Just east of Benton is an unguarded railroad crossing. According to legend, one cold, foggy, autumn afternoon a school bus full of children became stalled on the tracks. Before the driver could get the children off the trail, a freight train came barreling through and smashed into the side of the bus, crumbling it up like a sheet of paper. In the blink of an eye, the bush became nothing more than a twisted collection of metal and wire, reaching the wreck, fireman found the mangled bodies of six school children tangled up in the spiderweb of bent medal, broken glass that bus had become. The children ranged from the ages of five to eighteen.

Since then, cars that often become stalled on the tracks, have been pushed off the tracks. People say the ghost of the children who were killed in the wreck have returned to guard the railroad crossing. In order to prevent any further loss of life. This story is a common urban legend, one that is often told around a roaring campfire, in the wee hours of slumber parties and at sleepovers. It was one of the first stories my older sister Kayla told to me when I started collecting stories for this book.

It was also the first urban legend I looked into when I started doing research into the paranormal and was the first case to my short lived career as a ghost hunter. When I turned sixteen, I was given a chore, I was to start the process of getting a learners permit. After a month of reading the drivers manual from front to cover over and over again I was allowed to take the learners permit test, I passed it with flying colors. My sister was very pleased with me and treated me to Wendy's as a reward. The next day she started teaching me to drive.

It was my sister who suggested we check out the old railroad crossing. Since I'll be driving, she felt a little better about being on the road past dark. My sister hates driving at night and dreads being on the road when the sun starts to fall. Plus, she said this would be a good experience for me, a test of my navigation skills on the open road at night.

Anyway a fortnight before Halloween, and since it was spooky season my sister and I decided to break the week by driving out the old railroad crossing. Now the drive itself was enough to put one on the edge of their seat. Because to get to the crossing one needed to drive down a old country lane. A ditch deep enough to hide a man and wide enough to be mistaken at first glance as a tiny river during seasonal rainfall ran on both sides of the road. Beyond the ditch one would find a steep embankment and on top of this embankment one would find tall grass, tall enough again to hide a man. The lane was narrow too, enough for only two cars to pass.

The lane ran past an old graveyard, the tombstones of the graveyard were half consumed by moss. Spanish moss hung from the withered branches of cypress trees that dotted the graveyard. A rusting iron fence surrounded a small plot of land, with a broken gate marking the entrance. As we passed the graveyard my sister pointed to it and told me in a teasing tone of voice that the graves of the children killed in the wreck were all entombed there. She also added that on nights of the full moon orbs of light were supposed to be seen dancing among the broken and half hidden graves.

Once one passed the graveyard one would come to an old iron bridge. Folks of an older generation often called this bridge 'The Hanging' bridge. Because according to legend a number lynching's were carried out on this bridge by vigilante groups. Once we passed the graveyard and the bridge the area opened up a little. It was still rugged, as it cut through a thicket of woods. As I drove down the poorly paved road. My headlamps spotted a number of roadside memorials. Simple wooden crosses with a stuffed bear or a bundle of plastic flowers tied around the center. A mute testament to the perils of the road and haunting enough on their own.

Finally after a thirty minute drive we reached the crossing. The moon was almost full and the wind made a whistling sound as it passed through the trees. I looked over at my sister and gave her a look. She responded with a smirk as she reached down and pulled out two small canisters of baby powder. That another part of the urban legend, according to street lore you are suppose to pour at least a canister if not two of baby powder or bath powder to the bumper of your car. That way you can see the imprints of the tiny helping hands. And since I was the ghost hunter of the group, my sister had elected me to be the one to sprinkle the powder on the bumper.

Reluctantly I reached down and unbuckled my safety belt. Tossing it to the side I then reached over and took the canister of baby powder into my hand, once the canister was in my hand I pushed open the drivers door and stepped onto the road. Quickly I closed the door behind me. A chill hung in the evening air. And fitting enough a fog was starting to roll in. A sliver of moon was just starting to appear above the trees and from deep within the forest I heard the sound of coyotes starting to pack up. Their howls traveled through the chilly night air and made me pull my hoodie a little tighter around me.

A few minutes later I returned to the safety of the car, after of course giving the bumper of the car a generous coating of baby powder. I locked my door and fastened my safety belt around me. My older sister then turned to me and smiled.

“That was quick.” She said, smirking a little.

“I don't fancy being a midnight snack for a hungry coyote.” I said trying to return her sass with my own brand of sass.

“Your not much of a snack sis.” She quickly responded.

At that I turned around and eyed her for a good minute. The urge to roll my eyes was strong. Kayla has a country girl sense of humor and at times I think she forgets I'm her little sister, often or not she treats me like I'm her daughter. And I'm going to come out and say it, in the confusing world of hormones, boys and school and all the ills being a teenager brings, she is my true north. She is the second mother to me. And so it's a bit refreshing when she teases me in an odd way.

“I don't think either of us would be much of a snack.” I finally said after pondering my response for a few minutes.

A pause followed and soon we all broke into a gale of laughter. It seemed our little exchange it seemed had broken the tension that had been building since we left. There's something magical about having a big sister, in a way it's like having your best friend and worst enemy all rolled into one person. Anyway with the baby powder in place I put the car in neutral and removed my foot from the accelerator pedal. And then I turned toward my sister.

At first nothing happened. Then the car started to move, as the seconds ticked by the car started going faster and faster. My jaw hung open when I looked down and noticed my speed gauge was reading thirty miles an hour. And before I knew it, we had been pushed up the grade and over the crossing. Finally panicking I put the car into park as the gauge was now reading seventy miles an hour. I threw on the breaks and both my sister and I lurched forward.

“That was something.” My sister said as she shifted her weight around and peered toward me.

I in turn peered toward her and we both made a nod of the head. A few seconds later we reached down and unhooked our safety belts. Then gathering up our courage, we pushed open the doors of the car and stepped out into the inky darkness. Gathering up our courage we stepped toward the bumper. Then using our phones as make-shift lanterns we shone the beam of light onto the bumper. It was then we noticed dozens of tiny hand prints had formed upon the pumper.. both Kayla and I exchanged a knowing look as he looked over our shoulders at the old railroad crossing. Then in the wind we could hear a strange sound. It sounded like children crying and wailing. Without giving it a second thought we jumped into the car and zoomed away.