Story 977: Specters on the Rails

The train screeched against the tracks, metal howling like a wounded beast. A cold wind howled through the night, carrying whispers—distant, mournful cries of the dead.

Mira gripped the cursed book tighter, feeling its heat pulse against her chest. Draven stood beside her, revolver drawn, his gaze fixed on the looming figure ahead. The Ghoul Trainmaster.

His form was half-decayed, draped in a conductor’s uniform that had long since rotted. His eyes burned like dying embers.

"You shouldn’t be here," the Trainmaster rasped, his voice layered with a hundred echoes. "This train only carries the lost."

Zara stepped forward. “We need passage. The city’s crawling with the Rotting King’s undead.”

The Trainmaster tilted his head. The lantern swinging from his skeletal fingers flickered blue, revealing shadowed figures lurking in the darkness. Passengers—souls trapped between worlds.

“You seek escape,” he murmured, stepping closer. “But every ride has a fare.”