It was night. The last train had left from Wasle, moving towards its final stop, Skepdeh. The journey had many tunnels in between, but the last tunnel... that was different.
The passengers were relaxed, some were laughing, some quietly resting. The train moved smoothly, the night outside was dark but calm.
Then came the last tunnel.
As soon as the train entered, it was just another tunnel to the passengers. No fear, no noise — just the usual darkness.
But minutes later, when the train came out...
It was empty.
No passengers. No sounds. Just the train... and the driver.
The train directly stopped at Skepdeh. The driver grabbed the mic and announced casually,
"Last stop — Skepdeh. Everyone get down."
He stepped out, expecting the usual crowd shuffling out of the compartments. But... silence. Empty coaches stared back at him.
At first, he thought, "Maybe there weren't many passengers... maybe some got off in between stations."
Still uneasy, he shook it off and climbed back into the engine. He drove the train slowly to the parking shed, where it was supposed to rest for the night.
But that weird feeling in his chest didn't leave.
Because he was sure...
They were there when the train entered the tunnel.And now they were gone.
Morning — 7:43 AM
The sun was up but the air was still cold. In the middle of a small apartment, Macult stood with his coat on, sleeves slightly folded, pipe hanging from his lips — staring at a family of four sitting nervously on their sofa.
A vase lay broken, a window shattered. Someone had tried to break in, but nothing was stolen.
"Alright," Macult said, voice low but firm. "You sure nothing's missing?"
The father shook his head. "Yes... just the mess."
Macult looked around. Glass pieces, a torn photo frame, and muddy footprints leading back to the window.
"Did anyone argue with you recently? Any fight? Neighbour? Friend?"
The mother exchanged a glance with the father but stayed quiet.
"I'll take that as a yes," Macult smirked. "Who?"
The father sighed. "My brother... he wanted money. We refused. He got angry and stormed out."
Macult crouched near the window. "And when was that?"
"Last night... around 9."
He touched the mud prints. Still a bit wet.
"Your brother," Macult stood up, "was drunk, wasn't he?"
"Yes... but he wouldn't—"
"Drunks with anger don't think twice," Macult interrupted. "He made a mess just to scare you. But... he's dumb. Left his own footprints."
Macult turned to the officer standing by.
"Send someone to his place. You'll find shoes with this same mud."
The officer nodded and stepped out.
Macult grabbed his coat fully, ready to leave.
"Case closed."
Just as he lit his pipe, his phone buzzed — an unknown number flashing on the screen.
He picked up.
"Hello?" Macult said.
The voice on the other end spoke quickly,
"Hello, is this Marcus Holt?"
Macult smirked faintly.
"Yeah. Who's this?"
"We need you on a case. Urgent. Something... strange."
Macult's brows tightened.
"Strange how?"
The voice sounded uneasy.
"It's about the Skepdeh train. The one from last night."
"What about it?"
There was a pause, then —
"Passengers disappeared. Train came, only the driver was there. He says... they vanished in the tunnel."
Macult's eyes narrowed, pipe smoke swirling around him.
"Send me the location. I'll be there."
"Already sent."
Macult hung up, a slight grin forming on his face.
"Finally... something interesting."
He grabbed his coat, looked back once at the quiet family behind him, then stepped out