Platform 7

The corridor was pitch black, with long wooden floorboards creaking underfoot, testing one's nerves. If it weren't for the knowledge of the modern society outside, I might have sprinted away. The room doors on both sides were adorned with old wooden doors featuring double-chambered flower glass on top. The glass was covered in dust, obscuring the view inside. I attempted to open the doors, but they were all locked. The windows here were well-preserved, and it was challenging to open them without suitable tools.

After trying each one, I finally managed to open the door of a room labeled "General Affairs." I used the flashlight to inspect the doorknob, and as I expected, there was only a thin layer of ash on it, indicating someone had been in this room before. Without much hesitation, I gently pushed the door open, illuminating the room with my flashlight. The room was not large, filled with a pungent musty smell. In front, there was a set of office desks and chairs, while two rows of standard green-painted bookshelves stood behind. Several calligraphic paintings adorned the walls, providing a glimpse of the room.

Examining the floor, I noticed clear footprints leading from the entrance to the bookshelves. I followed the footprints and discovered they led straight to the bookshelves. Despite increasing the flashlight's brightness, there were no signs of tampering with the books or shelves. The visitor had a specific purpose and was not merely browsing. I followed the footprints to the desk, where the footprints became slightly overlapping, indicating the person had circled around before sitting down.

Attempting to put myself in the person's shoes, I sat down and observed the front of the desk. It was scattered with documents and blueprints, uniformly covered in dust, showing no signs of recent disturbance. My attention turned to the drawers. Opening the left drawer revealed emptiness, but the right one held a discovery. In the first drawer were two seals—valuable items capable of confirming the user's identity or department through engraved content.

The drawer also contained ink pads and draft paper. I opened the ink pad, applied it to the paper, and stamped it. The specifications of the seal were conventional, featuring a five-pointed star in the center, with the upper half inscribed with "Urumqi Railway Bureau" and the lower half stating "Riguang Station." Disappointed that it was a public seal, I examined the other seal and, to my surprise, found the lower half engraved with "Platform 7 of Riguang Station."

Platform 7? This detail puzzled me, as I had never heard of stations having individual seals for platforms. Was this some kind of covert mark? In the late Qing and early Republican periods, during prohibited transportation activities, official documents were often stamped with "Yang poke" to maintain clear accounts. Could this be a similar case?

I suddenly had a premonition that Platform 7 might be the genuine hidden secret of this Riguang Station, potentially related to the major bloody incident it experienced. Whether the station closed due to an accident, as the driver suggested, or there was another hidden truth, I sensed a deep mystery connected to my father's past.

I furrowed my brow, realizing that what seemed like a simple task of retrieving something from a regular station had turned into a complex situation beyond my expectations. Given the circumstances, Platform 7 was likely hiding significant clues. The appearance of two seals, one representing Platform 7, hinted at a secretive operation.

As I pondered the possibilities, I suddenly had a chilling thought – the entire station might be a dual-purpose establishment. While appearing normal on the surface, it could be engaged in illicit activities behind the scenes. This idea seemed implausible considering the station's official status and the presence of numerous people. However, the uneasy feeling persisted.

Putting aside these unsettling thoughts, I continued my investigation. In the second drawer, I found an old-fashioned folder containing a stack of documents. They were mostly records of incoming and outgoing freight cars, all stamped with the official "Yang poke," signifying ordinary cargo. However, overwhelmed by the volume, I absentmindedly turned the pages and stumbled upon something suspicious – the invoice numbers. Each page had a serial number, and I noticed a gap of seven to eight pages.

It became clear what the intruder had taken – all the "unseen" documents! I believed the stamps on these documents were likely "阴戳," possibly related to Platform 7. Why would someone do this? The answer seemed to emerge – wiping out all traces related to Platform 7.

I now suspected that the intruder not only knew the place well but might have been part of it. Suddenly, I froze. Did I hear something? Faint footsteps in the corridor. As I concentrated, my heartbeat quickened. I was certain it was real.

Fear gripped me as I turned off the flashlight. The door had glass, and I didn't know if "it" had noticed me. Every muscle in my body tensed. In an abandoned station for decades, the sound of footsteps in the corridor was alarming. If it weren't for my past experiences, I might have panicked. I wondered if it was the driver getting impatient and entering to find me.

The footsteps, rhythmic and unassuming, didn't resemble those of a person. Each step felt like a strike to my heart. I held my breath, trying not to make any noise. It seemed like "it" was standing right outside the window, peering in. After a minute that felt like an eternity, the footsteps ceased. Did "it" sense me?

My nerves were on edge as I prayed for "it" to leave. The waiting was torture. In this extreme tension, I started feeling dizzy. Suddenly, the room door creaked open, and the footsteps in the corridor gradually faded away.

I sat on the floor, exhausted, suppressing my heavy breaths. I had never felt such terror before – every second felt like an ordeal, as if I had narrowly escaped something haunting. I didn't immediately get up, taking a moment to analyze the intruder's identity (admittedly partly due to my shaky legs). However, I couldn't draw any conclusions. The overwhelming feeling the entity brought was pure "fear," akin to facing Jack Torrance in The Shining. I had been pushed to the edge of terror.

After what felt like an eternity, I was sure the intruder had left. I cautiously crawled out, brushing off the dirt. Turning on my phone's flashlight, I discovered additional footprints on the floor. The entity had circled around the desk and left. As I observed, cold sweat ran down my back, realizing something I had overlooked from the start.