Echoes of the Unknown

I kept my head down as I neared the train station, the cold night air pressing against my skin. The streetlights cast long, wavering shadows, distorting the world around me. Every step felt heavier, as if the ground itself was resisting my escape.

The station was nearly empty at this hour, just a few people scattered across the platform. A man in a business suit checked his watch impatiently. A woman sat with her suitcase beside her, scrolling through her phone. No one looked up. No one paid attention.

It was as if I was invisible.

Or maybe they simply weren't seeing what I was.

I took a deep breath and stepped toward the ticket counter, pushing a few crumpled bills through the window. The clerk barely glanced at me as he handed me a ticket.

"Train's in ten minutes," he muttered.

I nodded, pocketing the ticket. Ten minutes. That was all I had to wait. I found a spot near the edge of the platform, where I could see both the tracks and the entrance. If they followed me, I'd know.

But the station remained quiet. Normal.

Maybe I had lost them.

Maybe they were never real to begin with.

The thought should have been reassuring. It wasn't.

I clenched my hands into fists, forcing my mind to stay clear. The flickering, the shifting figures—something was happening, something beyond logic. If I let myself believe it was all in my head, I'd never find out the truth.

The distant sound of an approaching train rumbled through the station. I exhaled slowly. Just a few more minutes, and I'd be on my way.

Then the lights flickered again.

It was barely noticeable at first—just a brief dimming. But then it happened again. Longer this time. The air turned thick, heavy, like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm.

I glanced at the other passengers. None of them reacted.

The man in the suit was still checking his watch. The woman was still scrolling.

But something was different.

The sound had changed.

The usual hum of the station—distant conversations, the occasional announcement over the intercom—had vanished.

Silence.

Not just an absence of noise, but something deeper. A void.

I turned slowly.

The train had arrived. Its headlights pierced through the darkness, illuminating the platform in an artificial glow. But something was wrong.

The doors didn't open.

No passengers stepped off.

The train just sat there, humming softly, as if waiting.

I swallowed hard.

And then, the silence broke.

A whisper.

Soft, barely more than a breath against my ear.

"You don't belong here."

I spun around, my pulse pounding. The station was still empty, save for the few passengers who hadn't moved. Their stillness was unnatural. As if they were frozen in place.

No. Not frozen.

Paused.

The world had paused.

I stepped backward, my legs unsteady. My reflection in the train's window stared back at me, wide-eyed and terrified. But something was wrong.

The reflection wasn't moving.

I lifted my hand. My reflection didn't.

Cold fear wrapped around my spine.

That wasn't me.

The figure in the glass tilted its head slightly, its expression shifting into something unreadable. Then, slowly, deliberately, it lifted its hand and pressed it against the inside of the window.

A chill shot through me.

It was trapped.

Or worse—I was.

The train doors hissed open, breaking the moment. The spell shattered. The station was alive again—sounds returned, people moved.

The man in the suit stepped onto the train. The woman with the suitcase followed.

As if nothing had happened.

As if they hadn't just been frozen in time.

I hesitated. Every instinct screamed at me to not get on that train. But what choice did I have?

I forced my feet to move, stepping into the carriage just as the doors slid shut behind me.

The train lurched forward.

I let out a shaky breath and turned to find a seat.

And then I saw them.

Three rows down.

Sitting side by side.

Watching me.

The same figures from before.

I gripped the metal pole beside me, my heartbeat hammering against my ribs.

They didn't move. Didn't blink. Just sat there, their faces hidden in the dim light of the carriage.

No one else seemed to notice them.

I forced myself to look away, staring at the floor instead. The train rattled along the tracks, the rhythmic motion almost hypnotic.

Then—another whisper.

This time, inside my head.

"You shouldn't have gotten on."

I clenched my teeth. No. I wasn't going to let fear control me.

I turned back toward the figures, ready to confront them—

But the seats were empty.

They were gone.

The train jolted violently, nearly knocking me off balance. The lights overhead flickered again, casting long shadows along the floor. The air grew colder, thick with something unseen.

And then—

The train car stretched.

I blinked, trying to process what I was seeing. The walls, the seats, the windows—everything elongated, warping in impossible ways. The lights overhead dimmed, then brightened, then dimmed again.

Reality was bending.

I stumbled backward, gripping the nearest handrail.

The windows no longer showed the city outside.

They showed something else.

Darkness. A vast, endless void stretching beyond comprehension. No tracks. No buildings. No sky.

Just nothingness.

The whisper returned.

"You were never supposed to see."

The train screeched to a stop. The doors slid open.

Not to a station.

Not to a platform.

To a place that shouldn't exist.

A place outside of reality itself.

I didn't want to step out. But something was pulling me forward.

And no matter how hard I fought it, I knew—

I was going through that door.