In an utterly unbelievable turn of events that has left the entire region scratching its collective head, the historic Duquesne Incline briefly morphed into a shimmering portal to the fantastical realm of Narnia during a sudden power surge last evening. Scores of unsuspecting riders found themselves whisked away from the City of Bridges and deposited smack dab in the middle of C.S. Lewis’ timeless world of magic, mythical creatures, and never-ending adventures.
The ordeal began as an ordinary commute for most passengers aboard the inclined plane, which has been ferrying Pittsburghers up and down Mount Washington’s steep slopes since 1877. That is, until a massive power surge caused the century-old machinery to sputter, groan, and belch forth an otherworldly glow.
“One minute I was just trying to catch the Six O’Clock News on my phone,” recalled bewildered rider Jillian Novak, “and the next, I was face-to-face with a talking fox wearing a waistcoat and carrying a cane. I thought I must’ve hit my head or something.”
As the Incline car lurched through the ethereal gateway, riders found themselves enveloped by a swirling vortex of glittering stardust and shimmering light. The Duquesne’s sturdy wooden interior melted away, replaced by the frost-covered forests and snow-kissed hills of Narnia at the height of its wintery season.
“I stepped out onto this frozen lake, and suddenly I was surrounded by talking animals everywhere!” exclaimed a still-flabbergasted Jim Halpert. “Foxes, beavers, even a bloody great big lion who kept calling me ‘son’ like we were long lost pals.”
The majestic lion in question was none other than Aslan himself, the wise and noble ruler of Narnia. Rather than being startled by this sudden influx of modern-day humans, the talking beasts seemed almost expecting their arrival.
“Ah, welcome, dear friends!” boomed Aslan in a voice like distant thunder. “We’ve been awaiting your coming for some time now. The White Witch’s reign has ended, and Narnia is in need of new heroes to help guide it into a brighter future.”
For the next several hours (though time works differently in Narnia), the baffled Pittsburghers found themselves swept up in a whirlwind of enchanted adventures alongside their furry and feathered companions. They helped chase off the last few holdouts of the Witch’s forces, took tea with giants, and even attended a grand feast in their honor.
But as quickly as it had begun, the magical interlude came to an abrupt end when the power surge on the Duquesne Incline stabilized. With a lurch and a shudder, the portal closed, and the bewildered riders found themselves back where they started – albeit with a newfound appreciation for the strange and wondrous.
“I still can’t believe it,” whispered Jillian to her equally stunned companions as the car rattled back into the station. “Did that really just happen? Or was it all some sort of mass hallucination brought on by too much Primanti Bros.?”
As the riders stumbled out onto the platform, blinking in the harsh fluorescent lights, one thing was certain: their commute would never be quite the same again. And as for the Duquesne Incline itself? Well, a few unscheduled trips to enchanted realms were unlikely to slow down this stalwart symbol of Pittsburgh’s indomitable spirit.
“She may be old,” said Incline operator Gus “Gandy” Dancer with a proud grin, “but she’s still got plenty of magic left in her. Just goes to show – you never know where the next adventure might take you. Even if it’s just a quick ride up the hill.”
Though no one quite knows what to make of this surreal turn of events (and the mayor has already begun fielding calls from Hollywood producers eager to adapt this “real-life Chronicles of Narnia” story), one thing is for certain: the Duquesne Incline will never feel quite as ordinary again. And who’s to say what other incredible destinations it might have in store, now that it’s been opened up to the realms of magic and myth? Buckle up, Pittsburgh – this ride just got a whole lot more interesting!