Story 968: The Eternal Passenger

The train barreled forward, the rails beneath it groaning as if they were barely holding together. The air inside was thick with the scent of rust, decay, and something older—something wrong.

Draven steadied himself against the rattling walls, his muscles tense. "We're not safe yet."

Mira exhaled sharply, still gripping the cursed book. The pages twitched as if alive, whispering in languages that made her skin crawl. "Where the hell is this thing taking us?"

Elias wiped the blood from his forehead. "We cut the engine loose. This train shouldn't be moving at all."

Zara peered out the shattered window. The wasteland had changed—the writhing undead were gone, replaced by a blur of shadow and shifting figures. Shapes not quite human, watching, waiting.

Then came the knock.

A slow, deliberate tapping against the metal door leading to the next car. One. Two. Three.

The group went silent.

Another knock. This time, from the opposite side of the car.