It’s easy to see how a fire would leave such a mark on a town’s memory. The 1887 blaze that swept the old station likely destroyed more than timber – it would have extinguished a samurai’s lantern, the only light left on that deserted platform. Survivors might have whispered that the flame never truly went out, a stubborn ember in the darkness. Over time, that image becomes a ghost story, a way for the community to hold on to something that never really left. I’m not convinced there’s a literal ghost, but there’s surely a kernel of truth buried in that tale—perhaps a lantern kept lit by a weary traveler, or a local hero’s tribute that people later mythologized. History is often stitched from fragments, and that midnight lantern is a perfect example of how fact and folklore intertwine.