(The following is a short story based off a user's avatar, written by me.)

The coal driven smoke trail of an old train could be seen traveling through a thickly forested patch of mountains. Entering a mountain tunnel, the small collection of linked railway wagons disappeared into the comforting darkness.

A minute into the tunnel, a scream could be heard across the back of the train followed by an immediate silence, then sobbing. Passing the mountainous threshold back into the daylight of this winter morning, a small gaggle of passengers crowded around the entrance to the caboose.

"My baby! Where has my baby gone!?", screamed a hysterical portly woman in her mid 50s, clutching a pink, frilled carriage--empty. She, herself, wore a similarly colored frilly dress. Her eyes brimmed with fresh tears at her confusion.

Among the gaggle of onlookers, young Henry the conductor knew the drill. Car 3, the Chateau. His patchy mustache twitched with anticipation.

He hurried quickly from the Caboose, passed Car 5 where an old, frazzled man in khaki tweeds slept, clutching an old cook book he loved to read on long trips like these. The pipe in his mouth had already burnt through all his tobacco during his slumber.

Jane Dawson sat in her regular Car, 3, sipping a tea cup of warm Earl Grey. To any other passerby, one would think she was a school girl on some vacation trip to her aunt's cabin. Or perhaps someone's niece returning home from abroad. To any other passerby.

To Henry the Conductor, Jane was probably the brightest mind across this whole country. Not just a bright mind, but to be more specific--the youngest detective to ever come out of The Academy, an elite school for those entering the noble field of mystery solving. Hauntings? Murders? Disappearances? These were the people you called when the local police were stumped.

A knock on the door. Through her very specifically chosen spectacles, Jane looked up from her tea leaves.

"Hallo, Henry. I take it you need my assistance this fine morning", she said with a strange calmness one might not find in a 16 year old.

"Yes, Miss Dawson", stuttered Henry.

"Well", she replied taking a final sip from her half empty cup. "Shall we get to hunting?"

"Yes, Miss Dawson", stuttered Henry.

"Lovely", she smiled. No better way to start a day than a cup of Earl and something a little more challenging than the newspaper crossword puzzle. She grabbed her purse, and exited the Chateau, closing the door behind her.

Henry the Conductor dabbed his sweaty brow with one of his many handkerchiefs. Perhaps this train was cursed. But for every curse, there's a charm. He hurried in Jane's wake.