The Last Train Home

Lena had always hated taking the late-night train. The dim lights, the eerie silence between stations, and the empty seats gave her an unsettling feeling. But tonight, it wasn’t the train she feared—it was the feeling that something was wrong.

She’d missed the earlier trains, and this was the last one of the night. She stood alone on the platform, her breath puffing in the cold air. The station was quiet, far too quiet for the hour. No one else was around, save for the flickering lights and the distant rumble of the approaching train.

When it finally arrived, the train’s old metal doors creaked open with a screech that echoed in the empty station. The inside was dim, and Lena hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should just take a cab home instead. But it was already late, and she couldn’t afford another delay.

With a deep breath, she stepped inside.

The train car was nearly empty. She could hear her footsteps echoing as she moved toward an unoccupied seat by the window. The low hum of the train’s engine filled the silence. Lena sank into the plush chair, clutching her bag tightly in her lap, trying to ignore the sense of unease crawling up her spine.

The train jerked into motion, and Lena glanced out the window. The city lights blurred as the train sped away from the station. She settled into her seat, trying to relax, but the lingering feeling of being watched refused to leave.

Her eyes darted around the car. The few other passengers sat scattered across the aisle, staring blankly ahead, as though in a trance. The entire atmosphere felt off, heavy, as though something was hanging in the air.

Lena shook her head. It was just her imagination.

The train passed through several stations, but no one else got on. She looked at her phone—it was already past midnight, and she was still a good thirty minutes from her stop.

That’s when she heard it—the soft sound of footsteps behind her.

She turned quickly, but no one was there. The aisle was empty, just rows of empty seats.

She exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the creeping anxiety. It was just the train’s old creaks and groans, she reasoned. Nothing more.

But then the footsteps came again, louder this time—closer.

Lena’s heart raced. She leaned forward, her eyes scanning the darkened car. Still, nothing.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it.

A figure standing at the far end of the car, just beyond the flickering light. The figure was tall, its face obscured in shadow. It stood completely still, as if watching her.

Lena’s stomach tightened. Her breath quickened.

The figure didn’t move. But its presence seemed to stretch across the entire train car.

She felt her body freeze, unable to look away. Slowly, she forced herself to stand, her legs shaking. She reached for the door to the next car, but before she could touch the handle, the figure took a step forward.

Then another.

And another.

The footsteps were heavier now, rhythmic, as though they were coming straight for her.

Lena spun around and fled to the next car, her hands trembling as she gripped the door handle. The train car behind her felt too close, the presence of that thing following her too real. She slammed the door shut behind her and rushed into the next car, her pulse racing.

But when she turned, she gasped.

The car was empty.

Completely empty. Not a single person. No one.

But there, at the far end of the car, she saw the same figure—taller now, standing in the shadowed corner. Its head tilted at an unnatural angle, as though studying her.

Her breath caught in her throat.

“Why are you following me?” she whispered, but her voice barely broke the silence. There was no answer, only the hollow sound of the train’s hum.

With every passing second, the figure grew closer. Its steps echoed louder, and Lena could hear the faint sound of its breathing.

Desperate, she ran again, but the train car seemed endless. The door she had just entered was no longer there. The car stretched on, impossibly long.

Finally, she turned around to face it.

The figure had stopped. It was standing still again, inches from her.

“Why are you following me?” she whispered again, her voice shaking with fear.

It didn’t answer. But now, she saw its face—horribly, horribly familiar.

It was her reflection.

The same eyes. The same expression. Only hollow.

Her own reflection grinned at her, and the last thing she saw before everything went black was the face of herself, smiling without her consent.

The train car remained empty as it passed through the night, its destination unknown.

The last train home would never stop.