The Last Train to Nowhere

Prologue: The 11:59 PM

Metro Transit Security Footage Transcript

Date: 10/31/23 - Camera 14B - 23:59:17

[Unidentified male, late 20s, staggers onto Platform 7]

[Static at 00:00:00. 17-second gap]

[Frame returns - platform empty. New thermal signature detected on tracks.]

The rails hummed to life at exactly midnight.

No announcement. No schedule update. Just the slow approach of a train that shouldn't exist - its obsidian-black cars absorbing the station lights, windows reflecting my face back at me with a half-second delay.

The doors hissed open.

Above them, a flickering destination board cycled through impossible names:

NOWHERE

THE TERMINUS

YOUR FINAL STOP

Chapter 1: The Missing Riders

NYPD Missing Persons Database Excerpt

Case #1994-4471: Martin Voss, last seen Grand Central, 11:55 PM

Case #2007-8823: Lucy Cho, reported missing by train crew

All files note: "Victim purchased ticket to non-existent location"

The train's interior smelled like a hospital corridor - antiseptic and something underneath, coppery and sweet. Names covered every surface, carved into windows, etched into seat backs:

MARTIN - SEAT 14B

LUCY - SEAT 22A

DANIEL - TOILET MIRROR

My phone displayed a single bar of signal. A text from my sister blinked through:

"Where are you? The last train left an hour ago."

As I typed a reply, the message timestamp changed to September 18, 1994.

Chapter 2: The Rules

Transit Worker Union Manifesto (1992)

"They call it 'The Ghost Train' but we know better. If you see it:

1. Don't acknowledge other passengers

2. Never look directly at the Conductor

3. Exit only when you hear the screaming"

The lights flickered. For three heartbeats, the car filled with passengers - a businessman with a 1990s cellphone, a woman in a Y2K-era dress, all reading newspapers with the same headline:

LOCAL VANISHES WITHOUT TRACE

Then darkness.

When the lights returned, only one remained - a teenage girl clutching a ticket stub that read ONE WAY.

"You're not supposed to be here," she whispered. "This train only takes people who are already gone."

Chapter 3: The Conductor

Cold Case File - Detective Rosa Mendez (2001)

"Victim's metro card shows exit at abandoned 'Nowhere Station.' Security cameras show him boarding Train 814, which was out of service that night..."

The Conductor moved down the aisle like a film skipping frames.

His uniform was immaculate 1940s vintage. His face -

smooth.

No eyes. No mouth. Just faint indentations where features should be, like a plaster mold waiting to be filled.

In his gloved hand, a hole punch hovered over my chest.

Tickets, his voice echoed directly into my skull, are paid in memories.

The girl grabbed my arm. "Don't let him take your name!"

Chapter 4: The Ticket

Letter Found in 1987 Time Capsule

"They harvest what makes you you. Your first kiss. Your mother's voice. I gave them my childhood to ride one stop. The man across from me? He paid with his entire face."

The train's scream wasn't mechanical.

It was alive - a chorus of every passenger who'd ever boarded, their voices woven into the steel.

The girl shoved a ticket into my hand - her ticket, dated the night of her junior prom.

"Get off at the red light," she begged as the Conductor's gloves began unstitching where his mouth should be. "Before he realizes you don't belong!"

The doors opened onto a platform lit by a single crimson bulb.

Behind me, the newspapers fluttered to the floor.

Every headline the same:

YOU SHOULDN'T BE HERE

Epilogue: The Next Passenger

MTA Service Alert - Current

"Unauthorized train operating on Line 7. Do not engage. Do not board."

They found me wandering the tracks at dawn, ten miles from civilization.

My phone showed 147 missed calls.

The ticket in my pocket is dissolving - the ink bleeding into my skin, the date changing to October 31, 2023.

Sometimes at midnight, I return to the station.

Watch the platform clocks stutter at 11:59.

And when the rails begin to hum, I see them - the waiting passengers with their outdated clothes, their featureless faces turning toward the newest arrival.

Tonight, it's a woman in a familiar coat.

Her ticket reads ONE WAY.

Her destination?

NOWHERE.