Haunted America FAQ by Dave Thompson

Author:Dave Thompson
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: paranormal, travel, pop culture
Publisher: Backbeat Books
Published: 2015-11-02T16:00:00+00:00

The former site of the Crescent Hotel in Pass Christian, Mississippi, is the lingering abode of several Civil War–era spirits.

23

Do Robots Have Souls?

The Literal Ghosts in the Machines

It was shortly after New Year’s in 1892 that railroad engineer J. M. Pinckney experienced a lifetime of levelheaded pragmatism unraveling before his startled eyes. It was a Sunday night, and he was traveling the Northern Pacific east-bound overland when he witnessed something that . . . well, as he told the Seattle Times shortly afterward, it made his hair stand on end.

It had been an uneventful journey so far, Pinckney and his workmate, another engineer, whiling away the time by terrifying the fireman with stories of past wrecks and disasters, and the manifold ways in which a horrible death can grasp even the most experienced hand. A ranking that the fireman, relatively fresh on the job, could only dream of attaining as the journey went on, and the stories grew grislier and grislier, until they finally settled upon one that had occurred not simply on this track, but in more or less this same locale. The story of engine number thirty-three, and the death, in collision many years before, of its engineer Tom Cypher.

It was a clear night, and as the locomotive approached Eagle Gorge, cutting through the Cascades, the men’s attention did drift toward the tracks. The gorge was a well-known black spot, the scene of innumerable past accidents, it was said, including some of the most deadly on the entire track. Tom Cypher’s death included. And suddenly it felt as though they were on the precipice of another, as the engineer suddenly grasped the throttle and threw the engine into reverse. The airbrakes shrieked, and in the carriages behind them passengers were jerked awake and thrown around like so many dolls.

The train came to a halt, and anxious voices demanded to know what had occurred. Hastily, the engineer threw reassurance back at them, some story of machinery coming loose, but everything was fine now and they would soon be on their way. Only to his companions did he utter the truth—or, rather, his eyes showed it to them. Directly ahead of them on the track, less than three hundred yards away, another locomotive was bearing down upon them.

But the engineer had gathered his wits again and was pressing on regardless, and neither Mr. Pinckney nor the fireman ever forgot the words he now delivered. That who, or whatever, was driving engine thirty-three “can run it faster backward than I can this one forward. Have I seen it before? Yes, twenty times. Every engineer on the road knows that engine, and he’s always watching for it when he gets to the gorge.”

They followed, or pursued, the phantom for several miles. They noted the fact that its passage was silent, even though smoke puffed from the stack. They saw how its headlight threw out a near-rainbow’s worth of bright colors. And then they saw it round a curve and that was it. It was gone.

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