The Last Train

Here’s a chilling horror story based at a railway station:

The Last Train

It was nearly midnight when Alice arrived at the small, desolate railway station. The clock above the platform read 11:55 p.m., and the night air was unnervingly cold. She glanced around, but the station was eerily quiet. The usual bustle of travelers was absent, leaving only the faint hum of the distant train tracks and the occasional rattle of loose gravel underfoot.

Alice had missed the last train home, and now, she was stranded. Her phone had no service, and she had already tried calling a taxi, but nothing seemed to be working. She looked at the station’s schedule, but the next train wasn’t due until the morning. She sighed, resigned to the uncomfortable wait.

As she sat down on the bench, she noticed a flickering light on the far side of the platform. It was the station's old lamppost, which had been malfunctioning for years. The light buzzed, casting long, distorted shadows that danced along the tracks. She couldn’t help but feel a creeping sense of unease.

She pulled her coat tighter around her and tried to ignore the unsettling silence. It was as if the world had paused, holding its breath. But then, a strange sound broke the stillness. A low, creaking noise, like an old door opening. Alice turned quickly, expecting to see someone behind her, but the platform was still empty.

The creaking sound continued, this time followed by the unmistakable clattering of a train’s wheels on the track. Alice’s heart skipped a beat. The schedule had clearly said the last train had left hours ago, yet the sound was unmistakable—the rumbling of an approaching train.

A flash of light appeared in the distance. The train was coming. Alice stood up, squinting into the dark as the headlights grew larger. But there was something wrong. The train seemed... off.

It wasn’t like any train Alice had ever seen. It was an older, rusted locomotive, its body marked with dark stains that looked almost like dried blood. The windows were pitch black, but she could sense movement behind them—shapes, shadows. The train slowly pulled into the station, screeching to a halt, but there was no sound of passengers disembarking, no conductor calling out.

The door of one of the train cars opened with a sudden jolt, and Alice instinctively took a step back. A man in a tattered uniform appeared in the doorway, his face obscured by the dim, flickering light. He motioned for her to board.

"Last train," he muttered, his voice raspy, as if it hadn’t been used in years.

Alice hesitated. The man’s eyes were hollow, sunken deep into his skull. She should have known better than to get on, but the isolation of the station, combined with the allure of leaving the haunting place, overwhelmed her. She walked toward the train, her steps echoing on the platform.

As she climbed aboard, the door slammed shut behind her with a heavy thud. The interior of the train was far worse than the exterior—dark, dusty, and stale with a smell of decay. Alice moved down the narrow aisle, her breath catching in her throat as she passed by empty, broken seats. No one else was on board.

She took a seat by the window and gazed out, but instead of the usual scenery passing by, there was only a thick, black fog that swallowed everything. The train began to move slowly, but the sound of the wheels on the tracks was strangely muffled, as if the train was moving through a void.

Suddenly, the lights flickered out, and Alice was plunged into darkness. She reached into her bag, pulling out her phone, but it had no signal, and the screen remained black. Panic set in. She reached for the door, but it was locked from the outside.

And then she heard it. The sound of footsteps, slow and deliberate, echoing down the aisle. Alice’s pulse raced. She stood up and turned, but the aisle was empty. The footsteps continued, growing louder, as though something—or someone—was getting closer.

A cold breath swept across her neck. Alice whipped around, but there was no one there. She was alone.

The train jolted to a stop. The lights flickered back on, and the air felt thick and suffocating. Alice peered out the window and gasped in horror. The station platform was no longer visible. Instead, there was only a shadowy landscape, a vast stretch of nothingness, as though the train had entered a realm beyond the world she knew.

The door to the train car opened again, and the man in the tattered uniform appeared. His face was closer now, his eyes empty and lifeless. He smiled, but it wasn’t a smile of welcome. It was a grin of death.

“End of the line,” he whispered.

Before Alice could react, the man’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. She screamed, but no sound came out. The world around her began to fade, the train, the station, the man—all dissolving into an endless abyss.

The next morning, the station was empty, as it always was. The clock above the platform read 12:00 a.m. No one ever arrived. No one ever left.

And the last train never came.