I was startled, covered in a cold sweat. In haste, I ran towards the depths of the board house cluster, paying no attention to the cardinal directions, until I realized I was lost among these houses and came to a stop.
Suppressing the violent inhalation of my lung-like chest, I hid behind one of the board houses, carefully observing the distant movements. Only after confirming that the eerie presence hadn't followed, did I sit down, drenched in sweat.
I dared not linger, and as soon as I caught my breath, I stood up impatiently, eager to find an exit.
The uniform, standardized board houses within seemed designed to disorient, robbing anyone of their sense of direction. I knew this construction method lacked reason; there must be another purpose.
In the midst of my thoughts, a chilling realization dawned on me. Perhaps the arrangement of these board houses was meticulously designed. Upon careful observation, I discovered that the houses' orientations were not perfectly symmetrical, tilting at peculiar angles. Unconsciously, one would follow the reserved pathways.
Though I sensed something amiss, I had no way to decipher the puzzle amidst the identical board houses. They all seemed flawless, and I reluctantly chose a path, forging ahead.
Navigating through the surroundings, the black houses seemed like neatly arranged corpses, cold and rigid. Walking among them, I felt an uncomfortable sensation as if my soul had been drawn away. I kept glancing left and right, fearing that a terrifying figure might appear in a window or doorway.
Counting my steps mentally, I felt I had walked about a kilometer. I halted, surveyed my surroundings, yet saw only an endless stretch of houses. I knew, without a doubt, that there couldn't be a residential area with a radius of over one kilometer; these houses undoubtedly held secrets.
However, faced with the ancient numerology of the formation, I was clueless. I knew I couldn't hesitate. If I encountered that eerie presence again, trouble would ensue. After careful consideration, I decided to attempt a different approach, specifically choosing the less traversable paths among the houses.
With this thought, I hesitated only briefly before taking action. I entered a narrow alley, and it seemed that I had genuinely stumbled upon a unique place.
It was a relatively larger house when viewed from the outside. The house lacked a door, only a dark cloth nailed to the door frame. My heart skipped a beat because I recognized what it was – dried bloodstains. The marks seemed to be left when something came out from inside...
I knew I had found the right place, yet hesitation crept in. On one hand, I worried about the dangers ahead; on the other, a curiosity about the secrets of the past tugged at me.
After a brief contemplation, I decided to venture inside. I wiped a bit of cold sweat from my neck, exhaled deeply, and, holding the lantern, cautiously lifted the cloth curtain.
Upon entering, I was stunned. The interior was entirely different from what I had imagined. This house turned out to be an empty shell, with only a dark cellar on the floor and scattered soil blocks nearby. Apart from that, there was nothing else.
I peered into the cellar, and it plunged into darkness without end. Considering the discovery of the photo and the station's deep military ties, the idea of an air-raid shelter made perfect sense. However, despite this plausible explanation, a subtle unease lingered in my mind.
The answers to all my speculations lay below. After a brief hesitation, I resolved to descend. Wiping the sweat off my neck, I exhaled and, holding the lantern, descended the steps into the cellar.
As I descended, I felt a sense of relief. Although the path ahead remained pitch-black, I didn't detect the scent of mold, indicating ventilation. There might even be other exits. This brought a slight sense of joy.
The steps spiraled down, and I sensed multiple turns. Yet, the path below seemed extensive. Each step echoed, emphasizing the daunting environment.
Though not in a tomb, the enclosed, pitch-dark surroundings sent shivers down my spine. It felt as though something bizarre would appear around the next turn.
After two large arcs, a segment of a semi-circular arch-style brick structure appeared at the end. As I passed through the passage, I suddenly felt a drop in temperature. In the blink of an eye, I realized I had entered a vast area.
I could see neatly laid stone bricks on the ground, with tall columns on either side. The space was expansive, and in the distance, there seemed to be a colossal shadow resembling some sort of structure. Surveying the surroundings, the construction techniques hinted that this indeed resembled an air-raid shelter.
I turned back to look at the path I came from, gathered my courage, and cautiously moved forward. Although the lantern had limited penetration, it revealed a drainage ditch about a meter deep at my feet. Crouching down for a closer look, I realized what it was.
Rail sleepers, ballast, and railroad tracks. Without a doubt, this was the mysterious Platform 7.
I took a deep breath, utterly surprised to find out that the structure beneath the construction area was indeed Platform 7. Those secretive individuals had undoubtedly constructed the very same platform in secret.
Standing on the platform, I looked to my right. As my eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness, I could see a dark tunnel at the end of the platform. It seemed that the trains at that time must have entered from here. So... I moved the lantern in the opposite direction. The shadow I mistook for a building earlier became apparent – a train, yes, the colossal object parked on Platform 7 was undoubtedly the train from back then!
Staring into the dark tunnel, confusion enveloped me. Where did this unidentified train come from? I suddenly had a strong premonition that if I followed this tunnel, I would uncover something that would challenge my understanding!
Suppressing the temptation to explore, I decided to walk in the opposite direction.
Although my curiosity had peaked, an instinctual fear gripped me about the dark tunnel. The idea of walking alone into that abyss made my entire body shiver involuntarily.
I shifted my focus to the massive object before me – an old steam locomotive. It belonged to the very first generation of trains, where coal heated the boiler to generate steam, driving the pistons to propel the train. Puzzled by the timeframe, these trains should have been retired by now. How could they still be in use unless...
I ran towards the train. Indeed, the train had no markings, not even a model number. Someone had scraped off all the identification, implying that this outdated steam locomotive was likely salvaged, brought back to operation through connections.
Placing the lantern on the ground, I took out my phone and snapped numerous photos. This was a crucial clue. If I could trace the origin of this scrapped train when I returned, I might unravel the puppeteer behind the scenes.
While taking pictures, a frown crept across my face. According to the earlier clues, Platform 7 had been secretly transporting some goods. However, the three carriages here were all passenger carriages. What could be the explanation? Could it be that they were transporting... people?
The former Daylight Station exuded an eerie atmosphere, and as my thoughts deepened, a sense of unease crept over me. Nevertheless, I
fought against the urge to retreat. Instead, I turned back to the dark tunnel, contemplating the unsettling truths hidden within the fog. Determined to uncover the secrets they clandestinely transported, I pushed forward, ready to face whatever awaited me.
The train's body was rusty, indicating a prolonged period of abandonment. The windows were covered with white paper from the inside, obscuring the view. I found it perplexing; why block the windows when there was no need to worry about prying eyes in the underground tunnel?
A sudden realization struck me. Perhaps I had been wrong from the start. The concealment might not be to prevent people from seeing inside but to prevent those inside from seeing outside?
I shuddered, dismissing my unfounded thoughts, and, gathering my courage, I sought out a door that appeared less corroded. Climbing on unsteady footing, I tugged at the door, but to no avail. It seemed to be locked from the inside.
Trying the door of the next carriage, the same lack of response frustrated me. Disheartened, I descended. My courage, which had been in abundance earlier, now waned. It seemed that even if the doors weren't locked, they were likely rusted shut after all these years.
As I contemplated trying other doors, an untimely "clatter" sounded behind me. I abruptly turned around, witnessing the door that hadn't budged earlier now creaking open. My heart skipped a beat.