Phantom handprints spark Halloween tale

'Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world. ~ William Shakespeare

Halloween is Monday, so this week, I'm going to tell you a ghost story.
Before I get into the meat of this thing, I should say that I don't believe in ghosts, and I am extremely skeptical when it comes to tales of the supernatural. On the other hand, the following tale was told to me by a person, who I know to be more than a little reliable. He's just an ordinary guy with nothing to gain by making up a ghost story. Regardless, I won't be using his real name.
According to "John," a 29-year-old man who lives in Monroeville, he'd always heard rumors that the Burlington Northern railroad tracks, near where the dirt and paved portions of South Mount Pleasant Avenue meet in Monroeville, were haunted.
John's grandfather had told him more than a few times that in October 1938 a school bus full of children had stalled on these tracks with the train coming. The loaded freight train was going too fast, and the bus driver had no time to get the children off the bus. A collision took place and everyone aboard the bus died, or so the story goes.
With this in mind, John and his girlfriend, "Amy," visited the railroad tracks on Halloween night 2002. With no one else around, they parked their car right on the railroad tracks. John said that they were both a little nervous, and maybe a little scared, but they just sat there for many long moments waiting for something to happen.
Minutes passed and after what seemed like a long time, they decided to leave. Just when they were about to start the car, the vehicle started rolling backwards. It freaked John out so bad that all he could do was sit there, eyes and mouth wide open.
After what seemed like an eternity, the car stopped rolling. When the car came to rest, John glanced out his window and saw that the car had moved off of the railroad tracks.
As John was telling me this, I was thinking: "Well, this is no big deal. He just didn't have his emergency brake on and the car just happened to roll back on him a bit."
John agreed that on any other occasion he would have felt the same way, but what he saw next would change his mind forever.
John tried to start the car, but it wouldn't crank. He grabbed a flashlight out of the glove box, and he and Amy got out and walked to the front of the car. After more than a month without a good washing, John's car had accumulated quite a bit of dust on it.
Looking for the latch to pop the hood, John played his flashlight over the front of the car.
That's when Amy stopped him. "What's that?" Amy asked, pointing at the front of John's car.
John leaned in close with his flashlight and in the dust he saw little handprints all over the grill and hood of his car, all the size of children's hands.
Needless to say, John and Amy jumped back in the car, which started on the first turn of the key, and sped home.
Were the handprints made by the spirits of the slain bus riders, forever after haunting that location, shoving stalled cars out of harm's way, to prevent more innocent motorists from sharing their fate? I suppose there's no way to know for sure, but one thing is certain - my friend John hasn't been back to those railroad tracks since Halloween night 2002.