Oct 29, 7:30pm- I am currently on the train to North Yorkshire and I suspect that the journey is almost over. For the past 3 hours I have sat in my own isolated carriage where I have taken in the eerie, October scenery and espied the various advertisements plastered throughout the train. I must admit I did not seem to enjoy my own company, as I am deathly tired and ostensibly anxious. As I gaze out of the blurred, squalid windows I see crowds of haunting trees; stripped of their colour and life by the cruel breath of the approaching winter breeze. The skeletal talons of the old trees block from my view the ghastly moon; as it rises up through the dust and fog. The chilling air pounded on the side of the train throughout my journey; it was only a matter of minutes ago that it crept its way inside. I am dreadfully cold. I shiver and twitch and strive significantly to warm my shoulders with my cape.
My journey has been notably humdrum. The only human interaction which I have experienced on this journey was when I left my carriage to venture to the lavatory, where there I was nefariously scorned by a stout and pompous looking man. I believe I heard him mutter some words of disdain as he walked away. If I am not mistaken, we are now approaching the train station of Whitby and thus I shall continue this journal when I settle in my hotel.
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Whitby
Short StoryA short fictional travelogue inspired by my time in Whitby. It discusses the Gothic side of Whitby including Whitby Goth Festival, and Whitby's links with Bram Stokers' Dracula. It tackles issues that people of Gothic and alternative subcultures end...
