Orange Line
“Stupid Andrea! She always does this to me.” Javier was talking to himself inside the red cable car cabin as it pulled into the big Estación Central. “Makes me come all the way up for nothing. And her house is so far. Now what time will I get there? My aunt’s going to kill me.”
He rushed out so he could transfer to the orange line. The big clock on the wall read 11:20 p.m. He had ten minutes before service ended for the night, and he didn’t want to walk or take a minibus at that hour.
All he needed was the last stretch of cable car to Plaza Villaroel, and from there just one mini [1] to Villa Fátima, then “climb” three blocks uphill to his aunt’s house.
If the bakery’s still open, I can bring her a cheese roll, and she won’t be as mad, he thought. Then again, with her diabetes, it could be bad for her, right? He headed toward the boarding area.
“Hurry up, young man. This is the last trip, they’re about to shut down the cabins,” said a security guard holding the door of the cabin open for him.
“Yes, I’m coming. Thanks, good night.”
“Good night, safe trip.”
“Damn Andrea, damn it,” he continued his monologue out loud. “I’ll never go back up there again. Always makes me help her with her nonsense and then throws me out. Won’t give a damn about her anymore.”
The cabin rattled as it left the safety rails and was left hanging by a thin mechanical arm from the high-tension cable. Javier always got dizzy at that part.
“Fuck, why do I even ride this thing?” He took a deep breath. “Just because it’s faster. And it’s so late! I don’t want to get mugged on the street.”
The cabin picked up speed as it left the station.
“At least it’s not raining. Hopefully there’s no wind in Plaza Villarroel.”
He looked down at the lights of Pérez Velasco Plaza and the San Francisco Church, lit up by spotlights, passing beneath his cabin.
Thick clouds loomed in the distance, blocking the stars and tinting the sky a pale reddish tone. He caught the fleeting flash of lightning.
“Damn, Andrea! Sending me off this late. Hope my aunt doesn’t get mad, or I’ll have to find another aloja [2].” He took another deep breath. ”Maybe I should get my own place already, huh? I’m too old to still be living with my aunt.”
The cabin shook again as it reached Plaza Riosinho’s station, and Javier swore once more. The door slid open, and the strong smell of dampness hit him instantly.
“Great. It’s about to rain for sure. I hope I can grab a mini in Villarroel quickly. I don’t wanna get wet.”
The cabin dragged like a snail through the station, and the cold air blowing in through the open door froze him to the bone.
“And I didn’t even bring a jacket. Fucking Andrea, damn it!”
His cabin reached the far end, the doors closed again, and it began to gain speed, swaying until it steadied back on the cable.
“So fucking cold!” he complained, rubbing his back against a sharp spasm. ”Ugh, did I pull something? She had me moving her furniture all day. Probably going to get a hernia.”
The wind began to whistle through the window grid of the cabin’s half-open hatch. Javier tried to slide it shut but couldn’t figure out how.
“How the hell does this thing work? It’s so cold!”
The effort made him stand up, making the cabin rock like a cradle. He dropped back into his seat when a loud beep blared from the intercom.
“Dear passengers, please remain seated at all times during the trip. Thank you,” said a distorted monotone voice from the speaker next to the cabin door.
Javier sat still, but the cabin swayed too much. He was getting dizzy and cursed again.
Rain began tapping lightly on the glass, and the wind’s whistle turned into a deafening howl. The cabin kept swaying until at last it reached “Apachita”[3] station, the last one before Plaza Villarroel.
“Finally, damn it.”
“Good evening,” greeted the cable car employee.
“Evening. Could you close this window, please? It’s freezing in here!”
“Of course,” the man replied, tired and eager to finish his shift and head home, but still polite.
He pulled the door windows up from outside to close them, then quickly climbed in to shut the small overhead vent above him.
“Thanks,” said Javier, tightening his thin denim jacket closer.
“Good night, safe trip,” the worker replied as he stepped out just before the doors closed for the final stretch.
“Alright, just a bit more. Please don’t rain!”
The cabin picked up speed, leaving the station, suspended once more on the cables, rocking harder than before.
“What now?” he complained.
The wind slammed against the cabin, whistling fiercely despite the shut windows. This time, the cabin never fully stabilized and kept swaying side to side, slowing more and more until it stopped altogether.
“Fuck! Common!” Javier protested as the intercom beeped again.
“Dear passengers, due to strong winds on our line, we are reducing cabin speed. Service will resume shortly.”
Shortly felt like eternity for Javier, as he swore on his parents’ graves never to ride that bloody machine again, especially at night, and never to visit Andrea.
The cabin swung like a pendulum. He tried to fix his gaze on the distant lights of the buildings on Saavedra Avenue to keep from getting sick.
That’s when he saw it. He wasn’t entirely sure; it was a fleeting glimpse, but also crystal clear.
He saw a face reflected in the glass of the cabin door, seated just across from him, diagonally in the back corner. He was sure no one else had boarded at any of the stations.
He turned his head to see, but no one was there.
Beyond the glass at the end of the cabin was the mountainside. Lining the entire hill were the rows of tombs in “La Llamita” cemetery, like fingers clawing up toward the peak.
Javier stared at the countless small, crowded graves, filling every space. There were so many, in different colors and sizes, with ornate crosses, some polished and fresh with flowers, others dirty and forgotten.
At that late hour no one was around. But he scanned everywhere for a night watchman, a guard, a clandestine visitor, or even a grave robber—anything that could calm his nerves and convince him he’d only seen the reflection of someone outside the glass. But the cemetery was empty, as expected that late at night.
The air inside grew colder and colder. Javier kept staring at the cemetery until he caught sight of a small, round, bright light among the graves, close to the cold ground.
It was quick, but he swore he saw it hopping between crosses before vanishing.
“Stupid! It’s just the glass reflection. Maybe another lightning or house lights down there,” he told himself, trying to calm down.
But the calm didn’t last. He fixed his eyes on the tombs again, waiting for the light to reappear. He was so focused that he jumped when the cabin jolted, rocking him violently from side to side.
“Shit!” he shouted, then burst out laughing at himself for being so stupid as to believe he’d seen something in that empty, dark cemetery at nearly midnight.
The cabin crept along at a crawl—barely an inch per minute. At this rate, he’d get to Plaza Villarroel too late, and his aunt wouldn’t let him in.
His mind tried desperately to latch onto those mundane worries and away from the cemetery. He looked to his right again, toward the city lights, and took long, deep breaths.
The cabin swayed in wide arcs, rocked by the invisible, unhinged hand of the wind. The soft patter of rain on the glass grew louder, deafening. Javier tensed every muscle in his body, barely daring to breathe.
A couple of feet further, the cabin stopped again. Javier squeezed his eyes shut, a scream caught in his throat, strangled by fear, and slipped out only as a weak squeal.
He opened his eyes and looked desperately from side to side. The cemetery was still there, to his left. His mouth gaped as dozens of tiny sparks appeared, floating above the graves.
“Shit!… Just reflections, moonlight, just that and nothing else,” he was shouting now, trying to convince himself there were no lights there.
He forced himself to turn his head to the right and not look back. He saw two bolts of lightning flash in the distance, and the wind slammed the cabin again. He shut his eyes tight, trying to control his breath.
Through the roar of the storm, the intercom beeped again.
“Dear passengers, we ask for a little patience. Service will resume shortly.” Was it fear he could hear in the voice from the other side of the intercom?
“Fuck!” he screamed again. “Get me out of here!”
His eyes remained shut, terrified for his life in that fragile cabin that could collapse at any moment. But above all, he couldn’t shake that suffocating feeling that he wasn’t alone, as if someone had sat down beside him.
He repeated to himself it was impossible, that there was no one else in the cabin.
“No one boarded at any station. I’m alone; there’s no one there!”
He forced himself to open his eyes and scan the cabin.
Nothing.
He breathed deep, trying to steady himself.
The wind finally began to ease, and the cabin swayed less. Then another jolt as it lurched back into motion. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat, and his ragged breath sent puffs of white vapor into the freezing air inside the cabin
He looked right, fixing his gaze on the far-off building lights of the city.
“Almost there, damn it, almost there.” He repeated. “Nothing happened. You’re imagining crap, Javier.”
But then he saw it again—reflected in the glass of the cabin door, clearer than before.
He blinked several times.
No. It can’t be.
It wasn’t just a face now; it was a whole human figure. Black shoes resting on the cabin floor, gray dress pants neatly pressed, and a long, dark, elegant trench coat. Hands black as night—probably leather gloves.
Under the wide-brimmed hat, the same color as the coat, was a withered face, white as paper. A crooked nose, messy white hair though neatly cut, no beard, only a mustache as white as his hair. He saw him as clearly as he saw himself.
But the most terrifying thing was his eyes—deep and dark, like two bottomless pits.
He hadn’t realized he’d stopped breathing for several seconds. He could almost swear even his heart had stopped. His throat clenched like a tight fist, not letting him make a sound, though he felt a scream rising in his chest, tearing at his vocal cords.
Those dark eyes locked onto his, and for a moment he saw, inside those lifeless sockets, two red burning lights deep within, like embers from hell itself.
He felt himself falling into the abyss of those dark eyes that beckoned him to madness.
The shadowy figure tilted his head slightly, greeting him like an old friend. And then… it smiled.
***
“No, tomorrow I’ve got the green line, Irpavi station. I don’t like it. Too far from my house,” said one of two guards to his partner at Estación Central.
“You live in Río Seco, right?” replied the other one. “You’ll still get there fast; if you take three lines, it’s not too far.”
“Yeah, but by the time my shift ends, I can’t make it back. I’ll have to get a mini from Ciudad Satélite—good night.”
“Good night!” said the young man, who was overhearing the conversation as he stepped into the cabin. His shoes were wet from the rain outside.
He tightened his thick jacket around himself and got ready for the last stretch home. He had a long day at work, got out almost at 10 p.m., and just wanted to get home to his bed.
The doors were still open, and he could hear the rest of the guards conversation.
“But you know, it’s better than working the Orange Line. You know, in Plaza Villarroel. I don’t ever want that shift again.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Haven’t you heard what happened the other night, during that storm? The night they found that guy dumped on the cabin floor, screaming.” The guard didn’t bother to lower his voice. “His cabin had stopped a long while right over the cemetery, and it looks like he went mad. They say they took him straight to the psych ward in an ambulance. Imagine being stuck there at night in a storm—what the hell could he have seen?”
At that moment, the cabin door shut. The young man heard nothing else but the heavy raindrops pounding on the glass as it rocked out of Estación Central.
***
[1] Mini: short for “minibus.” Public van used for transportation.
[2] Aloja: colloquial short form of “Alojamiento.” Lodging, motel.
[3] Apachita: an Andean monument, originally a small mound of conical stones piled as offerings to Pachamama (Mother Earth), found along steep mountain trails. Rooted in indigenous faith, it symbolizes order and ritual worship of a supernatural creator being.
