The small railway station of Chandipur was never busy after sunset. Only the sound of crickets and the distant barking of stray dogs filled the cold night air. But on that particular night, something felt different.
Riya stood alone on Platform No. 2, clutching an old leather bag her grandmother had given her before she passed away. Inside the bag was a letter with only three words written on it:
"Don't trust anyone."
It was signed by her grandmother.
Riya's hands trembled as she checked the time. 11:57 PM. The last train would arrive at midnight. According to the mysterious message she had received that morning, someone would meet her on that train and reveal the truth about her family.
A loud horn echoed through the darkness.
The train slowly rolled into the station, its metal body screeching as it stopped. Strangely, no one stepped out. The doors were open, but the compartments looked empty.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: "Get in. Third compartment. Left side."
Her heart pounded loudly. She remembered the warning: Don't trust anyone.
But she stepped inside.
The train began moving again before she could even sit down.
The lights flickered. The compartment was cold — unnaturally cold. Riya noticed an old man sitting in the corner seat. She was sure the compartment had been empty seconds ago.
"You're late," the old man said without looking at her.
Riya swallowed. "Do I know you?"
He slowly turned his head. His eyes were pale — almost white.
"I knew your grandmother," he whispered. "She made a mistake many years ago."
The train suddenly entered a tunnel. Everything went dark.
Riya felt someone grab her wrist.
When the lights came back on, the old man was gone.
In his place was the leather bag — now open.
The letter inside had changed.
It now read:
"It's already too late."
Her breathing grew heavy. The train wasn't slowing down. In fact, it felt like it was speeding up.
She rushed to the window.
Outside, there was no station, no trees, no sky.
Only darkness.
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number: "You should have listened."
Suddenly, a reflection caught her eye in the window glass.
Behind her stood her grandmother.
But she wasn't smiling.
Her grandmother's voice echoed inside the compartment:
"I warned you because they're not alive, Riya."
The train screeched violently.
The lights burst.
Everything went black.
The next morning, the station master of Chandipur reported something strange.
Platform No. 2 was empty.
There was no record of any train arriving at midnight.
But on the bench near the platform lay an old leather bag.
Inside it was a single letter.
Three words written clearly:
"Don't trust anyone."
And beneath it, freshly written in trembling ink:
"I didn't."