I Missed the Last Train, and What Happened Next Still Frightens Me

I've always been obsessed with time. I'm the "Clock Master" of my friends. Trains, buses, meetings—I'm always on time. But that Friday night was different from any other. I left the office late, my head was fuzzy, and there was an odd chill in the air. Something felt out of sync, like something was about to happen.

By the time I arrived on the platform, the last train was departing. I had missed it by seconds. The time was 11:45 PM.

I simply stood there unmoving. The platform was almost empty, barring a few scattered people far off. I had no signal on my phone and could not call for an Uber. It was too late to take a cab, and I had a long walk ahead of me to get home.

Just as I was, I felt a presence near me. I half-turned my head and found a woman, a red coat, hood over her head, standing there. She was so still, it appeared she had been there for a while.

"Missed the last train, did you?" she said softly.

I nodded, still a bit taken aback at her sudden materialization. "Yeah… It's been a weird day."

She smiled. "You can walk with me for a bit. I'm headed the same direction."

I hesitated for a moment. It was late, and I didn't know this person, but there was something calming about her presence. Plus, the street was cold and deserted, and I didn't want to be by myself.

We walked down the little road that ran parallel to the station. It was strange—this wasn't an area I frequented, yet somehow it seemed familiar. The dilapidated buildings that lined the street were vacant, and the streetlights barely lit the way. The further we traveled, the more the surroundings seemed to change.

She started talking, sharing little anecdotes about her life, about how she'd been in this city for so many years and yet was still a stranger. There were inspiring stories, devastating stories, but all of them seemed to carry this tone of nostalgia with them, as though memories she couldn't shake.

"So where do you live?" I tried to steer the conversation.

She smiled but didn't answer directly. "In this city, but differently."

I wasn't sure what she meant. "What do you mean by that?"

She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she merely said, "Some things aren't meant to be understood. Some things are just meant to be felt."

A chill ran down my spine. I couldn't explain it, but I had a sense something wasn't quite right.

Before I could say anything else, she stopped in front of an old house. It was small, with ivy crawling up its brick walls. Its windows were cracked, and the door hung partially open.

"This is where I get off," she said, still smiling.

I just stood there, a bit confused. "Are you… do you live here?"

She didn't answer directly but removed a red scarf from around her neck and handed it to me.

"Take this," she whispered. "When fear is beginning to get the better of you, this will remind you to be brave."

I was still struggling to comprehend all that had happened when she turned and passed through the door, disappearing into the night.

I simply stood for a moment, staring at the scarf in my hand. It was a strange gift—one that I didn't understand, but something about it made me not want to part with it.

Next morning, I went back to the street, trying to find the house. I searched the entire block, but the house was gone. There was no sign of it anywhere. It was as if it never was there. The only thing left behind was the red scarf in my hand.

I never again saw the woman. But I did keep the scarf. And to this day, when I am doubtful or afraid, I hold it and remember her words: "Some things aren't meant to be understood. Some things are just meant to be felt."

Did Something Like This Ever Happen to You?

Have you ever experienced something that you could not explain, but it stuck with you forever? Let me know in the comments below. I'd love to hear your stories.