The Last Train

The Last Train

The fog was thick the night Ellie missed the 9:15 train.

She had been visiting her grandmother in the countryside and was now stranded at the old Harrington Station, a place half-swallowed by ivy and forgotten by time. The ticket booth was closed. The benches were empty. Not a soul in sight.

She checked her phone—no signal. The town was rural enough that technology often failed here.

“Guess I’ll wait for the 10:15,” she muttered, pulling her coat tighter against the chill.

A soft whistle echoed through the mist. It came from the tracks.

She turned and saw a light—dim and yellow—growing larger in the distance. A train?

She frowned. There was no 9:45 on the schedule.

The train rolled in silently, black and silver with no visible conductor. Its windows were dark. The air felt suddenly heavy. The sign on the side, barely legible, read: Harrington Limited – Final Service.

The doors slid open with a hiss.

Ellie hesitated, then stepped forward. “Hello? Is this the 10:15?”

No answer.

She stepped inside.

The interior was old-fashioned—velvet seats, oil lamps, wood-paneled walls. It smelled of dust and old perfume. A man sat near the back, dressed in a dark suit and bowler hat. He didn’t look up.

The door sealed shut behind her.

The train jerked forward.

Ellie took a seat, uneasy. “Excuse me, sir?” she called to the man.

He slowly raised his head.

His eyes were clouded white.

Ellie’s heart skipped. She stood, ready to leave—but the doors were sealed. The windows outside were black, as if the train was running through a tunnel with no end.

The man spoke in a voice low and hoarse: “It’s too late to leave now.”

She stumbled back. “What is this place?”

He tilted his head. “The last ride for those who’ve been forgotten.”

“I’m not—I'm not supposed to be here!” Ellie cried. “I missed my train, that’s all!”

The man’s expression didn’t change. “No one boards this train by accident.”

The train began to change. The wood faded into rot. The velvet crumbled into dust. The lamps flickered, revealing peeling walls and broken glass. In the reflection of the window, Ellie saw them—passengers. Dozens of them, seated silently. Hollow-eyed. Lifeless.

She backed away.

“No,” she whispered. “This isn’t real.”

But then she remembered.

The road.

The flash of headlights.

The sound of her grandmother screaming her name.

The car...

She hadn’t missed the train.

She had never even reached the station.

Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

The man finally nodded. “This is your last journey.”

“But I’m not ready!” she cried.

A long pause.

“There may be... another way,” he said, gesturing to a faded emergency door at the end of the car.

“What's through there?”

“Not many make it back. Fewer try.”

She didn’t hesitate.

Ellie ran.

The emergency door opened with a scream of metal, revealing nothing but darkness beyond. She jumped.

The wind howled in her ears.

Then—

She gasped.

Her eyes opened to blinding light.

White walls. Beeping monitors. A nurse shouting for the doctor.

Ellie was alive.

Back at Harrington Station, a train rolled in through the fog.

It sat quietly, doors open, waiting.

For the next forgotten soul.