The 13th Street subway line had been closed for decades.
Some said it was because of the flooding. Others whispered about the accident—the one no one wanted to talk about.
But when the city reopened it, people were eager to ride.
Cheap fares. New renovations. The promise of a faster commute.
At first, everything seemed normal.
Until the passengers stopped coming back.
It took a while for anyone to notice.
The train ran late at night, mostly for the graveyard shift workers, the insomniacs, and the drunks stumbling home.
People boarded.
The train left.
But no one ever got off.
Not at the next station. Not at the one after that. Not anywhere.
They just vanished.
The first missing person report didn't raise alarms.
Neither did the second.
But then came the third. The fourth. The tenth.
All of them had one thing in common.
They had taken the 13th Street Line.
The police sent a team to investigate.
Cameras showed passengers boarding.
But inside the tunnels—
The footage glitched.
Corrupted.
Like something was eating the film.
All they saw was darkness.
And then, at exactly 3:13 AM, the train pulled into the last station.
Empty.
Perfectly clean.
No blood. No struggle.
Just the faint smell of something rotten lingering in the air.
One officer volunteered to go undercover.
Detective Paul Mercer.
They fitted him with a live camera, an earpiece, a tracker.
He stepped onto the train.
Sat down.
The doors slid shut.
The train rumbled forward.
The signal cut out.
They found his body a week later.
Not on the train.
Not in the tunnels.
But inside a wall in an abandoned station, deep underground.
Like he had been buried there.
Like he had been part of the structure for years.
Except his watch was still ticking.
And his phone had a recording.
A single file.
A whispering voice.
"Next stop... the other side."
No one rides the 13th Street Line anymore.
But every night, at exactly 3:13 AM—
The train still runs.
The doors still open.
And if you listen closely—
You can hear something moving inside.
Something that wasn't supposed to come back.
Something waiting for its next passenger.
Maybe tonight, it'll be you.