Celtic Myth & legend

In the dead of night on Halloween, people living close to the route of the Manx Electric Railway could hear the screech and grind of the tram as it made its way alongside the lower levels of the coastal hills. Those with sense and experience turned in their beds and pulled the covers tightly over themselves. No scheduled tram ever ran so late at this time of year. The sound was unmistakable; metal on metal, the crackling of electricity, straining breaks and the rhythmic pounding of wheel on track. Heard at an incalculable distance but able to pierce through the strong late autumn winds. Mingling with the creaking and straining of branches shedding leaves as the dark steadfast trees prepared for the coming winter. In the background the waves of the Irish Sea crashed against the rocks below. The natural noise of a normal Manx Autumn, with rolling mists and fast moving low clouds sweeping over cliffs, through valleys and into deep cut glens. Accompanied now by something entirely unnatural. At every stop on the tram's route came the shrill squeal of it's hooter. Echoing around the mist bound countryside alternatively sounding like the cry of an abandoned soul and a threatening screech. A bone chilling noise which seemed to convey a clear message 'board this tram if you dare'.