The Man in the Red Cap

She took the same train every morning at 7:03, sitting in the same seat, and gazing out of the same window. Her life was regimented—gratifying regimentation. But it all ended that morning when she saw him.

He had a red hat on. Not fire truck red, but sun-worn and old, the kind of hat that had a history. He was sitting two rows in front of her. She might not have seen him otherwise, unless for one detail: he did not blink. His eyes moved back and forth across the train, side to side, like a surveillance camera set to repeat.

The following day, there he was. Same seat. Same cap. Same scowl. He did turn his head, however, slightly, and Ava swears she caught him glancing at her. Her gut knotted.

She tried to brush it off—maybe he was also a regular rider like she was. But the next day, he didn't show up.

Instead, another person was in his seat. A suited gray man. She wouldn't have raised an eyebrow—except that he shared the same face. Same eyes. Same look.

Ava's heart was racing in her chest. Was she losing her mind? She took a photo on her phone. Blurry, but something was off. That night, she reverse searched the image on the internet—and discovered something implausible.

Missing persons report. Five. Name: Elijah Ward. Last seen boarding a train in the very same city Ava had been living in.

Her hands were shaking as she scrolled. The photograph on the report was the same as the man in the red hat.

The following day, he returned. Red hat. Eyes locked on hers.

He mouthed a word.

"Run."

She froze. The train roared into the station. People began to shuffle off. He was nowhere to be seen.

At the office, Ava couldn't concentrate. She reopened the photograph. And something was different this time.

The background was different. Dark. Grainy. Like a tunnel underground. But she hadn't altered the photo. Hadn't even touched it.

And now, there was a timestamp: 7:03 a.m., tomorrow.

She did not sleep that night. Her phone rang at midnight—an unknown number.

"Don't get on the train."

Ava had no intention of. But curiosity kills.

So at 7:01 a.m., she stood on the platform, by a pillar, and watched as the sliding doors on the train open.

Inside, vacant… except for the man in the red hat.

He glanced up.

And smiled.