Listen:Some trains don't take you where you want to go. They take you where you're meant to disappear."
Ahaan sat on a cold stone bench, staring at the glowing book on his lap.
The fog around him was quieter than usual, but the silence didn't feel peaceful. It felt like something was waiting — like the Whisper Realm was holding its breath for what came next.
His fingers hovered above the next page.
The book had already flipped itself open. The title read:
CASE TWO: The Train That Never Stops
Location: Neral Station (Abandoned)
Status: Active. Five Vanished in the Last Three Years. One Witness Left.
Ahaan whispered the name aloud. "The Train That Never Stops."
The words felt heavy in his mouth. Real.
He closed the book and looked around. The shadowy figure — the man in the coat — was gone again. He never stayed long. Only appeared when it was time to warn Ahaan or throw him deeper into the mystery.
That meant only one thing:
The next case had already begun.
The fog twisted again, curling upward like smoke. This time, it formed something different — a train platform.
Old. Cracked. Faded yellow tiles.
The number 313 was painted in red on the ground, and beside it stood a rusty sign that read:
"NERAL STATION – CLOSED PERMANENTLY"
Ahaan took a step forward.
The wind felt different here. Not cold like the forest — but sharp, like metal scraping against metal. It smelled of old oil, rust, and burnt rubber.
Ahaan looked up and saw the train tracks stretching into the distance. But no train.
Not yet.
He moved carefully across the platform. Broken benches, shattered glass from old lights, and a vending machine half-eaten by rust stood like forgotten memories.
Then he noticed the graffiti sprayed across one of the station walls:
"DON'T BLINK WHEN THE TRAIN COMES."
– Rakesh S. (The Last Survivor)
His heart skipped a beat.
"Don't blink?"
He whispered the words, confused. What kind of warning was that?
Then something caught his eye — a small journal resting on one of the benches.
It looked dry, even in the damp air. Someone had placed it there on purpose.
He opened the first page. Scribbled in fast, shaky handwriting:
Journal of Rakesh Sharma
Date: March 7, 2023
Time: 3:13 AM
"The train came again. No one else saw it. Only me. My brother... he's gone. Just vanished. One moment he was beside me — then the whistle blew, and the lights flashed — and he was gone. I swear to God, he didn't even get on the train. It didn't stop. It just passed through the station like a ghost. And when I looked again... he was no longer there."
Ahaan closed the book quickly, his stomach turning.
This wasn't just a spooky story anymore. People had actually gone missing.
Real people.
He sat down on the edge of the bench and looked toward the tracks. Fog crept along the rails like fingers crawling forward. The air grew heavier.
A low, distant sound rolled in.
Chhhhhhrrrrrrr…
The ground trembled slightly.
Ahaan stood up.
The book's pages flipped wildly in his hands again. It glowed red this time. Hotter. Angrier.
Words appeared on the page:
"The Train Comes at 3:13 AM.
Never Blink When It Arrives.
Or It Will Take a Piece of You."
Ahaan checked the old, cracked station clock above his head.
3:11 AM.
"Two minutes," he whispered.
Panic started to build.
What did that even mean? Don't blink? That's impossible! Who doesn't blink for an entire minute? What happens if you do? What does it take?
He swallowed hard, backing away from the tracks.
Then he saw it.
A faint, golden light in the distance.
Flickering.
Moving.
Fast.
And with it — a low, metallic screech that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Like the sound was echoing inside his head.
The light grew brighter. Closer.
Ahaan squinted, trying to make out the shape.
It wasn't like any train he'd ever seen. It was old — very old — with iron sides, long windows covered in soot, and a front grill shaped like teeth.
The train was alive.
It didn't slow down.
It didn't whistle.
It didn't stop.
It passed.
Fast. Furious. Howling with sound.
And in that moment — everything changed.
The world around Ahaan stretched. The platform cracked. His ears rang with screeching noise.
And shadows began to form inside the train's windows.
People.
Dozens of faces.
Some crying.
Some screaming.
Some staring out with wide, blank eyes.
And one of them... was Meera.
The girl from the mirror.
Ahaan gasped.
His eyes burned.
And in that tiny moment of fear — he blinked.
Darkness.
Silence.
Then...
He opened his eyes.
He was no longer on the platform.
He was inside the train.
Standing in a dusty, dimly-lit carriage with broken seats and flickering yellow lights.
The smell of iron and ash filled the air.
He turned around.
There were passengers sitting quietly.
But none of them moved.
None of them blinked.
None of them breathed.
Ahaan stumbled backward.
"What is this place?" he whispered.
And the train answered — not in words, but in whispers. All around him. Behind him. Inside the walls.
"Keep your eyes open... Keep your eyes open... Keep your eyes open..."
His heart pounded as he moved between the seats. Some passengers were frozen in place. Others had no faces. One held a picture of someone Ahaan recognized — it was his father. But how? Why?
The lights above him flickered.
The train jolted.
And a voice echoed through the speakers, old and broken:
"Next stop: Nowhere."
To be continued