse- @tigerhawk7109

Prompt 2 (Hazel): Lockdown- @predawnrex04

The Great North Western Railway

(Swindon Au)

Day 18-Demon

Other Stories

The Beast

Stephen desperately crawled under a truck as quickly as he could. Anything to escape that thing chasing him.

"Come out, come out little Hatt," It crooned. Its voice, an ear-aching shriek of twisting metal. "You know you can't run forever." The words were spoken in a mock soothing toon. 

Stephen stared at the beast from under the trucks. it vaguely took the shape of an engine, but one twisted and warped. Its smokebox was blank, a jagged hole stretched across, twisting and moving to form a jagged mouth. Within the maw a deep red glow could be seen, as if its boiler contained molten metal. Two burning holes were positioned inches above its maw, forming beady, hate-filled eyes. Every turn of its twisted and bent wheels screeched against corroded siderods. Flames licked through holes in the boiler, occasionally setting the beast on fire without it seeming to notice.

It stopped right beside the truck Stephen was hiding under and breathed deeply. Stephen held his breath, desperately hoping it couldn't sense him.

"I do hope," it spoke, "that you know hiding will do you no good." It slowly, ominously rolled forward, leaving the rails behind it glowing and twisted from the heat. "I have waited so many years for this. It is nothing personal, you understand." It purred, a grinding harsh sound that set Stephen's teeth on edge. "But you're dear Grandfather must be punished."

Stephen slowly began crawling towards the other end of the siding slowly, hoping to put some distance between him and the creature.

"I'm rather afraid you're just caught in the middle in this case." It paused its movements and Stephen froze and hoped the shaking trucks were enough to hide him. It slowly started forward again. "It is his fault you're here you know. I was once a normal engine you know. A proud North Western engine even, brought to help out during the war. I pushed the others hard, but they needed it."

The beast paused again, looking at a few trucks down the line from Stephen. 

CRUNCH

The trucks and Stephen stared in horror as the beast chewed the remains of the shattered truck before slowly, deliberately swallowing it.

"Ah, not what I was looking for, but filling nonetheless." The engine rolled forward again, but it took a long moment before Stephen found the courage to move.

"Yes, it is true I was harder on the island's engines than they were used to, but we were at war. Every extra truck they carried brought supplies to our troops, every coach of soldiers brought death to the enemy, and every van of medical supplies saved soldiers. I did what was needed, pushing the sheltered fools to their limits for our country, and what was my thanks?"

The engine chuckled, a dark broken sound akin to shattered glass. "I was sent away. Told my behavior was intolerable when everything I did was for the cause. When I was doing what the fool Hatt wouldn't do."

CRUNCH

Another truck disappeared within the beast's jaws. "That order signed my death sentence. The fools they gave me to didn't watch my water gauge, despite my warnings. It cost them their lives, and now I am stuck as this. Haunting the rails I once ruled. Hearing your screams from within my boiler will not even bring Hatt a tenth the pain I have felt...but It will have to do."

The beast reached the end of the sidings, and slowly began to reverse back along the trucks. "I must say I am surprised though. I fully expected the trucks to sell you out. Especially when their frames are on the line."

CRUNCH

A van gave a strangled cry as it was tore in half between the beast's jaws.

"We do not ally with Demons such as you." An old truck cried, and the others yelled their agreement.

Because I ended a few of your brethren." The beast, if anything, sounded amused. "Do you not regularly dash yourselves to bits for your own amusement?"

"Because you are an abomination, and have no place in this world."

The beast chuckled, "on that we agree."

Stephen crawls slowly out from under the last truck, hoping...

"Ah there you are, little morsel." Stephen turned and saw the beast was at the other end of the siding, its grin stretching from edge to edge, and suddenly understood it had known where he was the entire time. It was toying with him.

"Now far be it from me to speak so much of my mistreatment, without giving you a chance. At the end of that alleyway behind lies the docks, and freedom. If you escape me, I'll leave you be. I'll even give you a head start, just to make it fair. To the count of ten.

Stephen turned and sprinted for the alleyway.

"One."

The trucks roared encouragement.

"Two"

He shot into the alleyway.

"Three"

The alleyway was between two warehouses, long and narrow, with barely enough clearance for the tracks running through it.

"Four"

Stephen ran faster then he ever had before.

"Five"

As he ran he looked for doorways or anywhere to hide.

"Six"

There were none.

"Seven"

He pushed himself even faster.

"Eight."

It wasn't going to matter

"Nine"

 He wasn't even halfway yet.

"Ten"

He heard the shriek of metal as the beast pushed off, racing down the sidings. It reached the start of the alley in seconds, whistling tauntingly as it did.

Its puffing echoed down the alley. Quickly overwhelming the sound of Stephen gasping for air, as it raced towards him. Stephen dove to the side, hoping that maybe it would miss and buy him a few seconds

CLANG

The beast rocked back from the impact, dazed. Stephen looked up to see a wall of blue in front of him, a large golden number one shining in the dying light.

"Run Stephen!" Thomas whistled, and he rolled forward, charging the Beast with a whistle.

"YOU!" The beast roared.

Stephen took off like a jackrabbit, the sound of the engine and beast clashing ringing off the walls.

"How dare you stop me! You know what the Hatts cost me, Caomhnóir." 

Crash

"I know what you cost yourself. Stephen had nothing to do with it. How dare you harm a child!"

CLANG

"Its the only way to make Hatt pay, and I will do it, even if I have to go through you to do it!"

BANG

The tank engine fought valiantly, but he was outmatched, the beast was far larger, and the smaller engine was slowly but surely pushed back.

CRASH

As Stephen reached the other end of the alley, he heard the beast scream, "NO! He is mine!"

Thomas activated his lamps and the beast recoiled as golden light spilled over it, but its rage was stronger still. It leapt forward with a strangled scream.

CRASH!

Stephen dove to the side as he heard the sound of metal screeching along the rails. Thomas screeched past, tilting to the side, falling to the ground with a muffled boom as he topped over.

The beast emerged from the alley. Dark oil ran from its eye holes and maw, its buffers dented in, and across its front the metal was glowing, dripping and melting as if hit by a great heat. Stephen was vaguely aware of the dock workers running towards him in the distance

"I'll kill you!" it snarled, "I'll Kill You!" Its voice was rough and coarse, as if it had been burned. "I'll rip you to pieces, tear your crew to shreds in front of you!"

Stephen hesitated, knowing there was nothing he could do but loathe to leave the engine that had saved him.

The beast turned its burning eyes on him, "but only after you've seen me devour him, and know for all the Lady's power, you couldn't save him." Its tone was mocking and hateful.

Thomas's eyes opened, the iris completely golden. He smirked, "I'm afraid you'll be disappointed."

'Oh?" The best said smugly.

SLAM!

The beast was thrown forward as a massive blur of blue slammed into it from behind. He gave a whistle of alarm, which was instantly drowned out by a deep whistle of war.

The beast tried to push back, "get off of me!" It shrieked, but Gordon pushed him forward with a growl, past Stephen, past Thomas.

The beast surged back but he was against a foe every bit as powerful as himself, and it only caused him to slip as the mighty express engine pushed him onto the pier.

"NO! NO! I will not be denied like this!" It roared in rage, digging in its wheels. But the Pacific would not be denied. Foot by foot, inch by inch, he shoved the beast towards the end of the pier, and the waiting sea. 

It fought, snarled, cursed, and screamed. It melted the rails beneath it, and spit molten steel, but still number four's wheels turned ever forward.

Even the buffers at the end proved no match for the pacific's strength, splintering apart as the beast was shoved through them.

As the beast began inch over the edge, he snarled a threat, "this will not end me. I'll still be there waiting."

Gordon never spoke.

Ch:3 The Morning Pike

Other Chapters

4702 rolled alongside the fish vans quietly. Workmen were filling the long line of cars quickly. The train stretched the length of the dock, mismatched cars assembled in seemingly random order. The ground was slick with ice and snow. A worker slipped and fell beside the line. 4702 stopped effortlessly before him despite the icy tracks.

"Careful little one," she crooned, her voice making the fallen worker feel as if his spine was slowly being pulled inside out, "keep flopping around like that and someone might mistake you for the tasty fish you're carrying." Her smile was wide and far too sharp. The worker scrambled up with an apology and shot off like a jackrabbit for the other end of the train.

She chuckled as she pulled forward once again, the whisper cackling at the worker's reaction. She heard Gywn and Freda call to the worker, but someone else had caught her attention.

At the end of the train, lorries stood, waiting for any fish that couldn't be fit into the train. "Come now!" one of them yelled to the workers, "You know that clapped-out old kettle can't pull all this!" Load us first and maybe the fish will make it on time." The other lorries eyed her silent approach nervously, but the rude lorry was oblivious to her until she spoke, brazenly rolling forwards so his bumper overhung the tracks 

"Well now," she purred, the lorry freezing in fear. "What do we have here?" She rolled forward smoothly, towering higher and higher over the now trembling lorry with each turn of her wheels. "Are you lost little lorry? Surely you must be, surely you didn't try to convince our workers to steal from my train?" Her tone was sickeningly sweet as if she were a mother who simply couldn't believe their child would do such a thing. But her smile and eyes belied that tone. The Lorry tried to speak but found himself unable as the 47xx loomed over him, tendrils spreading freely into the night air like a mane of black fire. The longer he looked the more he knew there was something more there, that if he looked past her he would see something he wasn't supposed to, something other. And he knew she wanted him to.

Screech rolled to a stop, a mere hairs breath from his bumper, and looked down upon the quivering lorry.  

"Surely you must be in the wrong place, after all, you wouldn't be so foolish as to call me a clapped-out old kettle would you?"

She dragged the tip of a tendril lightly across his cheek tenderly, to him it felt as if a knife was being dragged along his skin, just lightly enough to avoid cutting him. He shook his head back and forth frantically.

"But where did you think you were?" 4702 asked mock thoughtfully, "this is the only rail line for miles." The lorry felt as if his engine block was being squeezed by an unseen force with every word. "Oh, you must truly be lost. I think you need to go home little lorry, you're in no state to be out here." The lorry tried to speak but 4702 cut him off with a shush, "Don't worry, I'll handle everything here, now GO."

The last word rolled through his mind like thunder as 4702 gently slipped forward and lightly tapped his bumper with her buffer. Rust spread from the tap like ice across a window. The lorry gaped at the sight, before shooting off like a man possessed out of the yard.

4702 chuckled warmly as the other lorries trembled. The whisper in her mind cackling in glee 

"Screech that was a bit much wasn't it?" Freda couldn't quite keep the smirk out of her voice.

"Of course not, we wouldn't want a poor lorry to stay lost would we?"  Screech smiled at the other lorries. All but one chose the better part of valour and bolted. The remaining one was a smaller steam lorry. She was painted red with gold trim and had the railways logo on her doors. "And who are you little brave one?"

The little lorry gulped, "Arwen, Miss Screech."

"Very well Arwen, I suppose it all falls to us then."

Arwen nodded timidly and followed as Screech backed down onto the long train.

Gwyn called up, "All forty-three vans are full, I hope you're up to the challenge, gorgeous."

Screech snorted, "The only way I fail is if I run out of steam...and I would be most displeased with you if I did."

Rather than acknowledge the clear threat, he smiled with glee, "that's what I like to hear!" 

The whisper grumbled about mad old men as Gwyn ducked back into her cab.

Behind her, Freda hooked the front van's coupler to her tender. The coupling felt white hot against the cold of her tender, but it held together Screech couldn't even manage surprise at the fact it hadn't rusted apart on contact, she was resigned to this railway breaking the laws of her existence.

The doors began slamming shut down the length of the train. Screech shifted her wheels forward for grip, eagerly tensing in anticipation, staring at the all-clear signal before her.

The last door slammed shut and the dock workers stepped clear. The guard waved his green lantern.

"Right then!" Freda called, "let's show them what you've got, Screech."

4702 pulled forward with the screech of slipping wheels, her tendrils gripping the rails giving her better grip. One by one the vans were pulled forward. She pulled under the signal and onward onto the line proper.

As she accelerated away from the docks and the last car cleared the points, all she could think was...

Ch.1 The Uman and Din

Other Chapters

To the north of Harlech in Merioneth, lies a little railway, the Uman and Dim. Once a branch line of God's Wonderful Railway itself, the line had been closed by a Doctor who had odd ideas on healing the country's rail lines. The Doctor had been tasked with fixing the railways by men who knew the price of everything, and the value of nothing. The solution he came up with was to simply remove lines till the railway worked. 

 The Uman and Din was one of the lines closed, but as normally happens in the world, the people the line served knew the line's value better than the directors in London. The line was bought for the town and with it six engines. These were not diesels or even electrics as one might guess today, but steam engines, proper Swindon ones at that. This is the story of how they gained their seventh.

One cold winter's night, the railway received a visitor. Eight large driving wheels propelled a shadow across the yard towards the shed. Tendrils of shadow whipped off of the engine's form.

'Scare them,' a quiet voice whispered within the giant's mind.

 4702 chuckled lowly as she approached the shed. These engines looked so content and secure in this little shed. It was time to remind them how lucky they were to be saved from her fate. A glimpse of her fate would ensure they valued what they had been given.

"Quiet," came the quiet hiss just as 4702 was about to blast her whistle. She looked in surprise to see a 0-6-0 pannier tank of the 97xx class was awake and looking at her anxiously.

Before 4702 could reply, the tank engine spoke. "You're more than welcome to sleep here, we'd never turn another engine away, especially another Western, but please keep it down." She looked over to the Star class at the end of the shed. "Abbey only got back an hour ago and has to be up at daybreak. She needs her sleep."

4702 looked over the Star class. Even in sleep, exhaustion covered her features. The number 4061 on her cabside was faded and dull, as were the nameplates on her sides reading Glastonbury Abbey, but above her smokebox a lovingly polished nameplate reading Guinevere sat. She towered over the other engines in the shed.

The 97xx followed her gaze. "She's the strongest." She whispered quietly. "We help where we can, but she's the only one capable of far too many of the trains."

4702 surveyed the other engines, each bore exhaustion on their features heavily as they slept fitfully.

The 97xx looked no better, it was obvious she dearly wished to join her fleetmates in sleep. Painted across the side of her can the name Enid could just be made out.

'Wake them!' the whisper cackled.

4702 shoved the voice aside with all the strength her class was famed for. 

"Tell me little one," 4702's voice was a mere whisper, yet it echoed around them, bouncing back again and again from odd angles, filling the air as thoroughly as a siren. "why do you not sleep with your shedmates?"

The tank engine looked down sadly, "Vandals keep trying to steal parts from the shed...sometimes from off us. It's my night to stand watch."

'Scare theeemmm' the whisper hissed.

The giant flicked her tendrils in agitation, "Not tonight little one." The little 97 tried to argue, but 4702 continued, "sleep. I will stand guard. Any vandal will find themselves sorely regretting the choices that led them here this night."

4702 shimmered in place, suddenly facing out from the shed. She rolled quietly back into the shed, a shadow brushing coldly across the 97's cheek. She was asleep before 4702 had stopped moving.

'Revenge,' the whisper hissed sullenly.

"Not tonight," the giant rumbled quietly. "These engines have earned their rest."

The whisper subsided mutinously.

4702 allowed it a moment before continuing, "It is just for the night, tomorrow we steam for London. Then you will have your fill."

The whisper rumbled happily.

"Besides," 4702's smile stretched far too wide, "the night is not over yet. Who knows what vandals might stumble upon tonight."

The whisper's cackle rang throughout her mind.

Author’s Note:

This is It, all 31 days are up!

The sequel to Day 18:The Beast

Day 31:The End

Other Chapters

Burn

October 1950

Topham Hatt strode onto the pier, the workers parting before him like the red sea. Edward followed behind with a flatbed for Thomas. Cranes had been attached to the tank engine and as they approached, the number one was pulled back upright. The workmen scrambled forward to adjust the chains around the engine for lifting, careful not to aggravate his damage. All the while Gordon stood watch, a formidable sentinel looming large against the dark. His stare was locked on the sea at the end of the pier. A small shape huddled on his running board.

"Stephen!" He called.

The child launched off the footplate into his arms. He simply held the crying child close for a long moment before looking up at the tank engine.

"Tell me it's dead."

"No more than it already was." Caomhnóir's tone was grim as he looked over towards the sea. "He's trapped down there. Engines can't swim no matter their form."

His large eyes shown gold around the edges as he locked eyes with his controller. "But that will only buy time, sooner or later, the seas hold over him will break, and he will be free once more."

"Then we must destroy him here." Gordon finally spoke. "There is no place in this world for that abomination."

Topham stared at the end of the pier. Even now the sea rolled restlessly, as if something beneath was straining against it.

"It's because his body still exists isn't it?" Topham asked quietly. Stephen looked up in confusion.

"As long as there is a piece of his body left...this is not over." Caomhnóir confirmed.

"That is why you asked me to watch over Jessie when she was brought to Sodor," Gordon guessed. "She was built from his frames."

Thomas smiled without humor, "I should have known you would be the one to figure it out. It was always unlikely that he would remain at rest. The question was, would he reawaken in his old form, or..."

"Become as a demon from hell." Gordon finished. He was quiet for a long moment. "How do we save her while destroying him?"

"We'll rebuild her piece by piece." Topham said with finality "Every last bolt removed from her will be melted down and replaced by a completely different piece. The resulting metal will be dumped down a mine. It has no use on this railway."

------

"Jessica, do you have a moment?"

"Hi Thomas! Lovely day isn't it?"

"Yes, but we need to talk."

"Oh, did I do something wrong?"

"No, but your predecessor did."

"My predecessor? Wait. You knew the engine I was rebuilt from?"

"Unfortunately Jessica, it's more accurate to say I know them."

------

The beast seethed beneath the waves. He lay on his right side, facing the pier he been thrown from by the gresley of all engines. Even now the mere memory was enraging enough for him to catch ablaze, only for the cold sea to instantly extinguish them, leaving only glowing metal. Fish swam through the holes in his boiler, enjoying the warmth from the metal. He ached deeply, his already twisted smokebox dented from where he'd slammed face first into the seabed. He'd been spitting out sand for over a week, and he could still feel some stuck in the metal. He glared up towards the surface, only the dimmest flicker of light reaching through the dark depths. They would pay for this. He would enjoy ripping their faces from their frames, every last one of them.

Such pleasant daydreams were interrupted by a white hot burning along his side.

His shriek of shock shook the nearby pier, startling a flow of seagulls into panicked flight.

He roared in rage, but the cutting continued, slowly gouging its way down his side.he thrashed as best he could but the pain was relentless.

 "They wouldn't dare!" He raged.

But as more burning lances joined the first, he realized they would.

------

Jessica rolled out of the works happily, her new paint work gleaming in the sun.

"How do you feel?" Thomas asked with concern.

"Wonderful!" She beamed. "I feel so much better. My old parts always felt so thin."

"I'm not surprised," Charles said, "the Americans designed your class to be built cheaply and quickly. Unfortunately that meant compromises in quality. That didn't matter for wartime engines, but the North Western requires better from us.Your new boiler and firebox are actually meant to last. Now run along, there's a goods train with your name in it.""

"Thank you, goodbye" Jessica whistled, and happily rolled off to find her train.

Charles Hatt chuckled at the young engine's enthusiasm. "If only the others were so happy to work with trucks."

Thomas snorted in amusement. "It would take more than a new boiler for that."

He quickly sobered. "It is done?"

Charles nodded grimly, "The pieces are being melted down now. Come dawn, there won't be anything left of them."

------

The beast slowly awoke to a strange picking sensation. A small fish was happily cleaning algae off his smokebox. He snarled angrily and the fish bolted.

He winced at the phantom pain running though his boiler. He had remained conscious through the cutting, in fact it had only made him angrier.

The melting though... He winced, stretching as much as he could. He knew without looking that his boiler and firebox were now translucent, their physical form destroyed. He growled as a fish swam through his boiler, slowed, but not stopped.

He reluctantly had to admit himself impressed. He hadn't believed Hatt had it in him. If only he had been so ruthless during the war. Nonetheless he was only weakened, not beaten. They could only delay the inevitable reckoning.

------

May 1951

"It's cracked all the way though." Charles pronounced. "We'll have to forge a new pair for you."

Jessica winced as he removed his hand from her cylinder. "I take it that wont be a quick repair."

Charles shook his head, "We'll be taking the chance to give you an early overhaul. Your boiler and firebox are brand new, but the rest will have to be looked over and if necessary, replaced.

------

The beast suddenly screamed awake with agony, as his cylinders and valve gear began melting. A nearby shark swam up to him in interest, hoping that whatever was making such a noise was edible.

-------

"The trucks managed to damage her valve gear as well as her cylinder."

"I'm not surprised, they lost several to that beast. Getting to cause an accident and pay the beast out at the same time? It's shocking that she remained on the rails."

------

He sat on the bottom, panting with exhaustion and rage. He had managed to remain conscious this time, but had been unable to prevent the shark from taking an experimental nibble.

He had snapped at the shark, he was the predator in these waters, not it. All he got for his trouble was a tail fin to the face.

Even through his fury, one thing was clear, he had underestimated how far they would go to be rid of him.

------

June 1956

Over the following years, all the pieces had been replaced, piece by piece, until only the frames remained. The beast roared in rage at the destruction of the cab, screamed at the scrapping of his wheels, plotted at the crushing of his tender, and fell silent at the loss of his smokebox.

 All that was left was his very frames, fish happily swimming through the space where the rest of him should be. Paying as little attention to his translucent form as to the very water they swam in. 

He could hardly whisper now. When he could he would whisper to himself that one day he would be free, that his long awaited revenge would make him whole. While Hatt had proven far more ruthless than the beast had ever imagined, even he wouldn't scrap his frames. Hatt cared far too much for his replacement to do that. The time would come when He would win. And they would all regret what they had done to him a thousand times over. Sometimes he almost believed it.

------

"Are you sure?" Caomhnóir asked, "if we do this, there will be nothing left of your original body, it will all be new."

"No, there will be nothing left of his body." Jessica said confidently, "For the first time I'll have my own. Not a replacement, but my own engine."

She hung in the air, separate from her frames, while workmen prepared the gas axes

Thomas simply nodded, "We're ready then."

The first torch was lit.

------

When he felt the first cut, he knew it was over. The Hatt had beaten him at his own game. Revenge was best left to the living he supposed. He growled in resignation as he loosened his hold on his current form. He may have lost, but he would face his defeat with dignity. The Fat Hatt had won too much as it was, he would not allow him the last word.

------

As they threw the first piece into the forge, Jessica gasped, Charles and Topham both spun to see if she had felt the piece being destroyed, but her eyes were focused on the closed doors of the works.

Topham glanced over to Thomas, who nodded.

Together the two Hatts strode forth and threw open the doors. It was quiet for a second, then a puff was faintly heard over the cool night breeze, and the ground rumpled as an unseen engine rolled into the works.

Jessica's eyes locked on the space in front of her. Thomas glared at the spot and activated his lamp.

The gold light struck something which flinched back with a hiss. The tank engine slowly dimmed the lamp till the form stopped hissing.

Faintly in the light an outline could be seen, a 2-8-0 similar to Jessica, but no longer identical. 

"Hello little replacement." It hissed, the sound echoing strangely around the works.

Jessica glared, "I am no replacement, that would imply there was something of value before me."

The beast, or what was left of it, hacked a coughing laugh. "I see you still have my tongue if nothing else." It flinched as another pile of pieces was tossed into the forge.

It shook, shaking off the cough, before turning to the Hatts, "It appears I have underestimated you. It seems I am not the true monster of the island."

"You tried to kill my son." Charles shook with rage, "if I could have brought you back I would have, so that I could have killed you myself."

The beast chuckled, phantom oil dropping to the floor from its maw. "And you Caomhnóir, assisting in the destruction of another engine. British Rail must be proud."

Thomas's tone was as cold as the light from his lamp, "You ceased to be an engine the moment you refused the Lady's call to come home. You are not but a shade, beast, not an engine."

Topham walked over and picked up the final piece, holding it up before the forge doors. "Your final words, demon?"

"How noble of you to offer" The beast crooned. "But all that's left to say is...See you in hell."

Day 28: Last Stop

Other Stories

Sodor, to welcome you home.

January 1982

She shivered in the cold beneath the tarp, the wind whipping overhead kept the snow off, but it also chilled her to the bone. She struggled to stay awake, the cold and hunger numbing her, but she fought it. She has to be close now. 

As if on cue they slowed, the diesel at the head honking as they entered the yard. A replying whistle made her sit up, wincing as the cuts in her back stretched. She was almost there!

The diesel unhooked and rolled off with a friendly honk. The yard was quiet for a long moment, then the unmistakable sound of a steam engine puffing was heard as it pulled alongside the train. Glancing through a hole in the side of the truck. Claire caught sight of scarlet so bright it almost burned against the snowy yard. The engine stopped by her wagon, the crew climbed down and walked to its front. A hushed conversation was held, unable to be heard over the blowing wind. The crew turned and walked towards the yard office, quickly disappearing into the blowing powder.

"You can come out now." The engine said calmly. Claire froze.

"Please, it's awfully cold out here, and I don't want to be here any longer than I have too." Claire could feel the engine's eyes on the truck, so she slowly stood.

As she peaked out over the edge of the truck, she got her first look at the engine in its entirety. 

Red paint with gold stripes and dark blue lining greeted her. A massive gold five gleamed even through the storm.

"James," she breathed. She'd barely dared to hope for a sodor engine, but one of the famous eight stood before her, a looming wall of brightly colored steel in the night.

"There you are." The engine said. "Come quickly little one, it's far too cold to be playing in the dirty trucks." The trucks giggled around her.

She hesitated, torn between hope and the fear that this was a trap.

"You do want to see me don't you?" The engine said as if it was heartbroken and couldn't imagine why someone wouldn't want to see him.

She was scrambling over the truck before she even realized it. She stumbled as she hit the ground, her knee screaming, but she quickly limped over to the engine. No, to James.

The mogul watched her with concern. When she reached his bufferbeam, he blew a cloud of steam at her, warming her.

"That's better," he smiled. "Why are you out here all alone little one? I know I'm a most splendid sight, but I hardly look my best in this weather." James scrunched his nose, glaring into the oncoming snow.

"I was hoping for any Sodor engine..."

"What a pleasant surprise to get the best one then! "

 Claire giggled at the red engine's smug tone, before shivering again at the cold.

James frowned and wheeshed steam, warming the air around them. "Why don't you hop in my cab, little one, the fire will keep you warm."

Claire shook her head frantically, backing away. "No! Your crew can't see me. They will send me back! That's all the adults do!."

"Like hell they will."

Claire looked up in surprise at the engine.

"I may not even know your name, little one, but I knew the minute I saw you that you were escaping..."

A tear was blown away by the storm. "It's Claire." She said quietly. Somehow he still heard her over the wind.

He smiled at her, "I'm James but everyone knows that." A desperate laugh escaped her. "I don't know what you're escaping from, but no North Western engine has ever left someone in need when they can help it, and I will not be the first." 

She stepped back towards him, hesitantly touching his footplate.

"You may not be an engine, little one," he said gently, "but you have every right to a home on Sodor just the same. I will see you there, even if I have to drive myself."

For a moment she almost believed him, then she looked down, tears running down her face, "it won't matter, they'll send me back. They always do."

"Not if they can't find you."

She looked up at him in confusion.

"Have you heard how Thomas hid other engines from scrap?" He asked.

"Yes." She said, wiping her nose. "They call him..."

"Caomhnóir, Guardian." He leaned in. "Would you like to know a secret even the Fat Controller doesn't know?" Claire nodded.

"He's not just Caomhnóir for engines, "James said, causing her to look up with dawning hope. "It may have started that way. But Thomas is a guardian for lost children, just like engines. You won't be the first he's hid, and unless the world suddenly becomes a better place, you probably won't be the last."

"Promise?"

"On my red paint, this is your last stop on the mainland, even if we have to rip up the rails to do it."

She started back towards the cab and he let off a short whistle. As she climbed into the cab, ignoring the way her knee screamed at the motion, she saw his crew exit the yard office and head toward the cab. 

Although she was quickly warming from James's fire, she was trembling for an entirely different reason as the driver climbed up.

"Hello dear," he said, pulling off his jacket. "You look like you need this more than I do. She hesitantly, but gratefully took it and wrapped it around herself.

"We need to stop at Knapford," James called back. "She needs to be looked at by a doctor. Caomhnóir will know where to take her."

The driver nodded and pulled out a notebook and wrote in it. Tearing out the page when he was through. "We'll send word through Emily then. 

The fire man knelt down. "Hello dear." She said gently, "Would you mind if I looked you over, or do you want to wait until the doctor."

Claire slowly nodded before turning and slowly lifting the back of her shirt. "Maxwell, hand me the first aid kit." The fireman's tone was calm but fire raged beneath. Once she had the kit she began carefully treating the cuts as the driver carefully started James again, shunting him to the front of the train.

 She finished bandaging the last cut just as James was coupled to the last truck. "Is there anything else hurting?"

"My knee hurts when I walk on it. But that can wait till the doctor."

The fireman nodded, "there's not much I can do for that with the kit, but we'll get you to the doctor as fast as we can."

"Good news." The driver said as he climbed back into the cab. "We've been given express priority to Knapford. Once the signal drops it's a clear run."

The signal dropped, and James started with a will. "Come on, come on." He puffed.

 "Pull hard! Pull hard," chanted the trucks.

James soon raced across the vicarstown bridge, blasting a complex whistle as he raced through into the yards on the other side. The yard switcher repeated the whistle, which was picked up by an engine at the freight depot. As James raced onto the mainline, Claire heard the whistle raced ahead, passed from engine to engine down the line.

As the Kirk Ronan station raced into view, the driver shoved his note into a small bag hidden in James's tender and tossed it to a waiting crewman on the platform. Emily's encouraging whistle from the other platform seemed to give James speed as he raced towards Maron. He shot through the station and plunged down Gordon's hill, blasting through Wellsworth with a whistle, Edward's reply quickly fading into the distance.

 The rails sang and trucks cheered with glee at their speed as they raced past green signal after green signal. 

Finally James began to break. The trucks grumbled at having to stop, but behaved themselves.

As James rounded the bend into Knapford, another engine came into view at the station platform. He was running light, no coaches or trucks behind him, smoke and steam idly drifting around him.  He whistled a greeting as James rolled to a stop alongside him, James tiredly replying.

"Well done," he said. "That run was fast enough they may put you back on the nor'wester."

James groaned, "Please no. My wheels still ache from last time."

Thomas chuckled, "We all grow old sometime."

James glared, "I'd like to see you try to pull twenty coaches across the island in less than an hour." He sighed "I don't know how Gordon manages it multiple times a day without his wheels falling off."

"He's a gresley." Thomas said simply, "they're not happy if they're at their limits."

James muttered something about crazy express engines.

James's driver helped Claire onto the platform. 

"She needs a doctor."

Thomas nodded. "The doctor is waiting at Ffarquhar for her with the family she'll be staying with.

"They...they don't mind do they?"

"No at all," Thomas said smiling. " They are very excited to meet you. There were three other families who wanted you, but this one was the best choice."

"And if they decide they don't want me?"

"They will." Thimas said softly.

"My mother didn't." Claire said softly. "She said I was the worst thing to ever happen to her. That not even the money she'd make off me would make up for that."

Both engines' eyes hardened and an understanding passed between them.

"Claire." James said, "Even if this family doesn't work out, three other families want you. You are not unwanted, your mother was wrong. Even if we can't find a human family for you, you will always be welcome in our sheds."

"You became part of our family the moment you went to James. You now have several dozen siblings made of metal."

"What if she finds me again?" Claire said, not meeting their eyes.

"I've hid locomotives longer then she's been alive and not even one has been found. If by some miracle she finds you, then no one will ever find her."

Thomas's driver reached out her hand, and Claire took it, following her into his cab, and her new life.

-------

August 1992

"Are you sure you have to retire?"

Maxwell chuckled, wiping his glasses "Yes James, I do. If my eyesight gets any worse, we'll be confined to the branchlines, and you deserve better than that."

James was quiet for a long moment, "I'd gladly do it, sir. If it meant not losing you."

Touched by the offer, Maxwell turned and grasped his engine's buffer firmly.

"Thank you." He said solemnly, "I know what that means to you." He sighed, "but I'm old James and It would only buy us a year or two. Besides," he said with a cheeky grin, "I have a feeling you'll like my replacement."

James's retort was cut off by a familiar whistle as Thomas rolled into the yard. "Morning James, morning Mr.Maxwell!"

Samantha leaned out of his cab, "This is where we drop off the kids for daycare right?"

"Mom!"

Maxwell and Samantha just laughed together as Thomas chuckled.

"Really. My first day and she pulls that." James's new driver fussed as she climbed down from Thomas's cab.

"Be grateful Nicole wasn't here." Thomas teased. 

"Hush little brother!" 

"I'm older than you!"

"Then act like it!"

The young driver, still laughing, turned to James. "So," she said, striking a pose in her driver's uniform, "do I look presentable enough to be your driver."

James smirked, "Straighten your collar and you just might Miss Claire."

Claire swore as she hurriedly straightened her collar.

"I told you it was crooked."

Day 29: Fiery Sky

Other Stories

By His Light

Duncan raced down the tracks, blasting steam to try and clear the air around him. It did no good, the smoke hardly seemed to move. Every breath was a struggle, his crew coughing in the cab, but still he plunged on.

The fire around him raged, the rails behind him starting to glow from the heat.

He desperately searched ahead for the junction, but he could hardly see the rails before him. The coaches were trying to reassure the children within, but they were struggling to speak without coughing.

All he could see was the flames and the smoke, even the sky obscured by the inferno.

He whistled, but no one answered. 'Bloody tourists.' He swore in his mind, 'dinnae they not read the warnings? Now look at it.'

Warden fell was capped with flames, a careless camper hadn't put out their fire before falling asleep. Now the entire mountain side was up in flames and them along with it.

The Skarloey railway had rallied. Every engine had grabbed anything that could hold people. Trucks, coaches, vans, flatbeds were all loaded with people and raced down the line towards Crovan's Gate, where the North Western engines waited with long lines of coaches. They had been almost done when they had received word of a school trip stranded on the mountain side.

Duncan, freshly returned with empty coaches, raced off as fast as he could, beating the fire to the children. But it seemed they were too late.

The fire roared down the mountain side, chasing them, cornering them like a fox before the hounds.

First his fireman collapsed, then minute later his driver, overwhelmed by the smoke and heat. The regulator, still clasped in his hand, was pulled shut. Duncan slowed to a stop.

"Help us please!" He whistled/screamed. But no one answered, and the fire krept ever closer.

"No." He snarled and pushed. Within his cab he felt the regulatory slowly force itself open. Puff. He pushed again. Puff.

Slowly they began to move again, wheel turn by wheel turn. But they were still lost. If they missed the junction, they would be sent back up the mountain. Back into the flame.

PeeeEeeeeEeep

Duncan almost froze. He knew that whistle, but they were no were near the old iron bridge. Nonetheless, a familiar shape formed from the smoke before him.

The sound of puffing echoed through the smoke before him, a shrill whistle screamed out, seeming to tear through the smoke.

PEEEeeeeEeeeEEEPPP

Duncan was trembling but the whimpers from within the coaches saw him plunge forth, ghost or no.

The spirit of the old bridge seemed to approve. A bright beam of light shot from its lamp. Cutting through the smoke like a javelin. It whistled again, running off down the line. Duncan followed.

The clink of changing points was heard and the ghost engine swerved. Duncan raced after it, only the light visible through the smoke. He couldn't make out the tracks beneath him, but they didn't feel like any he remembered. They were old, and felt like they would split at any second.

The rails slanted steeply down, and often curved sharply, but he couldn't slow down, lest the flames catch them.

Finally the smoke began to thin, trees coming into view around him. The heat began to dissipate, but the spirit charged on. Duncan couldn't have stopped if he wanted. He was far too tired to force his regulator shut. They burst through the treeline by the lake, the spirit whistling triumphantly. 

To their left Duke and Skarloey gaped from the platform, before Duke charged forth with a will. The spirit collapsed, as if blown away by the wind. Duncan could barely see, his vision long blurred from the smoke and tears. He only noticed Duke when the old engine shot ahead of him just before their lines joined. Braking hard, Duke slowly brought them to a stop, his fireman running back to shut Duncan's regulator, and check on his crew, who were beginning to come round.

"Duncan! Thank heavens! What were you doing on that abandoned line?" Skarloey pulled alongside.

Duncan was too exhausted to answer.

"He was led there." Duke said quietly.

"By who?"

"An old friend." Duke said simply. "One lost long ago.

Skarloey hesitated, then nodded, pulling forward with a whistle. 

Duke sat waiting for the medics to check over Duncan and his passengers before he took them to Crovan's Gate.

"Proteus..." He whispered. Over the distant roaring fire, a shrill whistle could be barely heard over the wind. He smiled, "Thank you old friend."