The Passenger of Darkness

The old train station stood at the edge of the city, shrouded in an unsettling silence. Locals called it the "Black Station," a name that carried whispers of dread and mystery. Its crumbling red brick walls were veined with ivy, and the shattered windows seemed to stare like hollow eyes into the void. The platform was littered with broken benches, and the air was thick with the scent of rust and decay. At the center of it all stood an ancient clock, its hands frozen at 3:17—a time no one could explain. The station had been abandoned for decades, but the stories surrounding it were very much alive. People claimed to hear faint whispers, the distant clatter of wheels, and even ghostly wails echoing through the night. Some said a train had vanished here long ago, taking its passengers into the unknown.

Rahul, a passionate photographer, had always been drawn to the macabre beauty of abandoned places. When he heard about the Black Station, he knew he had to see it for himself. On a cold winter night, under the pale glow of a crescent moon, he arrived at the station. The air was unnaturally still, and the crunch of dry leaves beneath his boots seemed unnaturally loud. He adjusted his camera and began exploring, capturing the haunting details of the decaying structure.

As he walked along the platform, a faint sound reached his ears—a low, rhythmic chugging, like the distant hum of a train engine. Rahul froze. That was impossible. The station had been deserted for years. He strained his ears, and the sound grew louder, closer. His heart pounded as he followed the noise to the far end of the platform. There, shrouded in a thin veil of mist, stood an old train. Its black carriages gleamed faintly under the moonlight, and the doors hung open, inviting him inside.

Rahul hesitated. The train looked ancient, yet it seemed to hum with a strange, otherworldly energy. Against his better judgment, he stepped inside the first carriage. The interior was pristine, as if it had been untouched by time. The seats were upholstered in deep red velvet, and the windows sparkled as though freshly polished. But something felt off. The air was colder inside, and a faint, metallic smell lingered.

As he moved deeper into the train, he noticed a figure sitting in one of the seats. It was a man dressed in a faded, old-fashioned suit, his face pale and gaunt. The man turned to Rahul and smiled—a smile that didn’t reach his hollow eyes. "Are you boarding this train?" he asked, his voice echoing unnaturally.

Rahul’s instincts screamed at him to leave, but curiosity held him in place. "Where does this train go?" he asked.

The man’s smile widened. "To a place beyond time. But be warned—once you board, you can never leave."

Before Rahul could respond, the train lurched forward. He stumbled, grabbing onto a seat for support. The doors slammed shut, and the lights flickered before going out completely. Panic surged through him as he rushed to the nearest window. Outside, the platform was receding into the distance, swallowed by the darkness. The train was moving, but there were no tracks beneath it—only an endless void.

The other passengers began to appear. They were shadowy figures, their faces blurred and indistinct. Some sat silently, staring ahead with empty eyes, while others whispered in a language Rahul couldn’t understand. The air grew colder, and the metallic smell intensified. He realized with growing horror that the train wasn’t just carrying passengers—it was feeding on them. Their presence seemed to sustain it, binding them to its endless journey.

Rahul tried to find a way out, but every door was sealed shut. The windows refused to break, no matter how hard he struck them. Desperation set in as he realized the truth: he was trapped. The train had claimed him, just as it had claimed the others.

When morning came, the locals found Rahul’s camera lying on the platform, its lens cracked and its memory card wiped clean. There was no sign of Rahul, but the stories about the Black Station grew darker. Some claimed to see a faint light moving through the forest at night, accompanied by the distant sound of a train whistle. Others swore they saw Rahul’s face in the windows of the old station, his expression frozen in terror.

The Black Station remained abandoned, a place where the living dared not tread. And somewhere in the endless void, the ghost train continued its journey, collecting passengers who would never return.

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