With His Robe And His Green Lantern

With his robe and his green lantern, Harold stood in the midnight switchyard to signal the oncoming train. The lantern bounced, throwing a will-o’-the-wisp against the glass, where it pulsed a vibrant green. The train sped past, and. Harold released a sigh of relief, then tapped the glass. The wisp pointed to the opposite side of the lantern.

“Heavens no.” Harold shook his head for a fiend lit the opposite lens an angry red.

Years spent signaling trains had bought Harold a reprieve from traveling beyond the veil. But the fiend was growing resentful of captivity, and a gray ghoul slumped against the switch lever waiting for Harold to fail, drool running down its sagging jowls.

Another train rushed toward them, surrounded by a spectral glow. Harold wrapped his robe more snuggly about his person and flashed the green wisp. The lantern jerked. The wisp shrieked, rattling Harold to the bone. The glass shattered from the opposite side of his lantern, releasing a ball of fury which swirled up in a vortex of rage.

Upon sighting the red light, the spirit train braked, screeching to a halt.

The fiend focused on Harold. Its eyes narrowed, flashing fire. With a horrid grin, it dove, bent on retribution. Harold screeched in response and dove through the train’s open door.

“Go!” he yelled at the conductor and frantically shoveled coal himself. Passing beyond the veil with his soul intact seemed a better deal than facing the fiery fiend with a ghoul for backup.

Composite Photo | Base Photo by Pramod Tiwari