Western Line Gothic

FEATURE | TANGATA WHENUA / LOCAL

Written by Athena Li-Watts (they/them) | @dreamyplum | Contributing Writer

You approach the door. A shrill whistle punctures the air, piercing your eardrums. Morning fog disperses to reveal the hooded train manager. He beckons you forward. Chains dangle along his arm, clanking from the motion. Without opening his mouth, he asks how you got here. He asks for your final destination. Before you step on board, he points to the platform with his wooden oar. Mind the gap.

Fluorescent white lights blink along the carriage ceiling. Each flicker reveals a new passenger. A businessman in a sweaty suit. A white haired woman in a hospital gown. A teenage girl in a navy blue school uniform. She sits in the priority seat, holding an infant in her lap. All four passengers stare at the same wall. They stare at a melting map of the city transport system. 

You sit along the aisle, across from the man. The light beams a stranger into the seat next to you. You think you have seen him before. He raises his chin from his chest. He stares at you with wide red eyes. He grins at you with blunt yellow teeth. Through white peeling lips, he asks where he knows you from. You place your backpack between your feet before you answer. The stranger has no feet. 

A disembodied voice penetrates your skull. It announces the next station, something like Avondale. The stranger tells you he's getting off at that stop. 

Suspended orange pixels read ‘6°C’ above your heads. They glitch into ‘666’ when you blink. Through the window, the sky drips black and azure onto the rails. Your eyelids grow heavy, as though they are being weighed down. You drift along the Acheron.

A brittle snap beside your head startles you awake. Two gold coins land in your lap. An ivory hand waves in your face. Through chattering teeth, the ticket inspector asks to scan your hop card. He asks for the coins that were resting on your eyes. They clatter into his palm. Metal against bone.

A distant sniffling tickles your ear. You shuffle in your seat to locate the noise. The infant is crying. Crimson tears stream down her face. You address the teenage girl, still staring at the wall. The map has long melted off. You ask her why the child weeps. The baby answers. She tells you she didn’t have any coins. The ticket inspector has ordered her off at the next stop.

The train pulls into a station. The doors hiss and crack and moan. White fog seeps into the carriage, pooling around your ankles. Beyond the platform are grey fields you don’t recognise. 

The PA system crackles to life. 

‘Due to an unexpected infrastructure fault near Mt Albert, all passengers are expected to disembark at this station.’

The baby crawls from the girl's lap. The stranger beside you crawls from his seat. He crawls over your legs. He crawls out the door towards the ashen fields. The other passengers follow.

You remember where the stranger knows you from. You open your mouth to call out to him. You open your mouth to taste salt and iron. Hooked chains descend from the ceiling and pierce through your cheeks. They force your head towards the orange LED sign. The bar glows ‘Asphodel’. 

The chains start to retract, groaning back into the ceiling. The hooks remain in your cheeks. Frantic, you try to follow the other passengers. You try to scramble to your feet, but find you have none. You begin to scream.