The Last Train Home

Zara had missed the last train, and the station was nearly empty except for the dim flicker of the fluorescent lights overhead. Rain poured outside, pooling along the tracks, and the wind made the station feel colder than it should have been. She had been working late and had lost track of time, and now the realization that she would have to wait in the empty, echoing building made her stomach tighten. The benches were wet from condensation, the ticket booths abandoned, and the usual murmur of late-night travelers absent. She wrapped her coat tighter and tried to focus on the soft hum of the electric boards, ignoring the sense of being watched.

Minutes passed slowly, each one heavier than the last. Zara tried to tell herself it was just fatigue. She had walked home from this station countless times and had never felt a sense of danger. Yet tonight felt different. Shadows stretched along the walls, thicker, darker than normal, and the occasional flicker of lights made her heart jump. When she looked down the tracks, she noticed a train approaching, its headlights bright but oddly dim, like smoke was muffling the beams. She felt relief at first, thinking it might be the last train, until it slowed and stopped without opening its doors. No conductor, no passengers visible.

Curiosity mixed with fear, and Zara felt compelled to step closer. Her reflection appeared faintly in the wet floor, but it didn’t match her movements exactly. She paused, blinking, and then it moved again—slightly out of sync. The hairs on her arms prickled, and she realized the station had grown quieter. The sound of dripping water seemed amplified, echoing unnaturally. She thought about leaving, running back toward the exit, but some invisible pull kept her rooted to the spot.

Then a voice whispered. Soft, low, barely audible, yet unmistakable. “Zara…” She spun around. The platform was empty. Her breath quickened. Another whisper: “Come with me.” The voice seemed to come from the train, yet also from behind her. Panic surged. She took a step back, feeling the chill of the wind cut through her coat, and realized she had no idea who—or what—was calling her.

The train doors opened silently, revealing a dark interior. No seats, no lights, only an endless blackness stretching into the carriage. A strange fog drifted along the floor, curling toward her feet. Her instincts screamed to run, yet something inside urged her forward. She took a tentative step onto the first step. The fog rose around her ankles, cold and heavy, pulling her closer. The whisper repeated, more insistent now: “You belong here…”

Zara’s heart pounded as she tried to step back, but the step behind her had vanished. The platform, the benches, the exit—everything she knew was gone. Only the train, the fog, and the whispers remained. Her mind raced. How could this be happening? She had always been careful, always observant. Yet here she was, trapped in a place that shouldn’t exist, unable to return.

Then the train lurched forward silently. The black interior seemed to stretch endlessly, and Zara felt herself being drawn into a tunnel of shadows. The whispers became laughter, soft and cruel, echoing inside her mind. Every instinct screamed that she should fight, that she should leap back into the world she knew, but her body refused to move.

Minutes—or hours—passed. She had no way to measure time. The lights outside were gone, replaced by a dark void. She realized with growing horror that the train was not going to take her home. It was taking her somewhere else. Somewhere she did not belong. And when she finally understood, the laughter grew louder, wrapping around her like chains.

The last train home had come. Zara had missed it long ago.