The Last Stop

The old train station in Dunhill hadn’t seen a real passenger in over thirty years. The tracks were rusted, the benches half-swallowed by weeds, and the timetable board still clung to the year 1992 like it was afraid of the future. Yet every Thursday night, just after midnight, the same sound echoed through the forest that surrounded the station: the distant, rising whistle of a train.

Locals called it “The Midnight Whistler.”

Most folks chalked it up to the wind or some leftover prank from the teens who used to dare each other to spend a night there. But Eliza Foster knew better. She’d seen it.

Eliza had been eleven when her brother Jacob disappeared. That was the summer of '93. They had been inseparable, two adventurers with scraped knees and imaginations too big for their small town. One night, Jacob dared her to come with him to the train station to watch the ghost train arrive.

“Eliza,” he whispered, flashlight in hand, “they say the people who get on that train never come back. But what if they don’t want to come back?”

She chickened out. He didn’t.

The next morning, Jacob was gone. No footprints, no trace. Just his flashlight sitting upright on the platform like he’d placed it there gently before stepping onto something that wasn’t there.

Eliza never forgave herself.

Years passed. People forgot. Her parents moved away. Eliza stayed.

Now thirty, she wore her grief like a coat. It kept her warm in a way, familiar and heavy. She worked at the local library, read too much, talked too little. But on the last Thursday of every month, she walked down the overgrown path to the old Dunhill station, flashlight in one pocket and Jacob’s favorite slingshot in the other.

And she listened.

Most nights there was only the wind. But tonight felt different. The air was thick, like something was pressing down on the forest. Her skin prickled with static.

Then it came—the whistle.

This time, louder. Closer.

Eliza stepped out onto the platform, her breath caught in her throat.

A faint shimmer sparkled across the tracks. Then, impossibly, headlights broke through the trees, attached to an old-fashioned locomotive that shouldn’t exist. It rolled into the station silently, its metal wheels gliding without sound. No steam, no smoke, just a humming energy that seemed to vibrate in her chest.

The doors opened with a hiss.

Inside, the car was dimly lit, lined with red velvet seats. Passengers stared out with blank faces—faces that didn’t seem alive. Their skin pale, eyes distant, movements robotic.

But at the back of the train, standing just inside the last car, was Jacob.

Eliza staggered forward. “Jacob!”

His eyes met hers. They were older, tired, but him. “You came,” he said softly.

“What happened to you?” she cried.

“I tried to come back,” he said, stepping closer. “But once you’re on the train, it’s not easy. They don’t let you go without a replacement.”

The words chilled her.

“You mean… someone has to take your place?”

He nodded.

Before she could speak, movement caught her eye. A conductor—tall, gaunt, dressed in a suit that shimmered like smoke—emerged from the front car. His eyes were completely black.

“Miss Foster,” he said in a deep, echoing voice. “A seat has become available. Will you be boarding tonight?”

She looked at Jacob. “What if I do?”

“You’d free me,” he said. “But you’d ride the train until someone takes your place.”

Eliza stared into the train. The faces inside weren’t in pain—but they weren’t happy either. Trapped in some limbo between worlds. She looked at her brother, then at the conductor.

“No,” she said. “I’m not going to trade myself. But I am going to stop you.”

The conductor smiled like someone who’d heard a joke badly told. “You cannot stop what is not alive.”

Eliza took out Jacob’s slingshot.

And loaded it with a small iron marble she’d carried for years.

The conductor sneered. “Childish—”

She fired.

The marble hit him square in the forehead. He staggered back, hissing like steam bursting from a kettle. Light exploded from the wound, and the train trembled. The passengers blinked, confused, as if waking from a dream.

Jacob leapt from the car, grabbing Eliza’s hand. “Run!”

They sprinted as the train screeched, the shimmer fading behind them. By the time they looked back, it was gone.

Jacob was real. Warm. Alive.

Eliza hugged him tight. “Let’s go home.”