When I was little, my sister and I would play with a little boy who lived in the same apartment complex as us. Well, our apartment building was right next to train tracks. Naturally, we would play on the tracks until we heard a train coming. Then we would quickly scramble off and wait for it to pass. One day, we were doing the same thing that we always did, and my sister heard a train coming. She let out the signal, which was a loud yell. I quickly got off the tracks, but the boy slipped and his foot got stuck. I would've helped but, before I could move, the train ran over him. My sister and I ran inside to tell our mom. She called the police and the boy's mother. We went to his funeral a few weeks later. A month after his death, I would hear trains at night. When I looked outside, I wouldn't see any trains, but I did see the little boy. Struggling on the track, trying to free his foot. Then he would let out a blood curling scream and disappear. That happened until we moved. I still think about it.