Mortuary Station

It’s All Hallows’ Eve, and the night is whispering secrets. Three friends gather as they jump over the chained ironed gates leading to the old Mortuary Railway Station.   

“Didn’t I tell you this would be the perfect spot?” insists Mason with a wild grin. His athletic body has easily landed him on his feet from off the tall, sharp gates. He turns his head to the sound of a thud and a yelp.  

“I don’t know guys,” whimpers Howard as he dusts himself off and looks around. “I- I don’t think we should be here.” His slender frame begins to shiver.   

“Oh, don’t be such a coward, Howard,” taunts Mason as he gives his friend a firm pat on the back.  

Behind them, a shadow descends in silence. A voice that could belong to the wind speaks out, “mind your words, Mason.” It is the final member of the group - Grace. “Besides, everyone should appreciate fine architecture.”   

Together, the trio slowly look up at Mortuary Station.   

Grace begins, “constructed in 1869, the station’s nine great arches and high-pitched roof were built to represent 13th Century Venetian gothic design.”  

“Here we go,” mutters Mason.  

“It resembles a church due to features such as the bell tower and additional religious motifs. These include statues of angels, cherubs, and even gargoyles.”   

“Aren’t gargoyles evil, Grace?” says Howard, anxiety bubbling in his voice.   

“They’re guardians, Howard. In this case, they were here to guard the souls that boarded the funeral train which transported the dead to their final destination – Rockwood Cemetary.”  

Mason interrupts with a scoff, “doesn’t seem so special to me.” He then saunters up to a wall and pulls out his spray paint.  

“No, don’t!” cries Grace. But before she, or even Howard, can stop him, it’s already too late. Mason steps away from the wall with a sly grin as he reveals his handiwork; the words - ‘Ol’ Morty.’  

“You’re the worst, Mason!” shouts Grace. “I’m leaving.”  

“Aw, come on, this is our last Halloween together after all. Next year you’ll both be at some fancy, far-off university, and I’ll be busy working construction with my ol’ man. Let’s spend this night together for old times’ sake. Whaddya say?”  

Howard hesitates and looks at him questioningly. “Did you bring them?” He bites his lip.   

“Of course,” Mason replies with a smile. He leads the trio to the centre of the station’s platform and dumps out the rest of the contents of his backpack. A large mountain of chocolates and candies forms in the middle of the group.   

Howard makes a dive for the stash, but Grace remains standing, arms crossed, stern-faced.   

Mason picks up an orange candy bar and holds it out towards her. “I’ve even got your favourite...”  

Grace’s features soften as she reaches for the bar, but all of a sudden, she lets out a shriek. “Eek!” 

A black cat has abruptly pounced into the centre of their circle. It grabs as much food as possible, then darts down to the below train tracks, leaving behind a trail of confectionary across the rails.   

“I’ll get them,” laughs Mason as he starts picking up the dropped pieces. He then begins to lower a leg off the platform and onto the train tracks.   

“What if you get run over!” warns, Howard.  

Grace replies, “trains haven’t run on this line for 74 years.”  

Just as Mason lands on the tracks, he starts to feel the ground rumble. A blinding light obscures his vision, and his ears are pierced by a high-pitched whistle. He realises a train is heading right for him.  

“Hurry!” yell the others. In a panic, they quickly drag Mason back onto the platform, the momentum causing the trio to fall into a pile. The friends breathe heavily as they watch an old-fashioned steam-train advance with a large sign on the front that reads ‘FUNERAL.’  

As the locomotive approaches, it projects forceful clouds of swirling hot steam. Electricity strikes around the train, generating a moving thunderstorm. The steam engine is as grey as a worn headstone and leads a precession of carriages in a state of disrepair. With a final blaring whistle, the train comes to a halt.  

Still stunned, Grace is the first to speak, “this can’t be right; funeral trains were decommissioned once the business gave way to motor hearses.”    

“It must be some sort of Halloween event,” ventures Mason. “This is perfect! Let’s go for a ride.”   

“Wait. This doesn’t feel right, guys,” says Howard as he looks at Grace.   

“Well, I have always wanted to ride on a steam-train...” she considers.    

“Then it’s settled,” Mason announces with excitement. Together the three friends step onto the end carriage just as the train departs. 

Once inside, they find themselves standing in a narrow green corridor with a flickering light. It’s quiet only for a brief moment until the peace is interrupted by distant wailing. A woman approaches from the opposite end of the carriage. She’s dressed in 1920s funeral attire, including a floor-length black gown and a wide-brimmed hat with an attached veil. Her face is obscured by a hand that holds a handkerchief to her eyes. As she nears, she pays no mind to the new arrivals and continues to sob loudly as she enters her private cabin and shuts the door behind her.  

That’s when they see it. Through the cabin window, the three friends catch sight of a coffin in the centre of the small room.   

Howard steps backwards until his back is against the wall. He looks into the next cabin and then the next. “There’s a coffin in every room!”  

Mason knows better than to make a joke of the situation. Matters only worsen as they become aware of a muffled banging growing louder with each thud.  

“It’s coming from the room with the woman,” says Grace.

Discreetly, they peer into her cabin again. The woman’s head is buried in her arms which are dramatically sprawled over the coffin. Her shoulders are shuddering, but when she lifts her head and finally reveals her translucent face, she’s laughing. “Keep quiet darling,” she titers, “only the dead ride for free.”  

“We need to get out of here,” urges Howard nervously.  

“It’s like we’ve gone back in time,” Grace says in a trance. 

Mason grabs both of his friends by the arm and starts moving them to the next carriage. “Let’s find someone to stop this train. I’m sure as hell not waiting until we arrive at the cemetery.”   

When they reach the adjoining carriage and push through the door, they find themselves inside a large cargo hold. Their footsteps echo on cold steel, and the darkness offers little detail of their surroundings.  

Howard trips in the dark and knocks into a large wire cage. He is met by the sound of a low and dangerous growl.   

“Guys...”   

Grace answers in a hushed tone, “greyhounds. Through the late 30s to 40s, these trains were repurposed as transport for race dogs.”

Mason leans close and attempts to get a better look inside one of the cages stacked at eye height. “It’s a good thing they’re in there then; I don’t think we could outrun them.”   

The snarl grows in intensity; the hound inside starts to thrash inside the cage with such force that the enclosure tips over and smashes open on the hard metal floor.   

The carriage erupts into aggressive barking that comes from every corner. But what scares the trio the most is what they see when the escaped canine steps into the moonlight cascading from a nearby window.   

“What’s wrong with its skin?” Howard asks in disorientation, “why can I see its blood and bones?”  

“It looks like it’s rotting from the inside,” Grace adds in disgust. 

The greyhound prepares to attack its target; teeth bared squarely at Howard.   

“RUN!” shouts Mason.   

The dog bounds forward, and the three friends scramble for the next carriage door. Howard slips on the slick floor and flails around, unable to stand up. The canine makes a leap forward, its jaw hanging wider than it should be for any live dog.  

Howard shuts his eyes and braces for impact. Mason dives in front of his friend and takes a painful bite to his forearm in his stead. “Argh!”  

As he struggles to get the hound off of him, Grace runs over and sends the four-legged beast flying with the help of a wooden plank.   

“You can thank me later. Now let’s move before this undead dog gets back up.”   

Howard and Grace help Mason move to the next door. Together they escape the hellhounds and go forth in search of help.   

The next carriage they enter is jarringly dissimilar. The three friends are met with blinding neon lights, red dining booths, and the sound of the 80s track – ‘Hungry Like the Wolf’ by Duran Duran.   

Mason takes in his surroundings. “Is this... a pancake restaurant?”  

Grace claps her hands together once in realisation. “Of course! The ‘Magic Mortuary’!”   

“The what now?”  

“It sounds crazy, but for a brief time in the 80s, carriages were converted into a pancake house; they even included a gift shop,” Grace says with a wry smile.   

“You’re right; that is insane. Wait, where’s Howard?”  

The two look around at the empty restaurant and breathe a sigh of relief as Howard reappears. Following close behind is a mature-aged waitress dressed in a pink uniform and a white apron.  

“I asked her to help us. Her name is Grinny,” says Howard.  

Waitress Grinny looks intensely at the blood trailing down Mason’s arm. “Oh no honey, we can’t have all that blood going to waste.” She forces Mason into a booth and pulls a linen napkin from her pocket. She then ties a tourniquet tightly around his arm.   

“Ouch,” winces Mason.   

A few drops of blood transfer to her fingers, which she quickly licks off with her tongue between her sharp teeth.   

“Um, excuse me, ma’am,” Grace says hesitantly, “can you tell us how to get off this train, please?”  

“Why would you want to do that, sugar? Stay here, and I can make you a meal. Besides, only the conductor has control of this train, and he is not one to deviate from his schedule.”   

“Right,” says Mason, “we must be going now. Thanks for the bandage.” He stands to leave and motions for the others to follow.

“Leaving so soon, cupcake? What a shame. I do love company for dinner, haha.”  

As the three friends cautiously leave the carriage, Howard says what they are all thinking, “she was a little off... wasn’t she? And what big teeth she had!”  

“Why do I get the feeling she wanted to eat us?” asks Grace.   

“Let’s just make a beeline for the engine room,” directs Mason.   

Next, they enter an adjoining gift shop, just as Grace had predicted.

“No distractions. Keep walking,” says Mason.   

“But-,” says Grace, as she sees a Mortuary Station kay-chain.  

“No.”  

As they advance through yet another carriage, the engine room sounds louder. “We’re almost there. It must be just ahead of the coal carriage,” says Mason.   

“Coal carriage?” asks Grace. “You mean you want us to traverse outside the wagon to get to the engine room?”  

“It’s the only way.” With that, Mason opens the door to the outside and is immediately hit by a hot steam cloud. “Dammit! I’ll go first.” Carefully, he steps onto the side railing of the coal wagon and starts edging forward. Grace follows, with Howard coming in from behind.  

For a moment, the steam clears, and the stars illuminate the landscape ahead. “We’re almost at the cemetery!” Howard cries out. “We’re running out of time.”  

With their goal in sight, the three make a perilous jump and finally land inside the engine room. The heat is suffocating, and the noise is deafening. Steam enters from the open doorways making it difficult to see, but it is clear that they are not alone.   

The conductor is an abnormally tall and thin man. His back is turned to the trio as he continues to operate the controls. As he pulls more leavers, more arms begin to unfold from his sides. His long limbs can reach every corner of the room and quickly grab hold of the three unexpecting intruders.  

The conductor lifts the trespassers up to his withered face. “Tickets,” he demands in a haggard voice.   

“No sir,” says Grace, as she struggles with her feet above the ground. “There’s been a mistake; we’re only trying to get home.”  

The conductor squeezes tighter and peers closer at her with his eight sunken eyes. “I’ve seen you. I’ve seen everything on this train for the past 153 years. You cannot escape me, child, no matter how many decades you travel through.”   

“Leave her alone!” shouts Mason as he attempts to kick free.   

Another two arms emerge and take hold of Mason’s legs in a powerful grip. “Only the conductor gives orders here, and only the dead ride for free.”   

Without hesitation, the conductor throws the three friends out of the train. Narrowly avoiding some trees, they roll through the bushes and eventually hit some shrubbery, breaking their fall.   

“Are we still alive?” moans Howard.  

“Of course we are,” winces Grace as she inspects everyone’s injuries. “He left us outside of the cemetery gates after all.”   

“But how do we get back home?” asks Howard.  

Mason gives a pained laugh. “How about a train?”