The last train pulled into Black Hollow Station at 12:03 a.m., hidden in mist. Evan was the only passenger who got off.
He wan’t meant to be there.
The town wan’t on any map. He had dozed off after boarding the 10:45 from East bridge, and when he woke up, this was the end of the line. There was no conductor. No lights. Just fog and silence.
His phone had no signal.
A flickering streetlamp buzzed near the platform. Under it stood a woman in a long coat, her face covered by a scarf and shadow.
“You missed your stop,” she said, her voice low.
“I did n’t—where am I?”
She did n’t respond. Instead, she handed him a folded paper. It was a photograph. Evan’s photograph. Taken that night. On the train.
“What is this?”
“The reason you were brought here,” she said.
Behind him, the train hissed and pulled away. He turned back to the woman, but she was gone.
Then he heard it. Not the wind. Not animals.
Breathing.
He wan't alone.
From the mist, figures began to emerge—shapes with no faces, just pale, blurred outlines. Silent. Watching.
Evan remembered the headline from a week ago:
“Black Hollow Station: Man Vanishes from Moving Train.”
It was a story about him.
He started to run, but the station had already disappeared behind him.
There was no going back.
By S. Sai Sri Udtkarsh