"Mrs. Miller!" I screamed so loud that my chest hurt.

The lady either did not hear me or was not listening. She was hunched over with her arms dangling and her body swaying back and forth. She was acting like a zombie.

She had better not be a zombie. I was told that only humans and ghosts would be in my story.

I scrambled off her front porch and stopped at the sidewalk. I checked both ways before crossing the road, grabbed her hand, and pulled her away from danger. I did not let go of her until we were safe and sound in her home.

"Come on, Mrs. Miller," I said soothingly. "Let us get you settled in."

I helped Mrs. Miller to her favorite chair and fixed her coffee and a snack. I worked as fast as I could and came back in with a blue tray. On the tray were a cup of coffee and a plate of mini pretzels with peanut butter. Mrs. Miller and I have snacked on them, so she would enjoy them again. Only she could not this time. She could not enjoy anything.

I set the tray on the table and examined the old lady. She did not look well. Not well at all. Her skin was so pale that she blended in with her living room walls. Some of her hair strands were sticking out from her bun, and she had bags under her eyes. She wore her usual dress, which was dark blue and long-sleeved and touched the ground.

"Mrs. Miller?" I waved my hand in front of her face, attempting to catch her attention.

The old woman finally did move, however, it was not much. Her bottom jaw was the only part that moved a muscle. It hung open, showing both her teeth and tongue, and a moan escaped from deep within her throat.

What happened to her? And why had she been on the road?

I gently shook her. "Mrs. Miller? Can you talk to me? Please? You can tell me anything. Anything at all."

Her eyes darted around the room before falling on me. She stared at me for what felt like forever, and then pointed at the table. At the tray with her snack and coffee.

No. Not the coffee or snack. It took me a few seconds to realize that she was pointing at my book.

I had laid the Fright Train book on the table after I seated Mrs. Miller in her chair. I picked up the book and asked if she wanted to see it.

"I need to locate the train," she chocked out. "I need to get on the train."

My bottom jaw dropped. I could not believe what I just heard. It was out of character for her. No one as intelligent as her would wish to spend eternity on a cursed train. Then I remembered her husband.

The top of Mrs. Miller's piano was covered with all kinds of photos in frames, one of which was of her and her missing husband hugging and smiling. Is that why she wanted to be on Fright Train? To be reunited with her true love?

Tracy is the husband's first name. I never knew him because I became friends with his wife after he went missing, but I wished that I did. According to Mrs. Miller, Mr. Miller was one of the kindest men in the town of Forlot. He loved helping his neighbors and the community. The folks grieved for him ever since.

My face softened as I rested my hand on her knee. "I am sorry for your loss. So, so sorry. But it is never a good idea to purposely strip away your life. That is suicide."

Her fingers twitched. "But...Tracy..."

"I know how much you miss your husband. But do you think that he would be okay if you threw your life away? He would want you to keep living."

There was a loud knock at the door.

"I will be right back. Stay here."

I dashed to the front door and pulled it open. A girl around my age was on the other side. A girl that I had never seen.

"It is you," she said, her eyes sparkling.

"Uh..." I rubbed the back of my neck. "...can I help you?"

The girl was of Mexican descent. I know that because she spoke with a Spanish accent. She was the same height as me and had short, black hair. She had on a yellow, long-sleeved dress that covered her legs and feet. A beautiful necklace was around her neck. The chain was blue, and the jewel - the fake jewel - was yellow.

"My name is Marisa," she said. "My family and I live across the street." She pointed to her house.

"Nice house," I complimented. "I am sure that it is nice on the inside as much as the outside."

We laughed.

"I am Mike. I am caring for my elderly neighbor."

"You mean Mrs. Miller?"

"How did you know her name?"

"I spend time with her during the weekends. We play games and make coffee and bake fresh bread."

I licked my lips when she mentioned fresh bread.

She giggled. "Have you tried her bread?"

I shook my head. "No, I have not. I never even knew that she baked bread. She never told me."

"Oh? She has never offered you a slice?"

I motioned for her to come in. "Why do you not get out of the cold? It is not this time of year to wear a dress...no matter how beautiful it makes you."

Why did I say that?

Marisa thanked me and walked inside. I closed the door behind us and motioned for her to follow me to the living room.

"Mrs. Miller is in her chair," I stated. "She is acting pretty weird."

"Uh, Mike?"

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Miller is not in her chair. She is nowhere in the room."