Hometown Ghost Stories contains serious and often distressing events and is not intended for all audiences.

Viewer discretion is advised.

It started as one of those dumb teenage ideas that only sounds fun before you actually do it.

There were four of us, me, Tyler, Jenna, and Mark, parked on the side of a dirt road, just outside

a town.

No streetlights, no houses, just trees and an old stretch of railroad tracks.

Tyler swore he had seen it once, said a blue light floated along the tracks late at night.

Some people thought it was swamp gas. Others said it was a ghost. A railroad worker who'd lost his

head in an accident decades ago. Nobody agreed on what it was, but everyone agreed you didn't want it

getting too close. We didn't believe any of it. We were just bored.

So we parked, climbed down the embankment, and started walking.

The air fell colder by the tracks.

Our flashlights cut narrow beams through the dark, and the only sound was gravel crunching under our boots.

After about ten minutes, Jenna stopped and said she didn't like it, said it felt like we were

being watched. Mark laughed, said the only thing out here watching us was raccoons, but even

he kept glancing over his shoulder. I was about to tell them that we should head back when Tyler said,

There. At first, I didn't see anything. Just the dark. And faintly down the line, a soft blue light hovering just above the rails. It flickered like a lantern and fog. We froze.

The light started to move, slow and steady, like someone walking with it. The air got heavier.

Even the night sounds, the crickets, the wind, just stopped. Jenna whispered, That's close enough.

But it didn't stop.

It glided closer, too smooth to be someone walking.

I remember the color.

...