FREED SPIRITS

Peter Woodgate

It was 9.30pm on Christmas Eve, the weather was icy and snow began to fall covering the platform at Westwood station. Five teenage girls were huddled together in the small waiting room as the snowflakes fell softly, sticking valiantly to the somewhat grimy windows.

    The girls watched as each flake began to melt into tiny rivulets before running like tears down each pane of glass. The computerized announcement system burst into life with the information that the last train to Wadsworth was due to arrive at 9.50pm, it was now 9.35pm.

    Being entirely computerized, and controlled by Wadsworth, the nearest thing to staff was the talking ticket machine which stood like a sentinel outside the waiting room. The platform, at that time, was empty.

    Suddenly, the waiting room door was flung open and a stocky man, wearing a thick overcoat, peered into the room. He looked around, his eyes appearing to pass right through the girls, focusing on the pictures hanging on the wall behind them.

    After a moment he limped over to the bench in the corner and sat down pulling a newspaper from his pocket as he did so. As he started to read the front page became exposed and the girls caught site of the headline which read:

   

ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE WESTWOOD LEVEL CROSSING DISASTER THE TRIBUNAL HAS FINALLY CONCLUDED THAT THE DEATHS OF 5 TEENAGE GIRLS WAS CAUSED BY A COMPUTER FAILURE.

 

    The girls shivered in realization as the announcement concerning the approaching train echoed through the cold night air.

 

MR Roberts rose from his seat and made his way to the waiting room door. As he opened it a freezing blast brushed past him and, mingling with the screeching of the train’s brakes, he was sure he heard screams.

    “Glad I will be home soon,” he thought.