Dearest Professor of Cinematic Arts,
My hands quake as I write this. I was late to your class once again, but I swear by my forefathers that I was stalled by a phantom force—a ghost train!
I know you will never believe me. I recall your words just last Wednesday, how you told me to stop making excuses and that it was “impossible to be delayed more than two minutes by that train crossing near The K.” But I swear to you now, Professor, had you witnessed this ghoulish sight, you would nary cross those hallowed tracks again.
Horrible and revenant, the spectral locomotive materialized in a roar of hellfire, its whistle shrieking the screams of a thousand souls! The wheels rumbled the tracks as vampire bats flew overhead. Underneath the billowing death-black steam of its engine sat a skeleton conductor. He laughed a gut wrenching cackle, the sky split in two with lightning, and I watched as the tormented ghosts of LA commuters flew by, fresh from the gates of hell.
The apparition vanished into the night as quickly as it had arrived, but I was so petrified that I had no choice but to be 33 minutes late to your class.
My apologies.
