Wes and the Missing Shadow

Wes rolled into the sunshine and gave the station window a cheerful toot—then looked down for his shadow.

It wasn’t there.

Wes looked beneath his little red engine, beside his wheels, and even behind his own smokestack. No dark shape stretched across the tracks. The platform boards were bright, the station cat was bright, and a dropped biscuit was bright. But Wes’s shadow had vanished.

“Perhaps it’s still at the depot,” he said. “Maybe it got sleepy and stayed in bed.”

Stationmaster Fern came out with her lunch pail. “Your shadow usually travels wherever the sunlight can reach you,” she said. “It forms when you block the light.”

Wes peered at the sun. “Then I’ll keep an eye out. I can’t go back without it. The depot will think I’ve misplaced my bottom!”

Fern chuckled and waved him along. Wes had a little trip to make before returning home. His track climbed past pine trees, crossed a wooden bridge, and slipped through a short tunnel in the mountain.

“Shadow!” Wes called as he passed the first pine. “Are you hiding in there?”

The pine needles rustled. A squirrel peeked down, holding an acorn like a tiny hat. Wes looked beside his wheels again. Nothing.

He chugged on. The rails curved around a wooded bend, where tall fir trees stood close together. Sunlight striped the track. For one moment, Wes saw a dark shape beside him—long and narrow, with a smokestack.

“There you are!” he cried.

But it was only the shadow of a crooked tree. Wes gave the tree a polite toot and continued uphill.

Ahead, the mountain rose over the track. The tunnel was short, just long enough for a train to say, “I wonder what’s for—” before coming out the other side.

Wes checked below him once more. Still no shadow.

“Don’t worry,” he told himself. “I’ll solve this little mystery before I get back to the depot.” He puffed toward the tunnel, watching for clues.

Wes entered the short tunnel. The mountain roof made the inside dim, and his wheels clacked over the rails. “I wonder what’s for—” he began, just as he reached the other end.

Then the track curved behind the mountain. The tall rock stood between Wes and the sun. The trees on the far side fell into shade, and the bright track disappeared from view around the bend.

Wes looked down. No shadow.

He peeked left. No shadow. He peeked right. Still none.

“Maybe it took the wrong track!” he said. “Or perhaps it’s riding in a passenger car without a ticket.” He gave a small, uncertain toot. The mountain answered with a quiet echo: toot, toot.

Wes kept rolling, though his thoughts rattled louder than his wheels. What if his shadow was stuck in the tunnel? He pictured it sitting on the rails, waving its dark arms. But the tunnel was behind him now, and there was no way to see through the mountain.

At last, Wes reached Fern’s next station, a small platform beside a sunny slope. He stopped to let a pair of hikers climb aboard. One of them pointed past the station.

“Look at that!” she said.

Sunlight poured across the nearby hillside. There, stretched over the grass, was a long dark shape with a little smokestack and round wheels. Wes leaned toward the window. The shape leaned too.

“Is that… me?” he asked.

He rolled forward a few feet. The shape rolled with him. He turned his front wheels a little. The shape turned, too.

“It’s my shadow!” Wes tooted. “It didn’t run away at all!”

Fern, who had reached the station by footpath, nodded. “The mountain blocked the sunlight while you were behind it. Without light reaching you, your shadow was hidden from view. Now the sun reaches you again, so there it is.”

Wes watched the shadow stretch over the slope. “So it was nearby, just on the other side of the mountain?”

“Exactly,” said Fern.

Wes felt his wheels settle. The mystery had a sensible answer—and his bottom was still properly attached.

The hikers climbed down from the train and thanked Wes for the ride. Fern waved from the platform as he set off toward the depot. Wes no longer searched under his wheels. He knew where his shadow went when the mountain stood between him and the sun.

On the way back, the track curved around the wooded bend. The late-day light reached through the fir branches, laying bright patches across the rails. Wes’s shadow slid beside him, then stretched ahead, thin as a ribbon.

“Keep up,” Wes called.

The shadow stretched longer.

“Oh, showing off now?” said Wes. He rolled around another curve, and the shadow wiggled across the grass. At a patch of sunlight, it seemed to grow a very tall smokestack. Wes gave a merry toot, and the trees answered with their familiar, gentle echo.

He passed the short tunnel once more. Inside, his shadow disappeared again. This time Wes didn’t worry. He listened to the steady clack of his wheels and thought about Fern’s words: when something blocks the light, a shadow can be hidden.

Then he came out into the open, and there it was, waiting on the track beside him. Wes gave it a pleased little whistle.

The depot lamps were on when Wes arrived. A few engines rested in their stalls, quiet after their own trips. Wes rolled into his place, where the rails fit neatly beneath his wheels. His shadow lay beside him in the last strip of sunlight, long and wiggly from the ride home.

“Good work keeping up,” Wes murmured.

The depot settled into its nighttime hush. Outside, the trees stood still around the curving track, and the mountain kept its dark shape against the evening. Wes rested, certain that tomorrow the sun would find him again—and that his shadow would be ready to follow.