The Man in the NightA Poem by Claire in VA a tale told to me by Grandpa O.B. Snead is a local man, Who works on the rails in Crewe. He’s curious a man as you ever met, From his head down to his shoes.
He began a haul to Norfolk one day, ‘Twas raining and changing to snow. He sat in the seat of the engine black, And began the trip rather slow.
The train it pulled all its cargo well, It chugged and sang a steady song. Ol’ Burley sang and told us jokes, And tapped his foot right along.
He told us tales from long ago; He began with a scary one. Its eeriness made my flesh go cold, I sort of wanted to run.
“We were driving down route 40 you see, Just the two of us Sneads. To light out to the Reinicke place, To check the crab apple trees”
“Lewis jumped and his snack he dropped, He nearly choked on his cake. He screamed 'slow down!’ which I tried to do, As I slammed my foot on the brake.”
“The brakes they squealed on the pavement there, We came to a halting stop. But as we did, we hit a man, Right there, in front of The Shop.”
“His mop was nappy and curly it seemed, So was the hair on his chest. The coveralls marked with grease and sweat, Were unsnapped and grimy at best.”
“His pocket it held some blackies with tree, A red kerchief, and a pen. We saw his eyes squint at us, His smile, beguiling, was thin.”
“He carried a brown paper bag for sure. It contents, a bottle of wine. Wild Irish Rose, it smelled so sweet, Although not very fine.”
“After we hit him with a strong WHAM, We didn’t know what to do. Lewis and I got out of our seats, And ‘round the truck we flew.”
“We checked underneath my Ford right then. It was turning dusky dark. Nothing we saw resembled a man. My dog, he started to bark.”
“The ditches where my black dog howled, Revealed nothing at all. As a chill set in in our very bones, We decided to belt out a call”
“‘Heyyyyyyy. Where are you????????,’ we yelled, Hoping to hear a faint grunt. We heard not an utter that dreary eve, And decided to restart our hunt.”
“’Let’s check underneath the hood,’” I said. “’It’s not likely, but there’s a chance That we hit him so hard his body was slung, Quicker than a glance.’”
“We peered in the dark at the engine itself, No blood or gore to be seen. Then slammed the hood and went to The Shop To see who could intervene.”
“The fellas listened as we told them we crashed, Into a broad-shouldered man. Their eyes grew wide as the tale we told Chased them into their vans
“One of the guys, he yelled to us, ‘That’s Nathan’s ghost you just hit.’ They pulled out the lot and away they all flew, Not slacking up one bit.
We ran to the truck, got into the cab, Squealed out of the parking place. The gravels they flew, and the dust it rose; We bolted as if in a race
We never heard tell of that ghost since then; We even searched in bright day. For a tiny scrap of that coverall suit, Or a drop of blood or decay.
O.B. Snead was a tale-telling man, Our interest he did keep. Those days on the railroad passed quickly with him; A year felt like a week.
© 2014 Claire in VAAuthor's Note
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Claire in VAVAAboutI am here to read a lot and write a little. I love, love, love to read! I love English. I love poetry, history, and historical fiction. I teach fourth grade. I play piano at church. I love all.. more..Writing
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