Story 989: The Night Rail

The train thundered through the void, rails twisting through broken skies and shattered stars. A crimson moon hung overhead, unmoving, watching. Inside the phantom cars, time bled differently—memories drifted like smoke, and ghosts whispered from every corner.

Zara sat by the window, her fingers twitching against the cool glass. Outside, the dead walked beside the train, pacing it, never blinking. One of them looked just like her brother. But she didn’t say a word.

In the dining car, Elias confronted the Ghoul Trainmaster—a crooked specter with a face stitched from the mouths of liars. His hat smoked. His whistle cried without wind.

“You said there was one stop left,” Elias growled. “Where?”

The Trainmaster grinned, revealing a map made of skin. “The heart of the rot. Where the first gate broke. Where the Rotting King was born.”

Meanwhile, in the caboose, Mira flipped through the flaming pages of the cursed book. But the pages were blank now—except one: