Between Northwood and Temple Park, specifically. That one stretch of track. It’s always longer than it should take.
When I first started as a metro conductor, that line always struck out as especially long. I’ve checked - that line isn’t very big. It should only take, at most, 2 minutes to cross. Yet somehow, it takes longer. A lot longer. Most stops take a few minutes to cross. The longer ones take 6 or 7 minutes. This one? At least fifteen. Sometimes it can go as long as thirty minutes. This shouldn’t be happening. The train is always moving at the same speed, yet the size of the track always seems to vary.
That’s not the only thing about that line, though.
There are “people” on the tracks. It doesn’t happen very often - maybe once a month - but when it does happen, it’s not good. They’ll look at the oncoming train in panic, and start to run away. They’re fast, too. They’ll ask you to stop the train. That was the first thing I learned purely from job experience - do not stop the train.
It was only my second day on the job. I had noticed the length of the Orange Line, but I hadn’t really cared too much. It was a good job, with good pay, and I overlooked it. Then, illuminated in the train’s headlights, was a man. It was around six feet tall, wearing black jeans and a white shirt covered in stains. It started waving frantically, begging me to stop, and, like an idiot, I did.
“What are you doing on the tracks?” I asked, more bewildered than angry.. At the time, I couldn’t believe someone would walk around active subway tracks. The guy looked confused, and generally terrified. “I’m sorry! I was doing maintenance, and I got lost…” At this, it seemed to calm down a little. “Can I get a lift-”
At this point, its voice cracked. What came out of that mouth was the most otherworldly sound I’d ever heard, and would probably ever hear. I wasn’t sure what it was, and maybe I’ll never know. But I did know that whatever this thing was was not a human, or anything from our world. It stared at me in horror, realising its mistake. Its human disguise started to melt, the facial features drooping down, all melting and transforming into something. My survival instincts kicked in, and I started the train as soon as possible. The station appeared soon this time, thank goodness.
Amazingly, the “people” aren’t the worst thing on the line.
It was just a few weeks ago. Train O - 4 was going on the Northwood to Temple Park stretch, and I was following behind them. I had stopped at Northwood Station, and I was waiting for the O - 4 to make its way to Temple Park. Then, I would have to go on that line again. I waited. And waited. And waited. After a long time, I checked the time it had been since O - 4 had departed. Forty-five minutes. At this time, the commuters had started to become restless. They were used to long wait times here, but this was too much.
Eventually, I got clearance. I was relieved, because I wasn’t sure how much longer the commuters would wait. Later that day, when I was on break, I asked some of the other conductors about O - 4. The operator for that train was a guy named Rick. I knew him well, but today, I didn’t see him in the break room. Most of the operators were sitting in the corner, chatting silently.
I went over. One of them, named Andrew, looked over at me. “Have you heard what happened? To O - 4?” “Yes.” I said. “How come it took so long?” “It’s not just that.” He explained. “It never came back out.” I froze. I knew that the line was odd, but I had never heard of something like this before. “What do you mean?” I asked. “I mean that it’s gone. The line took it. It allows us to ride on it, and it takes something in return.”
I know I should stop working there. Believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve tried applying for a transfer to a different line, applying to every job under the sun, and nothing is working. I can’t quit, because I need the money, and the pay is good. I feel like I’m trapped in this job, at this line. At least, that’s what I felt until what happened.
It had been around 25 minutes, and there was no end in sight. I sighed a bit, out of tedium. I glanced out the windshield, and saw one of them. This time, it looked familiar. Very familiar. It was Rick. “Hey!” He called. “Help! Please! My train was attacked by those.. things, and I’ve been wandering around here for ages. Let me on, please!” I knew the rules. I knew not to stop the train, not for anything. I pressed on.
It started to run, ahead of the train. “I know what you’re thinking. I know you think I’m one of them. I’m not, I swear! I just need help!” I gritted my teeth and pressed onwards. I knew it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. Suddenly, “Rick” leapt up against the tunnel’s wall. Then, it jumped into my cabin. He burst through the laminated glass like it was nothing. It began to change shape, as I watched in silent horror. After a few seconds, it looked like me.
It hit me, and I fell over backwards onto the floor. Its hands turned from an imitation of human hands into sharp claws. It reared them above - and suddenly was hit by a barrage of lights - the lights of Temple Park Station. It leapt out the window and made a run for the darkness of the Orange Line. I stopped the train, shaking with fear. I got out of the cabin and left the station. It wasn’t the end of my shift yet, but I had to go.
I haven’t been to my job in a few days. I’m still debating on whether I should go back. I know I shouldn’t, but I need the money. Either way, I have to tell someone other than my coworkers about the horrors of the Orange Line. If one of your metro stops is a lot longer than the others, change your route. It might save your life.