by J.L. Shioshita—
Picture this: it’s summer vacation, and you’re driving with your family through Texas. It’s a hot, balmy day, and the AC is on its dying breath. The four of you are squeezed into a small rental minivan the color of dead skin. The radio plays top 40 tunes, but no one listens. The kids have small earbuds wedged in their ears, listening to non-top 40 tunes and audio from videos they stream on their phones. Your spouse is sleeping in the passenger seat, a victim of the heat, while you are focused on finding someplace cheap to eat.
Your trip to the old mission took longer than expected. It was filled with tourists and long lines, leaving everyone hungry and exhausted from the relentless gaze of the hot sun. A nice hearty lunch and cold iced tea are what you need to get you through the next 75 miles of empty, arid plains. Unfortunately for you and your family’s stomachs, you’re completely lost. Somewhere, you turned wrong at the right light and ended up in a maze of crisscrossing streets with names that all blur together. You’re considering waking your spouse to have them check the map on their phone when the van stalls out.
It must be overheated. You’re overheated, so you can only imagine what the vehicle is going through. You’ve come to a stop on some railroad tracks, alone, with no other car or person in sight. You glance in the backseat. The kids haven’t noticed, absorbed in their screens like obedient cult members. Your spouse is still asleep, head twisted to one side like a hanging victim. You sigh. It’s up to you to save the day once again.
You pop the hood and try to get out, but the door is stuck. It started doing this somewhere between Corpus Christi and San Antonio. As you yank at the handle, trying to get it to open, you’re startled by the sound of an approaching train whistle.
You glance out the passenger side window, past your sleeping spouse, and see a locomotive rounding the bend. You try the door again. It still won’t open. You try the ignition. The car is still dead. The train continues hurtling forward. There’s not enough time to get everyone out. You scream and brace for impact. Then suddenly, the van moves across the tracks and down the other side of the crossing on its own accord, the train missing you by inches.
You glance at your family. Your spouse remains asleep, and your kids are still lost in their phones. Nobody noticed a thing. Not even when you screamed. Your eyes are as wide as saucers, and your heart thuds painfully. As you gather your wits and try to compose yourself, you hear a muffled child’s voice from outside the car. You try the door again. This time, it opens. Of course.
You exit the minivan and search for the source of the tinny voice, but you can’t find anyone. Instead, you discover dozens of tiny handprints on the back of the rental van. It looks like many little hands pushed it across the train tracks in concert. You watch the train leave, a warm breeze blowing through your hair as the sun begins to set and the distant train whistle blows.
There’s something about train tracks that lend themselves to spooky myths and urban legends. They have a history, a nostalgia, and a romance about them. They can also be extremely dangerous if you aren’t paying attention or decide to tempt fate.
What’s most interesting about this legend is that it’s based on an actual location, a train crossing that anyone can visit, and many do. It’s an infamous crossing near the San Juan Missions in San Antonio, Texas. According to the story, a school bus full of children stalled out on those tracks sometime in the 1930s or 1940s. What happens next changes with the telling, but there are two main variations.
In the first, it’s pretty blunt: everyone died, including the driver. In the second, the driver survives, but due to the guilt of the deaths of all those children, the bus driver attempts to kill themselves by parking their car on the same crossing in the same spot, offering themselves up to the train. Mysteriously, their car moves across the tracks of its own volition, and their life is spared. When the driver looks at the back of the car, they find tiny handprints as if a busload of children had pushed them to safety.
Unlike many urban legends, you’re able to test out this one yourself, as countless other legend trippers have done over the years. However, don’t be surprised if the police bust you, as they have cracked down on the practice in recent times. But if someone is seeking a thrill, they can go down to that crossroads, park their car, and put it in neutral. Eventually, their vehicle is supposed to move across the tracks on its own. What makes this even more mysterious is that the car supposedly moves up an incline to get over the tracks.
Once safely on the other side, they can get out and check the back of their car. Many legend trippers sprinkle baby powder on the rear end. They’ll find dozens of tiny handprints spread across the back of your vehicle as if children had pushed them to safety. But is it real?
There is no record of a school bus being hit by a train on those tracks in the 1930s, 40s, or any other decade. However, a crash occurred in SLC around that same time, and some believe this may be the story’s origin, though it can’t be confirmed. So that’s out.
What about the self-moving car? It’s not a Tesla, right? This has also been tested thoroughly, and that uphill incline vehicles are supposedly pushed over, well, it’s a trick of the angle. It’s not an uphill incline at all, but a slight decline, meaning it’s not as strange as it seems when cars begin slowly rolling across the tracks as if under preternatural locomotion.
And the handprints? Well, we greasy humans leave handprints on everything, whether we can see them or not. Any true crime aficionado can tell you that. Even now, the back of your car is probably covered in invisible evidence that you wouldn’t think twice about. Sprinkle a little baby powder on it like an amateur forensic detective, and you’d be surprised at the number of ghostly prints that appear.
In the end, it’s the perfect urban legend. It has a creepy origin story, a real-world location anyone can visit, and a supernatural experience that curious visitors can test. Even if it’s not true, there’s an underlying message that so many train-related myths have embedded within them: Respect the railroad tracks; those steel gods of American history are unyielding and unforgiving.
HWA Colorado 