The Last Train

The station was old-too old. It had been build decades ago, back when the city had grown out of its small town roots and the railroads were the lifeblood of the area. Now, it was a forgotten relic, an abandoned outpost barely noticed by anyone, save for the odd few who found themselves stranded or looking for a momentary escape from their busy lives.

It was just past midnight when Lena arrived at the station. The wind was biting, and the air had crisp, eerie stillness to it. The platform stretched out into the darkness, with a single dim light, flickering above the bench she chose to sit on. She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders and glanced around, half expecting someone to step out of the shadows. But there was no one. The station was empty, silent and cold.

Lena had always been a night owl. The world was quieter at night and that silence made everything more real-more raw. She preferred it this way, without the noise and bustle of the daytime crowd. But tonight felt different. Something about the place unsettled her. It was not just the time of night; it was something else-something darker.

The train would be arriving soon, or so the old, rusted clock above the platform told her. She was not in a rush to leave. There was something oddly comforting about the loneliness of the station, the way it felt suspended between the worlds. She often founded herself on the trains at night, traveling to places, she was not sure of, in a state of mind that felt like half-dreaming. Tonight, though, she was not sure where she was going, only that she needed to go. The sound of distant wheels scraping against the track broke her from her thoughts. The train was coming.

It appeared from the fog. its lights slicing through the dark like a knife. The screech of the metal wheels against the track was sharp, almost unsettling. The train slowed as it pulled into the station, its old body creaking as if it had aged beyond its years. The doors opened, but there were no conductors or attendants, just an emptiness that seemed to seep out from within the carriages themselves. Lena hesitated for a moment. But she didn’t have to think twice. She had taken this train before, or at least it felt like she had. It was as if this moment had played out countless times in her life. Her hand reached out, her fingers grazing the cold metal of the train door before stepping inside.

The inside of the train was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a single overhead light that flickered above. There were only a few people aboard—an old man sitting at the back of the carriage, staring blankly at the seat in front of him, and a woman, slouched over, her face obscured by her long hair. No one spoke. The air felt thick, heavy, almost suffocating.

Lena sat by the window, pressing her palm against the glass. The world outside was a blur of shadows and trees, the occasional flash of dimly lit houses. She could feel the train moving faster now, its momentum carrying it further into the night. The rhythmic hum of the engine soothed her, but there was still something unsettling about the quiet.

Minutes passed, or was it hours? Time felt strange here, as if it didn’t quite follow its usual rules. Lena looked at her reflection in the glass. Her tired eyes stared back at her, but there was something different in her gaze. Her reflection seemed to distort, flicker, as if it wasn’t entirely her own.

She shook her head, brushing off the thought, but the unease gnawed at her.

Suddenly, the train began to slow. The screech of the brakes brought Lena’s attention back to the present. She looked out the window as the station came into view, but it was not a station she recognized. It was small, old—too old. The buildings surrounding it were crumbling, and the platform was deserted, lit only by a few dim, flickering lights. There was no sign of life.

The train came to a full stop. Lena stood up without thinking, her feet moving before her mind had the chance to catch up. She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, not sure what was pulling her forward, but feeling an overwhelming compulsion to leave the train.

The air outside was colder than before, and as Lena stepped onto the platform, she could feel the weight of the place press down on her. The silence here was different, too. It wasn’t the peaceful kind of silence, but something more suffocating—unnerving, as if the very atmosphere had been holding its breath for too long.

The station was empty. No sign of anyone.

She walked along the platform, her footsteps echoing in the emptiness. A distant sound caught her attention—footsteps? No, it was just the wind, howling through the rusted remains of the station. She paused, glancing back at the train. The doors were still open, but the carriages were now dark, empty.

Something wasn’t right. This wasn’t part of the journey. She was sure of it. The train had never stopped here before, not in any of the rides she remembered. Her thoughts raced as she spun around, searching for a way out, but there was none. The platform stretched out before her, leading to a narrow, winding path that disappeared into the darkness. The station was isolated—there was nowhere else to go.

She felt the sudden urge to board the train again, but before she could move, a voice broke the silence.

"Leaving already?"

Lena froze.

The old man from the train was standing behind her. He was no longer sitting, but now just a few feet away, his pale eyes watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. His clothes were tattered, his face gaunt, and there was something wrong about the way he moved—too slow, too deliberate. She didn’t remember seeing him leave the train.

"Who… who are you?" Lena asked, her voice trembling.

The old man didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked up at the sky, his lips moving as if he were whispering something to himself. "I’ve been here longer than you think," he muttered, his voice low and cracked. "We all have."

Lena took a step back. The hair on her neck stood up, and a chill ran down her spine. She looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time, she realized something terrifying: his eyes didn’t blink. They just stared, unblinking, as though his gaze had been frozen in time.

Before she could react, a distant rumble filled the air. The train’s whistle blew, sharp and loud. Lena turned toward it, but to her horror, the train was moving again—slowly, without any sound of the wheels turning. It began to glide down the tracks, but it wasn’t leaving. No, it was coming back toward her, pulling toward the station as if drawn by some unseen force.

Lena’s heart raced. She spun back to the old man, but he was gone. She was alone again, but now, the station felt even more suffocating, more oppressive.

Suddenly, a figure appeared in the doorway of the train. A woman, dressed in dark clothing, her hair obscuring her face. She stepped down onto the platform, walking toward Lena with a deliberate, unnatural pace. Her footsteps were soft, but they echoed in the emptiness, growing louder with each step.

Lena wanted to run, but her legs were frozen to the spot. She tried to scream, but her voice was lost in the thick air around her. The woman came closer, and Lena could feel her presence like a weight pressing against her chest.

"Leave this place," the woman whispered, her voice hollow, as if it were coming from the depths of a long-forgotten tomb. "You cannot stay. You’re already trapped."

The words sank deep into Lena’s soul, and with a jolt, she understood. The train, the station, the old man—they were all part of the same nightmare. She wasn’t just on a journey. She was stuck in it—forever, condemned to repeat this ride until she lost all sense of time, of self.

Lena turned to run, but as her feet moved, she realized with horror that she was back where she had started—the same bench, the same cold platform, the same dark sky. The clock above the station ticked again, and she saw it. The time hadn’t changed.

It was as if nothing had happened at all.

And she was still here.

The train waited, the doors open, its lights flickering, as if beckoning her back. She had never left.

And she never would.

The Last Train had arrived.