16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYpDe7nBoBxA Short Story By Pallavi Das
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A cold winter night. Sitting alone on a bench at a platform, waiting for the last train of the night, hearing a horror story and sipping my last coffee of the day. Not noticing that there was no one else on the platform except me.
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As a writer, I tend to travel to different places to learn new things, which helps me write new stories. Unusual places have always fascinated me. Empty streets, forgotten buildings, and abandoned stations—they all seemed to hide stories waiting to be told.
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When I arrived at Ravenshire Station that morning, nothing about it seemed unusual. I stepped off the morning train, and the platform looked completely normal. People were walking around, waiting for trains that would take them to their destinations. At that moment, I wondered how people could believe in superstitions about a haunted station or a train that carried souls instead of living passengers. I chuckled to myself.
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That night, my journey led me back to the same platform.
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Before leaving the hotel, the receptionist asked me one question.
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"If the last train arrives... don't get on it."
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I smiled, thinking it was nothing more than a local superstition.
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As I was busy listening to a spooky story, suddenly I heard someone calling my name. I had forgotten to bring my headphones with me today. So when I heard someone calling my name, out of habit, I looked up, but there was no one. Thinking maybe I was imagining it, I ignored it and kept concentrating on the story.
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I placed my paper coffee cup on the bench. A few minutes later, I noticed another paper cup sitting beside mine. It was warm, and steam was rising from it. I thought to myself, it was strange that no one had walked past me, and there was no one else on the platform except me.
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A few moments passed. Suddenly, I felt someone breathing on the back of my neck, and I jumped to my feet. There was nothing there. Feeling uneasy, I started to get scared.
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Wondering when the train would come, I stopped the podcast. My surroundings suddenly felt eerie. I could hear a wolf howling somewhere in the distance.
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After a few moments, I heard the whistle of the train coming from afar. The train emerged through the fog and stopped with a metallic screech. I hurriedly put my stuff in my bag. It was already midnight, and I was feeling really tired. I barely looked at the train. Exhausted from the day's travel, all I wanted was a seat.
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No one stepped out of the train. As I was about to get on, the lights flickered. I got on the train. A few passengers were scattered throughout the carriage, sitting so quietly that the gentle rattle of the train sounded louder than their presence. At the back, a woman sat quietly, staring out of the window while an old man read a newspaper. I decided to sit at the back of the train, where the woman was sitting. Not sitting beside her, I chose the seat opposite her. There was a businessman holding a briefcase on his lap, a mother gently rocking a child asleep in her arms, and an elderly couple sitting side by side without exchanging a single word.
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Strangely, they all wore vintage clothing.
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"Hi!... Is this train going to Millbrook Station?" I asked, trying to start a conversation. No reply came from anyone.
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With a shake and a whistle, the train started moving. Being ignored, I opened the train app to see if this train was going to my destination or if I needed to get off at the next stop. Apparently, there was no cell service. Therefore, there was only one option: to wait and see whether the train reached my destination or not.
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As there was no service, I couldn't continue listening to the horror story anymore. Therefore, I was bound to do something else to pass the time. I opened my trusted white Book Lover tote bag, which I take everywhere I go. It has everything in it. From there, I took out my journal, where I write things that inspire me, new ideas for my upcoming book, and my favourite vintage fountain pen.
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As I was writing, I glanced at the newspaper the old man was reading. The newspaper caught my attention. Its pages were yellowed with age, and the headline was printed in thick black letters unlike those in modern newspapers. Curious, I leaned forward just enough to read the date.
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16 September 1920.
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That was the date printed on the paper.
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"That's strange... How can that... why is he..." I murmured, wondering why someone would be reading such an old newspaper.
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Then my eyes drifted to the bold headline.
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"Train No. 1317 Derails Near Ravenshire Station.”
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A chill ran down my spine.
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That made something stir in my memory. The hotel helper's warning before I left echoed in my mind.
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"Whatever you do..."
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"...don't board the last train."
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At the time, I had laughed it off as another local superstition.
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"Hey!... That's not today's newspaper," I said to the old man.
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I looked towards the woman. She was still staring out of the window with a deadpan expression. I asked her, "Why is this man reading such an old newspaper?" It didn't feel like she could hear me or anything.
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All of a sudden, I heard the old man say, "You should have listened."
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"Huh!?"
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Then he slowly lowered his newspaper. Without looking surprised, he said in an eerily ethereal voice,
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"You should have listened to what they all said about the last train."
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"What!?”
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The whole carriage suddenly felt eerie. I looked around the carriage. Only then did I notice the smooth wooden frame around the window. The seat beneath me was covered in deep maroon velvet instead of the usual fabric. Above my head, a brass luggage rack reflected the warm amber light. The carriage looked as though it had been preserved from another era.
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I looked around again. The carriage felt fuller than before. I couldn't remember seeing so many passengers when I first boarded. One by one, they all slowly turned their heads towards me. No one blinked. No one spoke a single word. They simply stared at me.
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The old man slowly folded the newspaper, looked directly into my eyes, and said,
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"The last train isn't for the living... It's for those who never made it home."
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A few seconds later, the old man stood up. Then the others followed, one by one. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Unable to understand what was happening, I stood up trembling. They all started walking towards me.
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I started to run, but there was nowhere to escape.
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They all began whispering over and over,
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"The last train isn't for the living... It's for those who never made it home.”
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With a shriek, I closed my eyes and crouched down, not knowing what would happen to me.
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Then suddenly, someone jolted me.
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"Ahhh!" I woke up with a shriek.
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"Hey!... Hey!... Ma-am…. Ar... are you all right?" the auto driver asked. "We've reached your destination."
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"Huh?... What?"
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"Ravenshire Station," he replied. "We're here."
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I looked around in confusion, trying to catch my breath.
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"Bad dream, huh..." he said with a small laugh.
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Not knowing what to say, I just stared at him.
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"You were talking in your sleep all the way here."
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Then I suddenly realised maybe I had been having a nightmare.
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The thought kept running through my head. How could it be a dream? It felt so real.
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To reassure myself, I went through my bag, taking out each thing one by one.
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"Phone... Journal... Fountain pen..."
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Everything seemed to be exactly where it should be.
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"Gosh..." I let out a sigh of relief.
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Finally, I reached for my wallet.
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"How much?" I asked, still trying to steady my breathing.
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The driver told me the fare.
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As I pulled out a few notes, something small slipped out of my wallet and landed on my lap.
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I frowned.
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It wasn't money.
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It was a small, yellowed newspaper clipping.
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My heart skipped a beat.
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Slowly, I unfolded it.
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Train No. 1317 Derails Near Ravenshire Station
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16 September 1920
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I stared at the clipping in disbe
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lief.
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I had never taken it.
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Slowly, I looked up at Ravenshire Station.
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Somewhere in the distance...
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A train whistle echoed through the morning mist.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZAOTyhljfn
and then Add to home screen.