The Last Train Home
The last train arrived at exactly 11:59 p.m.
No one remembered when the station had been built. It stood at the edge of the town, swallowed by fog, its clocks always ticking but never quite agreeing on the time. People avoided it at night—except those who had nowhere else to go.
Eli stepped onto the platform, shivering. The fog wrapped around his ankles like cold fingers. He checked his phone. No signal. Of course.
The train doors opened with a soft sigh.
Inside, the lights were dim and yellow. The car was empty—except for one woman sitting near the window. She wore an old-fashioned coat and stared straight ahead, her reflection trembling in the glass.
Eli hesitated, then sat across from her.
The train began to move.
For a while, there was only the sound of wheels on tracks. Then the woman spoke.
"You're not supposed to be here this late."
Eli forced a smile. "Neither are you."
She turned to him slowly. Her eyes were dark, deeper than the night outside. "I've been here a very long time."
The train passed through a tunnel. The lights flickered.
When they came back on, the windows no longer showed the town—only darkness, endless and empty.
"Which stop is next?" Eli asked.
The woman's lips curved into something that was not quite a smile.
"The last one."
A chill ran through him. "That's not funny."
"I'm not joking," she said softly. "Everyone on this train is going somewhere final."
Eli stood up. "I want to get off."
The woman shook her head. "You can't. Not once the train decides."
"Decides what?"
She leaned closer. "Who belongs."
The lights flickered again. For a split second, Eli saw the seats behind her—filled with shadowy shapes, faces pale and still, eyes open but empty.
He stumbled back, heart racing. "This isn't real."
"It is," she said. "You fell asleep on the tracks, Eli."
His breath caught. "How do you know my name?"
"Because I remember," she whispered. "I was like you once."
The train slowed.
A platform appeared ahead—silent, broken, and covered in fog. No signs. No lights.
The doors opened.
"This is your stop," the woman said.
Eli shook his head. "No. I'm going home."
She looked at him with something like sadness. "This is home now."
As he stepped off the train, the fog swallowed him whole.
Behind him, the doors closed.
The train disappeared into the night.
At 11:59 p.m., the clock in the station reset.
And somewhere in the next train car, a seat waited—empty—for the next passenger.