The Ghost Train

Chapter 6: The First Stop

The rhythmic clacking of wheels on the track slowed gradually, the first indication that the Infinity Line was approaching a station. Sarah's phone battery had dwindled to fifteen percent despite being fully charged when she boarded, but she activated the camera anyway, determined to document whatever came next.

"We're stopping," she said aloud, narrating for her recording. "The train is slowing down."

The young woman from the 1920's pressed her face against the window, her expression hopeful. "Is it Hillsborough? Is it my stop?"

Calloway shook his head almost imperceptibly, his attention fixed on the elderly man who had risen from his seat, trembling hands collecting a worn leather suitcase that Sarah hadn't noticed before.

"Is this it?" the old man whispered, his voice quavering with emotion. "After all this time?"

"You feel it, don't you, Thomas?" Calloway asked, his tone unexpectedly gentle.

The old man—Thomas—nodded, tears welling in his clouded eyes. "The pull. Like someone's calling my name."

The train came to a complete stop with a soft exhalation of steam that seemed to materialize from nowhere. The doors slid open silently, revealing a platform unlike anything Sarah had ever seen.

It appeared to be a subway station, but one long abandoned by humanity. The concrete walls and floors were overtaken by a riot of plant life—not the typical moss or weeds that might invade an abandoned structure, but something otherworldly. Vines with translucent leaves pulsed with an internal blue-green light. Fungi resembling delicate glass sculptures emitted a soft amber glow. The entire platform seemed alive with bio-luminescence, casting the abandoned ticket booths and benches in an ethereal light.

"Beautiful," Sarah breathed, unaware she had spoken aloud.

Several passengers she hadn't noticed before gathered their belongings. A woman in a 1970's pantsuit clutched a briefcase to her chest as she stepped determinedly toward the door. A teenage boy with clothes from the early 2000's followed, his eyes wide with wonder.

Thomas stood at the threshold, hesitating. "Seventy years," he whispered. "I've been looking for this place for seventy years without knowing it existed."

Sarah approached the door, raising her phone to capture the impossible landscape. "What is this place?"

Thomas turned to her, his face transformed by joy. The milky cataracts seemed to have cleared, revealing eyes bright with recognition. "It's where I belong. Where I've always belonged." He stepped onto the platform and straightened, the years falling away from his posture. "Goodbye, Ms. Mathews. I hope you find your station too."

Curiosity overrode caution. Sarah stepped onto the platform, intending only to document the strange flora. The moment her feet touched the ground, however, something profound shifted within her. An overwhelming sense of peace washed over her, deep and complete.

This is it. This is home.

The thought emerged unbidden, accompanied by a bone-deep certainty that she had found where she belonged. The luminescent plants seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat. The air—fragrant with unfamiliar but enticing scents—filled her lungs like a first true breath after a lifetime of shallow existence.

Images flooded her mind: herself building a life here, studying these impossible lifeforms, documenting a world untouched by modern corruption. A purpose. A home. Belonging.

Stay. Simply stay.

The thought caressed her consciousness, seductive in its simplicity. Why return to her empty apartment, her thankless job, her life of chasing stories that would be forgotten within days?

Somewhere distant, a voice called her name. Calloway, from the train doorway, his expression urgent.

"Ms. Mathews! The train is preparing to depart. This is not your station!"

The warning penetrated the fog of contentment. With tremendous effort, Sarah examined the feeling of belonging that had overtaken her. It was perfect—too perfect. Too complete. Too sudden.

Unnatural.

The realization struck like ice water. This wasn't real. Or it was real, but it wasn't hers.

Fighting against the pull of the station, Sarah stumbled back toward the train. Each step felt like moving through molasses, her body resisting the rational decision of her mind. The plants seemed to reach toward her, their glow intensifying as if beckoning her to return.

She practically fell through the doorway as the train began to move, Calloway steadying her with a firm grip on her arm. The doors sealed shut behind her with finality.

Through the opaque window, she watched Thomas's silhouette waving goodbye, his elderly form now standing straighter, younger somehow, as he was embraced by the luminescent vegetation that seemed to welcome him home.

Sarah collapsed into a seat, her hands shaking as she checked her phone. The recording had captured everything, though the battery now showed only five percent.

"What—" she swallowed hard, finding her voice. "What was that?"

Calloway sat across from her, studying her with new interest. "That, Ms. Mathews, was the first lesson of the Infinity Line. Each stop presents a reality specifically tailored to its potential passengers."

"Tailored how?"

"Some stations manifest from the deepest desires of those ready to disembark," Calloway explained. "Others from their most profound fears. The train knows what you need—or what you think you need."

Sarah watched the glowing station recede into darkness through the barely visible window. "Those people who got off... what happens to them?"

Calloway's expression remained impassive. "They are either trapped in a perfect illusion of what they always wanted, or they are transformed by confronting what they've always feared." His eyes met hers. "The difference lies in whether the station truly called to them, or whether they merely wished it had."

"And how can anyone tell the difference?" Sarah asked, still struggling to process how completely the station had affected her.

"That," Calloway said softly, "is the question every passenger must answer for themselves." He glanced at the 1920's woman who still peered hopefully out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of what comes next. "Some never do."

Sarah activated her recorder again, conserving the remaining battery. "This is Sarah Mathews, continuing documentation aboard the Infinity Line. We've just departed the first station, a subterranean platform overtaken by bio-luminescent plant life unlike anything in recorded botany."

She paused, then added more quietly, "The station affected me psychologically, creating an artificial sense of belonging that nearly convinced me to stay. Further investigation required to determine the mechanism of this influence."

Through the windows very minute glimpses of impossible landscapes had returned—a vast crystalline city shimmering under three moons, then shifting to an endless prairie where massive creatures grazed beneath a violet sky.

Sarah squared her shoulders. She was an investigator/analyst. This was just another story—albeit the most incredible one she'd ever encountered.

But somewhere deep inside, a tiny whisper persisted: What if there is a station truly calling to Sarah Mathews? And what would such a place reveal about her?