Cindy Colburn

I hated getting the late train. 

It wasn’t even that late—just past seven—but the station always felt slightly off in the evenings. Too quiet. Too empty. The kind of silence that makes you hyper-aware of every sound: the hum of the overhead lights, the faint scrape of shoes against concrete, the rustling of the wind in the hedges beyond the tracks.

I stood near the platform's edge, shifting my weight from foot to foot. My school blazer wasn’t doing much against the cold, and the mist curling across the platform made it feel even colder. My phone was dead—naturally—so all I could do was watch the clock above the waiting area.

7:16. The train was late.

A gust of wind stirred the loose papers on the ground. One fluttered toward my feet, and I bent to pick it up.

It was a missing poster. Cindy Colburn’s face stared back at me from the crumpled paper. Blonde hair tucked behind her ears. Wide blue eyes. The words MISSING screamed across the top in bold black letters.

She’d been gone for nearly a year.

I didn’t know Cindy all that well. We’d been in a few classes together. I’d seen her at lunch sometimes, sitting with her friends or laughing near the lockers. We’d spoken maybe twice.

But everyone had heard the stories after she disappeared. About the last time someone saw her—walking home alone from a party, cutting through the woods to save time. About how her mum sat outside the police station for weeks afterward, clutching Cindy’s jacket in her lap. About the fact that no one ever found her.

After a few months, the search quieted down. The police stopped coming around school. People stopped whispering about it in the hallways. It became… one of those things. A terrible story that happened to someone else.

Still, I thought about her sometimes. Little things would remind me. A flash of blonde hair in a crowd, the sound of someone laughing down the hall. Once, I could have sworn I heard her voice behind me, soft and breathless. When I turned, no one was there.

My fingers tightened around the edges of the paper. A cold wind bit through my blazer. My breath fogged in the air.

A sound drifted through the platform—a soft shuffle, like footsteps. I glanced toward the far end.

A man stood beneath the flickering light.

I hadn’t noticed him arrive.

He was tall, wearing a dark coat, his head bent low, so the shadow of his hood obscured his face. He wasn’t moving. Just standing there. Still.

A chill slid down my spine.

The speaker above me crackled to life, a distorted voice murmuring something low and garbled before cutting to static. My pulse tightened.

When I glanced back toward the man, he was gone.

My stomach flipped. I took a step back toward the shelter, my eyes sweeping the platform. Empty.

A deep rumbling vibrated through the ground. Headlights pierced the fog. The train screeched to a halt in front of me, the doors sliding open with a hiss.

I hesitated for half a second before stepping inside.

The carriage was empty. Not unusual for this late, but somehow it felt… wrong.

I slid into a seat near the window. My reflection stared back at me, pale and wide-eyed beneath the harsh fluorescent lights. The train jolted into motion, the dark landscape sliding past outside. I closed my eyes and breathed out.

And then it hit me.

My notebook.

My eyes shot open. No, no, no. I could picture it sitting on the desk in the English classroom—the co          ver slightly bent, pages filled with notes. All my research. All the details about the case I’d been digging into.

I stood as the train slowed toward the next station. My hand gripped the pole as it stopped with a jolt.

The doors slid open. I stepped out.

…

The school gates were open when I reached them. That was the first strange thing.

They usually locked them at six sharp, but tonight they were wide open. The path to the main building stretched ahead of me, lined with low hedges. The security lights flickered weakly, their glow barely cutting through the thick fog.

My footsteps sounded unnaturally loud on the tarmac.

The side door was unlocked too.

My stomach twisted. I hesitated, then pushed it open and slipped inside.

The hallway was dimly lit by the green glow of the emergency exit signs. The overhead lights buzzed faintly. The air was cold and stale, the kind of chill that settles in places left untouched for too long.

I walked toward the English classroom. My footsteps echoed down the corridor.

The door was slightly open. My breath hitched. Slowly, I pushed it wide.

My notebook sat on the desk, exactly where I’d left it. Relief unwound through my chest. I stepped inside.

And that’s when I smelled it.

Coppery. Sharp.

Blood.

A soft sound came from the back of the room.

I froze.

My eyes swept the room, toward the supply cupboard. The door was ajar.

A dark shape lay half-hidden behind it.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Slowly, I stepped toward it.

It was a body.

A girl.

My breath snagged in my throat. Her school shirt was stained dark with blood, the front torn open. Her face was turned toward me, pale and slack. Blonde hair fanned across the floor. Her eyes, glassy and wide, stared blankly at the ceiling.

Cindy.

My hand shot to my mouth.

A noise from the hallway.

Footsteps.

Slow and measured.

Through the gap beneath the desk, I saw polished black shoes. Male. Someone older. The shoes stopped next to Cindy’s body.

A hand—pale and slender—reached down and brushed a strand of hair away from Cindy’s face.

My breath stopped.

The hand withdrew. The shoes turned toward the door.

And then the person crouched.

A pale face appeared beneath the desk. A man. Sharp cheekbones, dark eyes. His gaze met mine, and he smiled faintly.

“There you are,” he whispered.

My breath hitched.

I spun toward the window and pushed it open.

Two storeys down.

I didn’t think. I climbed onto the desk, swung my legs through the gap—

And jumped.

The impact sent a sickening crack through my leg. Pain exploded up my shin and into my knee. I screamed, hitting the cold ground hard.

But I couldn’t stop.

I forced myself to my feet. My leg screamed in protest, but I pushed forward, stumbling across the frozen grass.

Behind me, I heard the door unlocking.

Footsteps.

Closing in.

I ran.

Each step was agony. Hot, white pain shot through my leg with every impact. But I didn’t stop.

The man’s voice carried through the dark. Soft. Calm.

“Come back.”

I pushed harder. The streetlights blurred through the haze of tears. My breaths were ragged and sharp.

Ahead of me, the lights of the station came into view.

I didn’t look back.

I ran until I reached the platform, where a train was pulling in. I threw myself toward the doors, my hands shaking as I climbed inside.

The doors slid shut behind me.

I collapsed into a seat, gasping for air. My whole body was shaking. My leg throbbed painfully beneath me.

The train jolted forward. I watched the dark platform disappear behind me.

The missing poster was still clutched in my hand.

And beneath Cindy’s wide, glassy eyes, someone had scrawled two words in thin black ink:

You’re next.