Read an Excerpt

Chapter 7
Take a Risk, See What Happens

For some reason, Marty had been imagining an old-fashioned storybook type of train, a steam engine like the Polar Express or the Hogwarts Express with a big belching smokestack and chug-a-lug wheels. The Train of Lost Things was nothing like that. This engine was round-nosed and silvery and sleek as an eel. Long stripes of fire-engine red swept dramatically down its sides. The windows were dark and shimmering and you couldn’t see a thing through them. Here inside the fogbank, Marty and Dina were cushioned from the worst of the wind, and the train stood out sharp and clear against its muddy background. The mist had thinned into wispy branch-like tendrils that wafted up and down its sides. The great machine was a short run away, poised atop the rounded hill. But—it wasn’t on the hill.

It was in the air.

In. The air!

Well, it was a magical train, after all.

The engine was humming and groaning, but the train hovered a half-body’s height over the hill’s peak. It wasn’t on a track, either, which Marty probably should have expected: Magical trains obviously could travel wherever and however they wished. This train now ruled over the park—over the entire town—from its airy throne.

It also seemed—could it be?—like the train was waiting for something. Marty didn’t know how he could tell this, but he could.

Was it waiting for them?

The train’s headlights cut yellow-white light into the front barrier of fog. And then . . . the lights turned, ever so slowly, swinging around to aim directly at the two of them. Marty held up a hand to shield his eyes from the twin spotlight glare.

“Come on!” Dina yelled, and only then did Marty realize that she hadn’t stopped when he had.

Now she had nearly reached the train.

The headlights blinked once. It felt almost like encouragement. Like an invitation.

Marty ran to catch up with Dina. His pulse pounded in his ears. This was too unbelievable! In front of him, the Train of Lost Things hovered, three or four feet off the ground. It was nearly close enough to touch.

“How are we going to get inside?” Marty called.

There were maybe a dozen train cars, all joined together by rubbery accordion-style connectors. At each car’s end was a sleek door with a huge grayed-out window, and below each door was a jumping-off step that hung down, like on other trains Marty had seen. But since the whole train was floating, the actual step was at about his chest height. Great puffs of cloudy fog cushioned below the wheels and padded it on all sides, making the train look super mysterious—and also kind of intimidating.

“We climb up to get to the doors, I guess?” said Dina uncertainly, and Marty thought he knew how she felt. Magical trains were well and good in bedtime stories, but finding one in real life—not to mention climbing aboard one—was something else entirely. What if it didn’t like you?

What if it did?

As they hesitated, a porcelain doll careened up from behind them, tumbling feet over curls on a brisk current of air. It headed straight for the window of the car where they stood. Marty’s mom had a couple of those dolls, which had belonged to her grandma, and they were so delicate that she never let anyone touch them (they were “for display only”). The way this was one hurtling, it was going to shatter on impact.

Marty grabbed to save it. He missed.

The doll reached the window. And then—it sank through the shimmery glass and was swallowed up inside the car.

Marty was impressed. This train had game.

Dina, meanwhile, started marching at the train. She reached the door to the nearest car, grabbed the step with both hands, and did a pretty impressive pull-up. With a huff and a grunt, she hoisted herself to standing. Marty’s stomach twanged uncomfortably—that step was high!—but Dina showed no sign of concern. With one hand clamped onto the holding bar, she grabbed the door handle with the other and yanked hard.

Nothing. The door was locked tight. Giving a frustrated yell, Dina squatted and jumped back to the ground.

“Come on!” she shouted over her shoulder, running toward the next door. “We need to find a way in. We’ll have to try all the doors—some of them have to be open!”

The train burbled, and Marty felt a pulse of unease. He ran in the opposite direction from where Dina was rattling her next door. Shaking her head, she jumped down and kept going, while Marty pulled himself up onto his own step. By now he didn’t expect the door to be unlocked, though he tried it to be sure. Still nothing.

There had to be a solution, if only he could find it.

He considered the door in front of him. There was no visible locking mechanism. (Not that he could have picked a lock, anyway, even if he could see it, but at least it would have been something to try.) The handle was sturdy, and the only thing he could have tried bashing it with was his phone; he didn’t need to guess how that would end.

Marty threw his weight at the handle. It didn’t budge.

He rammed his shoulder onto the door. Not even a tremor.

The train snorted. Actually snorted. Was it finding this whole process entertaining? Then it burped. The burp turned into a jolt.

The train inched forward. Just one step, but it was clearly a sign of what was coming next.

“It’s gonna leave!” Dina shrieked from halfway up the train. “What’ll we do? Why aren’t you doing anything over there?”

“I’m,” Marty called out over his mounting panic, “trying”—a big gust of steam puffed out from below the train—“to think!”

The horn bellowed out two short, sharp barks: Toot, toot! It almost sounded like, Let’s go! Or, Come on! Or even, Outbound! Whatever it was, Marty got the distinct sense that this was not a train that waited very long for anything—or anyone.

They either found a way on, or it was game over.

“Come on, Train,” Marty whispered. “You drew us here, right? So there must be a way in.”

He jumped off the stoop and scooted a few steps back. He tilted his head, studying the train cars extra carefully. There had to be some clue here, something he was missing. Part of being a good finder, after all, was being a good looker. And now something nagged at him. He watched as a line of plastic farm animals flew in formation toward the train’s window. In their neat single-file row they melted through the glass, one after the other: cow, pig, goat, moose (moose?), chicken, rooster, sheep, dog, cat.

Marty looked again at the mysterious, glimmering panes. He wondered.

The train’s horn shrieked again, three short barks this time. In Marty’s head it sounded like, All aboard! And, Final call! And, Heading out!

“Hey! Come back here!” Marty yelled to Dina as soon as the noise died away. She didn’t hear him, though. She was too busy hoisting herself up onto the next step, rattling yet another door. The girl just didn’t give up!

It was no use. The locks held; the doors stayed shut.

The train bobbled again. This time, it didn’t stop. It was inching forward at a snail’s pace, but it was definitely in motion. The cloud billows cushioned the edges of the floating wheels and moved right along with them.

They were almost out of time.

Marty had a hunch, but it looked like this one attempt would be all he had time for. If it didn’t work, his quest was finished.

The train bellowed again.

Marty cinched his backpack tighter and tucked in his arms to his sides. He ran straight toward the suspended train step. From the corner of his eye he saw that Dina had turned to stare at him. Then she jumped down from her step and started to run alongside the train in his direction, like maybe she thought he’d lost his mind and was going to intercept his headlong dash.

He kept his eyes fixed on the door. This would be tricky to pull off. And if it didn’t work—

No. He couldn’t think that way.

Marty pushed himself to go even faster. He was nearly there—nearly there—nearly there.

Marty reached the train. He grabbed the stair with both hands and flung himself up into a leapfrog leap. He shot up. The moment his feet hit the step, he sprang into another jump. With one hand he pushed off against the door handle. The other hand he thrust out in front of him, straight at the silvery-gray surface of the door itself.

The glass parted like a curtain to let him in.

Still going a million miles an hour, Marty lost his balance and toppled in an ungraceful jumble of arms over legs over pretzeled-up backbone. He crashed hard against the far wall of the train.

But he was in.

He was IN!

Marty had made it onto the Train of Lost Things.