The train pulled out of the station at exactly 11:45 p.m., slicing through the night like a silver bullet. Most of the passengers were asleep, lulled by the rhythmic clatter of the wheels. But not Clara.
She sat in Car 7, seat 14A, her eyes scanning the nearly empty cabin. Something felt wrong. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the air carried a stillness that didn't belong. Across the aisle, an elderly man snored softly, and a young woman a few rows back stared blankly at her phone screen, the light casting her face in an eerie blue glow.
Clara adjusted her coat and checked her phone—no signal, of course. They were in the middle of nowhere, speeding through forests and tunnels. She sighed and turned her attention to the window, where only darkness stared back.
Just as she was about to close her eyes, the train gave a sudden jolt. Lights flickered. The intercom crackled.
“This is your conductor,” came a voice, unusually calm. “Please remain seated. We’re experiencing a minor technical issue. Everything is under control.”
Clara frowned. The voice hadn’t been there before. She'd heard the conductor during boarding—it was a woman. This voice was a man’s. Flat. Robotic.
The lights steadied, but the uneasy feeling in Clara’s chest only grew heavier.
She stood, grabbing the metal pole for balance, and began walking toward the next car. The corridor felt endless, and each step echoed unnaturally. She passed the sleeping man, now eerily still. Too still. She paused and touched his shoulder.
Cold.
She jerked her hand back. He wasn’t breathing.
Heart pounding, Clara rushed into the next car. It was empty. Not a single passenger in sight. Panic rose in her throat.
She turned to go back—but the door had vanished. In its place was a smooth metal wall. Seamless.
“What the hell…” she whispered.
Then came the footsteps.
Slow. Deliberate. Behind her.
Clara spun around.
Nothing.
She turned again. A figure stood at the end of the car. Tall. Dressed in a conductor’s uniform, face hidden beneath the brim of a cap.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
No answer.
The figure took a step forward.
Clara backed away, reaching for her phone again. Still no signal.
Another step.
She ran.
Through the train cars—each more surreal than the last. One was filled with old televisions all playing static. Another, with mannequins seated like passengers, their plastic eyes tracking her movement.
She was trapped in a nightmare on rails.
Finally, breathless and terrified, she stumbled into what looked like a control room. Monitors lined the walls, showing every car. But what made her blood run cold was one particular screen: it showed her standing in the control room… with the conductor right behind her.
She spun around—
And blackness swallowed her.
Clara woke with a gasp, sprawled on the floor of Car 7. The elderly man was snoring. The young woman is still on her phone. The train moved calmly along the track.
Had it been a dream?
Her phone buzzed. A single notification.
"You shouldn't have gone looking."
No sender. Just the message.
The lights flickered again.
And outside the window, in the reflection, the conductor stood behind her—smiling.
Comments (1)
This gave me chills! Awesome work 👏