It was late—later than I should have been out, but the last train was my only option. The platform was almost empty, save for a few scattered souls waiting in the cold, damp air. I pulled my coat tighter around me, glancing at the flickering light above.
I hated these late-night rides. The silence, the way the wind seemed to howl through the station, the eeriness of being one of the last to board, as though the city had already gone to sleep and forgotten about the few of us who remained. The trains didn't run frequently at this hour, and every minute stretched like an eternity.
The sound of footsteps broke the quiet. I turned, expecting to see another late commuter, but there was no one there. The platform was as empty as before, save for a few figures standing far down at the other end, huddled in their coats, heads down. I shook my head. Must have been my imagination.
The train screeched into the station, its doors hissing open. It was nearly empty, as expected. I stepped in, finding a seat near the window, away from the few other passengers scattered across the car. The rhythmic clatter of the tracks beneath was the only sound as the train pulled away from the station, heading into the dark.
I watched the city pass by through the window, the buildings giving way to industrial areas, then to long stretches of empty tracks. The glow of streetlights flickered intermittently, casting strange shadows that danced along the tunnel walls. Every once in a while, the train would slow for no apparent reason, the lights inside dimming as if the power was flickering.
I closed my eyes, trying to shake off the fatigue. There were three more stops before I'd be home, and I wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and forget the day. But then, as we neared the next station, I felt a strange shift in the air.
A chill swept through the train car, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. I opened my eyes, half-expecting to see the door at the end of the car open, a gust of wind blowing in. But the doors were sealed shut, and the other passengers—what few there were—sat motionless in their seats.
The train slowed as it approached the next station. Through the window, I could see the platform, dimly lit and seemingly deserted. But something caught my eye—movement at the far end. A figure stood near the edge of the platform, dressed in white, long black hair hanging loosely over their face. I squinted, trying to get a better look, but the train lurched forward, passing the platform entirely without stopping.
I frowned. That station was supposed to be a regular stop. Maybe it had been closed for repairs? I had heard nothing about it.
The figure on the platform lingered in my mind, though. Something about it—about her—seemed off. The way she stood, perfectly still, as if waiting for something. For someone. Her hair had covered her face, but I could almost feel her eyes beneath, staring, watching. A chill ran through me again, and I shifted in my seat, glancing around the train car.
No one else seemed to notice. They sat there, silent, lost in their own worlds, oblivious. I turned back to the window, hoping to distract myself with the passing scenery, but as the train plunged into the darkness between stations, all I could see was my reflection staring back at me.
The next station came quickly. I didn't bother to check the name. I wasn't getting off yet. But as we slowed to a halt, I saw her again—standing on the platform, her head slightly tilted as if listening for something. Her figure was clearer this time. Pale, almost translucent under the station lights. A long white dress clung to her thin frame, her hands hanging limply at her sides.
The train's doors opened briefly, but no one got on. The platform was empty aside from her. I watched, waiting for her to move, to do something. She remained still.
Then, slowly, she turned her head—just enough for me to see her face. My breath caught in my throat.
There were no eyes. Just dark, empty hollows where they should have been.
The doors slid shut, and the train pulled away from the station, leaving her behind in the growing distance. I blinked, my heart racing. Had I imagined it? I wanted to convince myself that I had—that it was just a trick of the light, a reflection in the glass. But I couldn't shake the image from my mind. The way she had stood there, so still, so unnatural. And those eyes—or lack of them.
The train rattled along the tracks, the clattering louder now, more jarring. The lights overhead flickered again, casting the car into brief darkness before sputtering back to life. I looked around nervously, hoping to catch someone's eye, to confirm that I wasn't alone in this.
But the passengers—those same few who had boarded with me—were wrong.
They hadn't moved. Not even a little. They sat stiffly in their seats, hands folded in their laps, heads tilted downward. And their eyes… their eyes were wide open, staring blankly ahead, unblinking. Lifeless.
I froze. My chest tightened as I realized none of them had blinked once since I'd gotten on the train. My pulse quickened, panic setting in. Something was wrong. Horribly wrong.
The train entered another tunnel, the darkness outside now pressing against the windows. I could see my reflection again, and behind me—faintly, in the dim light—was her.
The woman in white.
Standing at the far end of the car, motionless, her hollow eyes fixed on me.
I shot up from my seat, my heart pounding in my ears. She hadn't been there before. There was no way she could've gotten on. I backed up, moving toward the door that led into the next car, trying not to look at her, trying not to acknowledge her presence.
But I could feel her, standing there, watching me. The air grew colder with each step I took, my breath visible in the chilled air. My hand reached for the door, fumbling with the latch.
It wouldn't open.
I yanked harder, but the door wouldn't budge. The train screeched as it slowed down again, preparing to stop at another station. I glanced over my shoulder, and she was still there—closer this time. Her head tilted slightly to one side, her lips parted as if she were trying to say something, but no sound came out.
The train came to a halt. I turned back to the door, desperate, and finally, it gave way. I stumbled into the next car and slammed the door shut behind me.
I didn't stop to look around. I didn't care about the other passengers. I just needed to get away. But as I moved through the cars, I noticed something—the faces of the people. Each one was pale, unmoving, their eyes wide and glassy. They didn't blink. They didn't breathe.
And then I saw her again—through the glass, standing on the platform as the train pulled away. Her head turned toward me, those hollow eyes boring into mine as the train sped up. I couldn't escape her. Every time I turned, she was there—on the platform, in the reflection, behind me in the train.
I ran, desperate to reach the front of the train, to find the conductor, to demand some explanation for what was happening. But no matter how many cars I passed through, the train seemed to stretch endlessly, car after car, each one identical to the last, each one filled with the same lifeless passengers.
I was trapped.
Finally, the train began to slow again. I didn't wait for it to stop. The moment it was close enough to the platform, I forced the door open and jumped, stumbling onto the cold concrete. I ran, my feet pounding against the ground, away from the train, away from her.
The platform was empty. The station was quiet.
I kept running until I reached the street, panting, my legs trembling beneath me. I didn't stop until I was well away from the station, the train, and the endless tracks.
But even now, sitting here, trying to convince myself that it was just a nightmare—that I had imagined it all—I can still feel her watching.
Sometimes, I catch glimpses of her reflection in windows, in mirrors, always just out of sight. I never see her directly, but I know she's there.
I'll never take the last train again.