Time passed quickly for the burgeoning little family. It was both a blessing and a curse; as there never seemed enough time for anything. No time, no money, but an endless parade of happy memories. They had enough of both to get by - and it was sufficient. Truly, they were blessed.

They doted on their infant, little Washington; Wash for short. He never wanted for anything - he was a perfect angel, and his mother and father couldn't be prouder. Sure, some nights it was hard to hush him, hard to get him to go back to sleep, after waking from sort of night terror with piteous cries. But that was normal- he was a healthy, bouncing young boy. He was fine, the doctors said.

But now the babe was now a child, and he had finally learned to speak. Of strange sights. Of shadows. Voices in the dark.

"Come on, son. You gotta go with your momma."

On this particular November day, he was sitting on the floor of his room, balefully staring at his train set. He turned his wide-eyed gaze from the toys, looking up to his father's own stern visage. "Can't."

Henry Becker sighed, and knelt next to his son. "Why not?" His face was a complicated mask of compassion and long suffering; the look of any parent faced with the stubbornness of a toddler. "You're gonna make her late," he chided gently.

"But..." Little Wash bit his lip, glancing at the miniature boxcars with a worried frown. "It ain't right," he concluded finally; one of his father's favorite sayings.

Henry covered his face with his hands, praying for patience. Had the boy overheard an argument? Jeanne would never let him hear the end of it. "Now, son, you know I don't hold truck with your mother's work, but-"

"No," came the insistent plea, and he grabbed his father's coat sleeve, tugging his arm and pointing at the train. With an annoyed tch - something he'd gotten from his mother, no doubt - he released the older man, and carefully lifted the green plastic lump that served as the set's 'tunnel'. It was placed a ways in front of the lead train - the final destination, in fact, before the train could reach the station.

A lone car tumbled out.

Henry's own brow now wrinkled. "Oo-kay," he enunciated, waiting for an explanation.

"It's the caboots," Wash said informatively. Suddenly, he dropped the little green hill, sending it smashing into the remainder of the train. The noise was loud, and it startled the boy. He glanced back at his father with wide, horrified eyes.

"Now, Wash, don't go 'round breakin' your toys. You can't keep carryin' on like this, young man. I gotta go to work, your mother has an appointment-" longsuffering harrumph, "and wes got ta go." Henry stood up, taking the boy by the arm. Wash followed suit obediently, but his eyes were all for the train set.

"But daddy, I di-int mean t'drop it." His face was earnest, scared. Little Washington Becker almost never lied, but - he'd seen the way his hand had jerked back a little, before letting go. He risked his father's ire, bending quickly at the knees to fetch the lonely caboose that had rolled to their feet in the aftermath.

"It go on the back." He held it up toward his father before clutching it to his chest. "Daddy, I didn't put it there," he mumbled, burying his face into his father's knees. Henry just stood there, uncertain. Wash was very careful about his toys; it was true. His train set was his pride and joy, and it was unusual that he'd have disconnected a car and set it so the rest of cars would crash into it. It was something that had always set him apart from the other little boys his age- he was always so careful of things. Not a destructive bone in his body; always so gentle and kind. The set had been the only gift he'd gotten last Christmas, and it had nearly cleaned out their meager savings. He wouldn't have put it at risk of being damaged.

It was unusual that he'd have taken it apart at all, but that didn't explain how it could have happened. Henry and Jeanne never touched the boy's toys unless asked - they didn't have to, as he kept his room tidy and bare, save that train set.

He patted his son's back, and didn't know what to say. "I believe you," he settled on finally. It wasn't the first time strange things had happened in the house, after all. Jeanne claimed it was spirits- Henry was far more concerned about a much more human element. Was someone breaking into his home? Someone who moved things around, who watched his son sleep?

He couldn't hide the horror in his expression, and was glad Wash's face was still buried in his legs. He hoisted the boy up, and gave him a peck on his teary-eyed cheek. "Hush, hush. It's ok. Yous can sleep in our room tonight, alright?"

"Yes daddy." Wash blinked through the tears, trying to put on a brave face but failing. Henry carried his boy from the room, and made a promise to himself. That was that, no more games - Jeanne loved this house, and it was their first home, and they didn't have much means but- this had to stop.

That was the last night Wash ever slept in that room.

When he and his mother had finally arrived from her little engagement, the train set had been missing. Nothing else had been taken, but she called the police in a panic anyway. They came swiftly, and talked for hours, until her husband could come home and make his own statements. Wash hadn't understood most of it - just sat in his mother's lap, looking scared and miserable. He had seen it, it was his scream that had sent her running down the hall. The window to his room had been smashed, but oddly, all the glass was on the outside of the window. The lonely little red caboose lay in the grass below it.

Something had thrown it out.