The Midnight Train
Did I enter the wrong train?
The railway clock struck twelve.
The air was ominously creepy that night.
Something in my head begged me to run back home.
Still, I had to catch the midnight train to Gloomburg.
The railway station was ill-lit; shadows crawled up everywhere. The air was heavy, as if the night was alive and watching. Deserted benches, much too dusty and forgotten, seemed remnants of a time no one remembered. Old, flickering bulbs danced in the breeze, casting a sickly yellow glow. Their dim light barely reached the ground, tingeing everything beneath in a ghoulish shade of sepia. Every step I took echoed, as though the station waited for something to happen.
Behind the ticket-selling counter, there was only one employee present. His eyes nervously doing the rounds of the station. Whenever they fell upon me, his gaze immediately started getting sharper. Something about his stare was naggingly disturbing. His glare, without bashfulness, wasn’t a result of curiosity but as though he knew something I didn’t. It was as if it was something dark. For a moment, I thought I should turn back, but I needed to take the train.
A distant rumble shook me from my thoughts.
“Aah, finally!” I whispered aloud as the midnight train hurtled its way toward the station. From the bowels of darkness, it emerged like a hungry serpent: pitch black on the outside and hardly lit inside.
The groaning of the train was heard as it came to a stop, its wheels shrieking in protest against the tracks. Without thinking, desperate to get out from under the haunting embrace of that cursed platform, I ran toward the first door in front of me. But once inside, I did not feel relieved; I only felt a growing sense of dread.
Dim lights overhead blinked on and off at irregular intervals, casting strange and wavering shadows. In those short periods of darkness, I could have sworn something was in motion; something slithering, right out of my line of vision. It was hard to distinguish what was real and what my mind was conjuring up in its panic.
It was a heavy door that closed with a thud behind me. The unusual howl-like hooting the train emitted sent me flying off my feet to land hard onto an empty seat. Dazed, I lifted my head to take in the other passengers. With absolute shock, I saw them all dressed up in witches, skeletons, and ghouls. Their masks were unnervingly lifelike, the eyes glinting under the dim lights.
A chill went down my spine. It wasn’t Halloween.
The train jerked forward, moving quicker now through the blackness outside. The other passengers, silent, not moving, stared ahead as if waiting for something. Every fibre in my body was screaming to get off, but now it was racing through the black void. There would be no getting away now.
A woman in a tattered bride’s costume sat across from me; the veil mostly obscured her face. Pale, bony hands grasped a bouquet of dead flowers. She turned her head ever so slightly, her eyes locking onto mine. Slow and cold, a smile crept onto her face.
Every time I turned away, I could have sworn I had eyes on me.
The weight of an invisible gaze pressed against my back, like cold fingers trailing down my skin. But when I turned around — nothing. Only the eerie, silent passengers, still as statues.
I stood up, the beating of my heart was echoing in my chest, and I staggered toward the back of the carriage. My breathing quickened as the air grew heavier at every step. I felt every passenger’s eyes follow me, though not one of them moved.
The groan this time was louder; it sounded like something was pushing down on the train. I turned to the door at the end of the carriage; it wouldn’t open for me. Panic set in. I turned back to see the bride standing — for the first time, her veil fully lifted. Her face was hollow, skin pale as bone, eyes deep and sunken. She moved toward me, her steps slow but deliberate.
The train lurched, and I was flung against the door. I reached for the handle, tugging at it, my heart in my throat. A faint, whispering voice seemed to emanate from the carriage itself. It wasn’t coming from any of the passengers, but from deeper inside the train.
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I turned back to the bride, and she was no longer there.
There was nothing in the aisle.
I backed against the door, my breath heavy, but it was short-lived. There was a low, harsh laugh that filled the air, seeming to come from all directions. The lights above flickered, their eerie shadows twisting and dancing along the walls. The other passengers still sat, but they started to laugh along with it; heads turned in my direction, faces distorted by shifting shadows.
There was no more panorama outside the window, only some continuous and endless fog that leaned against the panes. Nothing of the city was visible, nothing of the trees, nothing even of the most remote contour of the tracks. Only thick, pure mist whirled in patterns, as if alive. The train continued forward, but to where, I could not guess.
I looked at my watch.
1:30 AM. My head was filled with thoughts, yet it was impossible for me to get rid of that harassing feeling that something was wrong. I looked again — 3:42 AM. How did so many hours fly? I blinked. There had been no stops, no announcements. I couldn’t even tell how long I’d been on the train. Time was slipping away for me, bending into something unrecognizable.
The train screeched to a halt suddenly, throwing me to the floor. My laughter ceased, replaced by an overpowering silence, save for the groaning and screeching of the train wheels as they stopped. The lights flickered again, then died, and the carriage plunged into pitch darkness.
Scrambling to my feet, hands trembling, I became aware, as my eyes accustomed themselves to the dark, of a figure standing at the far end of the carriage — tall, thin, enveloped in a long black cloak. It stood motionless, staring at me, its face buried deep in shadow.
The figure took another step forward.
The clomping of its boots on the floor resounded in the carriage. While it slowly drew closer and closer, my throat closed up. I couldn’t breathe because of the presence weighing down on me. I was nailed to the spot, completely unable to move or inhale. The world around me blurred as I tried to retreat backwards, but my legs felt paralyzed.
It lifted its head and pointed squarely at me.
“Your stop is next,” it mouthed softly, its voice like cold wind whistling through a graveyard.
The door suddenly swung open behind me, and I tumbled backwards onto the platform outside. Catching my breath, I looked upward to see the train already speeding away, that haunting whistle of it an echo in the distance now. The passengers, still eerily quiet, watched me through the windows as it vanished into the night.
I stared, paralyzed with fear, as the now-empty tracks blurred before my eyes. My stop — but where was I?
The station was well empty, but this wasn’t Gloomburg. I rose, then looked around. There were no signs, no lights, nothing but an endless stretch of mist and the far-off whispers the wind carried.
As I turned to walk away, I heard a familiar sound.
The distant rumble of a train approaching.
I wasn’t alone anymore.
Thank you for taking this chilling journey aboard the Midnight Train. I hope you enjoyed the ride through the shadows of fear and suspense. Your time is valuable, and I deeply appreciate every moment you’ve spent with my story.
Stay tuned. The darkness may call again.
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This article was published on October 6th, 2024 in Long. Sweet. Valuable. publication.
