The Train That Never Stops

Every city has a last train.

The one that runs just before midnight. The one that carries tired workers, students half asleep, and strangers who never look at each other.

But in Mumbai, there’s a train that doesn’t exist on any schedule.

Armaan discovered it by accident.

He had missed the 11:45 PM local after staying late at work. The platform was almost empty. Just flickering lights and the distant echo of announcements.

Then he heard it.

A train approaching.

But the display board above him showed nothing. No number. No destination.

The train slid into the station silently. No screeching brakes. No sparks. Just smooth, unnatural stillness.

The doors opened.

Inside, the lights were dim. Yellow. Almost sickly.

There were passengers.

But none of them moved.

They sat stiffly in their seats, staring forward. Eyes open. Unblinking.

Armaan hesitated.

He should have waited.

He should have left.

But he was tired.

He stepped inside.

The doors closed immediately.

No conductor’s voice. No announcement.

The train began to move.

At first, everything seemed normal. The familiar tunnels rushed past. The rhythm of tracks beneath his feet was steady.

Then he noticed something strange.

They didn’t stop at the next station.

They didn’t even slow down.

Armaan checked his phone. No signal.

He walked toward the door window and looked outside.

The tunnel lights were different now.

Longer.

Farther apart.

And darker.

He turned to the passengers.

“Excuse me… which train is this?”

No response.

He leaned closer to a middle-aged man sitting near him.

The man’s eyes were open wide.

But there was no life in them.

Not asleep.

Not awake.

Just… empty.

A chill ran down Armaan’s spine.

Suddenly, the train entered another station.

But it wasn’t one he recognized.

The platform was cracked. Covered in dust. Old posters peeling from the walls.

The station sign was faded, almost unreadable.

He squinted.

The name wasn’t in Hindi. Or English.

It was scratched out.

Like someone didn’t want it remembered.

The train didn’t stop.

It passed through.

More stations followed.

Each one darker than the last.

At the third station, he saw something move on the platform.

A figure.

Standing completely still.

Watching the train pass.

Its head turned as the train moved, following him.

At the fourth station, there were dozens of figures.

Standing in rows.

All facing the train.

All watching.

Armaan’s breath became shallow.

He looked at the other passengers again.

That’s when he realized—

They weren’t random people.

They were dressed in clothes from different eras.

One man wore a 1980s office suit.

Another woman wore a school uniform style from the early 2000s.

A boy near the door wore clothing that looked decades old.

Armaan’s heart pounded.

These weren’t passengers.

They were missing people.

The train suddenly jerked.

For the first time, it slowed.

The lights flickered violently.

An announcement crackled overhead.

“Next stop… You.”

Armaan froze.

The train stopped.

The doors opened.

Outside was not a station.

It was darkness.

Endless.

Empty.

And something stood there.

Tall.

Thin.

Its body distorted like smoke trapped in a human shape.

It stepped closer to the doorway.

One of the seated passengers suddenly stood up.

Without expression.

Without resistance.

And walked out into the darkness.

The doors closed instantly.

The train moved again.

Armaan understood.

This train collected people who were forgotten.

People who disappeared.

People no one searched for long enough.

And now—

It had stopped for him.

The lights flickered again.

The announcement repeated.

“Next stop… You.”

He had seconds.

The doors began to open again.

The shadow figure reached inside.

Armaan ran.

He pushed past the frozen passengers, toward the emergency lever.

He pulled it with all his strength.

Nothing.

He pulled again.

The train screamed.

Metal shrieked.

The lights exploded into darkness.

And then—

Silence.

Armaan opened his eyes.

He was lying on the platform.

Security guards stood over him.

“You fainted,” one said. “There hasn’t been a train for fifteen minutes.”

Armaan looked at the tracks.

Empty.

Completely empty.

But as he stood up—

He saw something carved into the platform wall.

Small.

Almost hidden.

A list of names.

Hundreds of them.

At the very bottom—

A fresh scratch.

Half written.

Armaan…