The Last Passenger

The platform was eerily silent, the kind of quiet that pressed against the ears like cotton. Jacob checked his phone: 11:42 PM. The train station’s clock hung crooked, its hands frozen at some indeterminate time. The last train to nowhere, he joked to himself, trying to shake the unease settling in his chest.

When the train pulled in, its screeching brakes echoed through the empty station. The windows were dark, the cars lifeless. He hesitated, but the cold bit at his resolve, and he stepped aboard.

Inside, the carriage was dimly lit, with flickering fluorescent bulbs casting unsettling shadows. He was alone. Or so he thought.

Jacob chose a seat near the middle of the car and settled in, clutching his duffel bag like a lifeline. The train lurched forward, and the rhythmic clatter of wheels on tracks began. He tried to relax, but something about the stillness of the train set his nerves on edge.

Minutes passed, or was it hours? Time felt fluid. The train’s windows revealed nothing but impenetrable darkness, as if the outside world had ceased to exist. Then, he heard it—a faint rustle, like fabric brushing against metal.

He froze, his breath caught in his throat. Turning his head slowly, he scanned the carriage. Nothing. Just the empty rows of seats stretching into the dimness. He shook his head, laughing nervously at his overactive imagination.

The lights flickered again, longer this time. When they stabilized, Jacob’s heart nearly stopped. A figure sat two rows behind him.

The person—or thing—was shrouded in darkness, their face obscured. Jacob’s throat tightened as he forced himself to turn away, pretending he hadn’t noticed. But he could feel it. The weight of its gaze burned into the back of his neck.

He couldn’t take it anymore. Summoning his courage, he twisted around. The seat was empty.

Jacob’s pulse thundered in his ears. He stood, gripping the seat in front of him for balance, and slowly moved toward the back of the car. “Hello?” he called, his voice trembling.

No response.

He reached the last row. Empty.

Before he could sigh in relief, the train jolted violently, throwing him to the floor. The lights cut out completely, plunging him into darkness.

Panic clawed at his chest as he scrambled to his feet. He fumbled for his phone, activating the flashlight. The narrow beam sliced through the gloom, illuminating the empty rows.

Except they weren’t empty.

Figures stood in every aisle, their faces pale and expressionless, their eyes milky white. Jacob stumbled back, nearly dropping his phone. The figures didn’t move, but their presence was suffocating.

The train screeched again, this time louder, more agonized, as if the very metal of its frame was protesting. The figures began to move, slow and deliberate, stepping toward him in unison.

Jacob turned and ran, weaving through the aisles, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The figures were relentless, their footsteps unnaturally heavy, echoing louder with each second.

He reached the door to the next carriage and yanked it open. The train shuddered, and for a moment, he considered jumping off into the void outside. But the nothingness beyond the train seemed more terrifying than what was inside.

The next car was worse. Graffiti scrawled in an unknown language covered the walls, and the air reeked of decay. A single figure sat at the end of the car, head bowed, motionless.

“Please,” Jacob whispered, his voice cracking. “What do you want?”

The figure raised its head, revealing a face that was somehow his own, twisted in a grotesque grin. “You can’t escape,” it said in a voice that echoed with a hundred whispers.

The lights flickered again, and Jacob found himself back in the first car, sitting in his original seat. The train was silent once more, the figures gone.

But the reflection in the window opposite him was wrong. It grinned at him, even as his own face remained frozen in terror.

The train rolled on into the endless dark, and Jacob realized with chilling certainty: there were no stops on this line.

He was the last passenger. Forever.