Phantoms or the ghosts of wrecked trains did turn up on other tracks, some silent, some whistling, some seen merely as an approaching headlamp with the rest of the locomotive invisible, but no other engineers reported being chased by these. They usually posed no threat, only momentary acrobatics in the region of the heart. On the other hand, there were a few engines in use said to be deadlier than any phantom locomotive, which engineers believed were cursed or possessed by unknown demons.
On the Denver & Rio Grande line between Grand Junction and Gunnison ran Engine 107, claimed to be the deadliest locomotive on the track. Engineers called her the "Dread 107," or other fitting pet names, and hoped they would never have to take her out. The engine gradually acquired her nasty reputation by escorting a few dozen mortals to their graves. Engineers said "Death sat at her throttle," despite the unmistakable circumstances that acutally were the cause of the various wrecks.
Tell us your scariest tales of terror on the trail....
The coals are glowing in the Campfire Forum Theylook like burning eyes, don't they?... Yikes! What was that noise?!
The first disaster occurred when the engine was new. Engineer Bill Duncan drove the train over a bridge where there was none; the river had washed it out. Of course 107 was to blame. The engineer, crew members, and many passengers died. Dead men couldn't be revived, but locomotives could, and the railroad put Dread 107 back on the track with a new crew. Before long Engineer Godfrey met destruction when the train struck a huge boulder. Again many passengers exited for the spirit kingdom, but Dread 107 avoided the scrap heap. She was returned to service and only three months later buried herself in a snowslide in the Black Canyon of the Gunnison with Engineer Bratt at the throttle, killing her quota of mortals for the month. Finally, the D&RG; decided to scrap Engine 107 in 1909, but this only released her dreadful ghost, which went a-haunting the old rails. The whistle was heard on foreboding nights near Crystal Creek and the Gunnison River.
Long after the thousands of miles of track in Colorado were abandoned, the longing-for-the-old-days phantom trains hovered near the places they loved. The locomotives, accompanied at times by ghost engineers who were equally attached to the vanished glory of the rails, made haunting runs as if the tracks were still in place. Their echoing whistles have been heard on Corona Pass, Marshall Pass, Hagerman Pass, in South Park, near Salt Springs, and near Ophir, lonesome, distant, and timeless.
The great day of the rail is gone. Only the memories of those days remain, gathered in railroad museums where old locomotives and passenger coaches stand in crowded yards on tracks that lead to nowhere, like the beloved lying in state.
Their paint is peeling. Their windows are dulled or cracked. Their iron is rusted. Their passenger seats collect dust and cobwebs. But talk of them to an old railroad man; the sparkle in his eye says he sees the driver wheels spinning and the cinders flying again. And the glory is back.
from Away.com
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