Echoes in the Subway

Echoes in the Subway

By afaqahmad

No one talk about Echoes in the subway

The first time Alex heard the voices, he laughed it off as exhaustion.

It had been a long day at work, and the subway platform was nearly empty when he arrived. The lights flickered overhead, buzzing faintly, and the damp air carried the usual smells of rust, oil, and old stone. He leaned against a pillar, trying to keep his eyes open, when he caught it — a whisper.

“Don’t miss the 10:15.”

Alex straightened. He looked around, but nobody was near him. A young woman scrolled through her phone at the far end of the platform, earbuds in. A man in a business suit stood near the edge, staring blankly at the tracks. Neither had spoken.

The whisper had come from the tunnel itself, carried on the hollow hum of air.

He shook his head. He was overtired, nothing more. When the 10:15 train rolled in, Alex boarded without thinking much about it.

It wasn’t until later, when he overheard two coworkers talking, that he realized something strange. A technical failure had shut down the line after 10:30 that night. If he’d missed the 10:15, he would have been stranded underground for hours.

The second time it happened, the voice was even clearer.

Alex was running late and had just rushed down the stairs when he heard it again, echoing softly from the tunnel.

“Check your coat pocket.”

He frowned, reached inside, and felt nothing but fabric. Then he checked again, deeper — and his fingers brushed against his wallet, half-slipped into the lining. One more step and it would have fallen through the hole.

Alex’s heart skipped. That wasn’t imagination. That was real.

Days turned into weeks, and the whispers kept coming. Sometimes warnings, sometimes instructions.

“Wait on the bench.”

“Hold your phone tightly.”

“Step back.”

Each time, he listened. Each time, he avoided something — a spilled coffee, a thief’s quick hand, a collapsing piece of ceiling tile. The voices had become his invisible guardians.

He stopped doubting.

But the night that changed everything was colder than usual, the kind of night when the subway felt more like a crypt than a station.

It was late Friday, and the platform was crowded. The air was thick with impatience as people pushed toward the edge, ready to board and vanish into their weekends. Alex stood in the middle, backpack slung over one shoulder, waiting for the familiar hum of the approaching train.

That’s when he heard it again.

The whisper.

Only this time, it wasn’t soft. It was sharp. Urgent.

“Don’t get on the train.”

Alex’s blood ran cold. The words pulsed in his ears.

“Don’t get on. Don’t get on.”

The train roared into the station, brakes screaming, sparks flashing as metal scraped against metal. The crowd surged forward. People shoved, eager to squeeze through the doors.

Alex froze. He wanted to dismiss it, to tell himself this time the voice was wrong. But it had never been wrong before.

So he stepped back.

The crowd swept into the cars without him. The doors closed. The train pulled away.

And then it happened.

The tunnel filled with a shriek of tearing steel. Sparks erupted like fireworks. A car tilted violently, slamming into the wall. Glass shattered. Screams ripped through the air. Smoke billowed out, acrid and choking.

The train had derailed.

People panicked on the platform, running for the stairs, covering their mouths. Alarms blared overhead.

Alex stood frozen, his heart hammering so loud he could barely hear. The whispers had saved his life.

But the thought chilled him more than the smoke: if the voices knew the train would crash, then they weren’t just warnings.

They were echoes of the future.

For days afterward, Alex couldn’t shake the memory. He barely slept, haunted by the screams he had avoided. He started to wonder — how far ahead could the voices see? Minutes? Hours? Days?

And then came the question he dreaded most: what if the voices one day told him about his own death?

The answer arrived sooner than he expected.

A week later, Alex found himself alone on the platform again. Midnight pressed heavy in the air, and the tunnel seemed darker than usual. He leaned against the same pillar where he’d first heard the whispers, his breath unsteady.

At first, there was only silence. Then the whisper came, softer than ever, almost tender.

“Alex.”

Hearing his own name made his stomach twist. The voices had never addressed him directly before.

“Alex,” the tunnel breathed. “It’s coming.”

He felt his chest tighten. “What’s coming?” he whispered.

The echo lingered, vibrating through the concrete, before answering.

“Your last train.”

The rails began to hum. A light appeared in the distance, swelling as it rushed closer.

Alex stared at the approaching glow, his palms slick with sweat. For the first time, he didn’t know if listening would save him — or only delay the inevitable.

The train screeched to a stop. The doors slid open. The car inside was empty, glowing white beneath harsh fluorescent lights.

He stood at the threshold, heart pounding. The echoes whispered one final time.

“Step inside.”

Alex closed his eyes. And he obeyed.

The doors shut.

The train carried him into the darkness, leaving the station silent once more.