The Tales of Gehiwian Circle

The Quiet Coach

10th December 1958

"Oi!" he heard the guard shout.

Evan Clovet threw the carriage door open. With a loud bang, he slammed it shut again behind him. As he walked down the corridor looking for an empty compartment, he heard the guard's whistle on the platform outside. Clearly they wanted the train gone instead of picking arguments with those who'd cut boarding too fine.

Pulling open the stiff sliding door to an empty compartment, Evan collapsed down onto the soft, springy seats as the whistle of the steam engine echoed through the night. It was six o'clock in the evening and already pitch black outside. The only indication the train was moving was the station lights sliding further away, and the chuffs as the engine picked up speed. Pulling the wool bobble hat off his head, Evan exhaled and held the hat in between his gloved hands.

A grin split his face from ear to ear. A buzz of adrenaline tickled his nerves, fuelled by the thrill of skirting the guard by the skin of his teeth. His wife was mad that he'd shirked helping with the kids for a night out with his male sortie. A ruckus or two at the pub wouldn't go amiss, to top it all off. He'd deal with the missus later, and sleep soundly through what she thought of his behaviour.

The train would arrive in Gehiwian Circle, the final stop, in about forty minutes or so. Shattered after a long day of work, Evan pulled his ticket out of his coat pocket and left it on the small table by the window. With that, he laid down as best he could and shut his eyes. A nap would perk him up for his night at the pub.

The condensed fog of his own breaths swirled in front of Evan's face as he stirred. Sitting up with a stretch and roll of his shoulders, he yawned as he looked around his compartment.

Silence.

Rubbing his eye, Evan grabbed his ticket from the table. It hadn't been punched by the guard.

Narrowing his eyes, he puzzled over the lack of noise. He looked at his watch.

Quarter to midnight.

Jesus!

Evan leapt up towards the compartment's door. The train should have arrived at Gehiwian just after seven. Why hadn't the guard woken him up, or checked his ticket? How did he not hear the train arrive?

Sprinting down the carriage, fumbling through the darkness, Evan found the door. The window was closed, stopping him from accessing the handle.

Heaving at the top lip to drag it down, Evan tugged it as hard as he could. The window wouldn't budge.

He tried the door on the other side. Same issue. He tried the other end of the coach.

None would open.

He was trapped.

Checking all the compartments, Evan found no one else. Stumbling back to his seat, he threw himself up against the cold glass of the window, trying to see where they were. The coach was parked, and across the through line beside them he could see the Gehiwian Circle engine sheds, barely illuminated by the lights mounted on the exterior wall. Both berth doors were closed, and the black, silhouetted shape of a small tank engine sat in the siding outside, silent and unmoving.

Evan ran out of his compartment and looked out the opposite window. Down from the sheds, across the junction he could just make out the platforms and station building. He was at Gehiwian, trapped in a coach shunted into one of the storage sidings.

Surely they swept the train before putting it away for the night?

Cursing the guard, he surmised it was some prank or payback. Evan sighed and shut his eyes. Elena was going to be beyond mad now.