The Whispers Beneath

They said the old subway station was cursed, but Mira and her friends never believed in ghost stories. Until that night. The air inside was cold and stale, thick with the scent of rust, mold, and something else—something rotting. Their footsteps echoed endlessly, but there was always a second set, just behind them, perfectly in sync. Strange graffiti covered the walls, but one sentence kept appearing, scrawled over and over in faded red: “Do not listen to the whispers.”

At first, they joked about it. Jay even whistled into the tunnel to hear the echo bounce back. But it wasn’t an echo that answered. It was a whisper. A soft, scratchy voice that hissed from the darkness, calling his name. "Jay... come closer." They all froze, shining their flashlights around, but the station stretched on into endless black.

Then Veer vanished. One second he was right behind them, and the next... gone. His flashlight lay spinning on the ground, the beam shaking as if something had yanked him away mid-step. There was no scream. No sound. Just absence.

They searched and shouted for him, but the only reply was the whispers, growing louder, circling around them. Something moved on the ceiling above—long, thin shadows that slithered like insects, following their every step. Rohan swore he saw a hand reach from the wall, bony fingers dragging across his shoulder, but when he spun around, there was nothing there except cold, empty air.

Jay’s flashlight flickered and died. Total darkness swallowed them. In that silence, Mira heard slow, heavy breathing right next to her ear. Then came the scraping sound, and when the lights returned, Jay’s back was bleeding. Deep scratches had torn through his shirt from the inside, as if something had been clawing to get out of him.

Panic set in, but the tunnels twisted and shifted like a living thing. Every stairwell led back to the same platform. And that's when they found the old newspaper clippings, plastered along the rusted walls—headlines from decades ago: "Passengers Vanish on Final Train Ride", "The Forgotten Commuters Still Missing", "Station Closed After Unexplained Deaths."

And then Mira realized the truth. The whispers weren’t warning them. They were welcoming them. This was never a station. It was a trap. A feeding ground.

One by one, her friends were pulled into the shadows, their screams short and sharp before they disappeared for good. The whispers grew louder, repeating the same phrase over and over: “All aboard. All aboard. All aboard.”

Mira ran. She didn't stop until sunlight hit her face, and for a moment, she thought she was safe. The world looked normal again. Cars passed. Birds chirped. People laughed. But as she turned down her street, she heard it.

A whisper. Soft and clear.

“Next stop... Mira’s house.”

She stopped walking. The air felt cold again. From the corner of her eye, she saw a figure standing beneath the streetlamp, watching her. Veer? Jay? Or something wearing their faces.

And somewhere, deep underground, the last train started moving again.