End of the Line

The last train arrived at 12:07 a.m. Mara was the only one who stepped onto the platform.

The station was closed—she was sure of it—but the conductor only pointed and said,

“End of the line.” “This isn’t my stop,” she said. He smiled. “It is now.”

The train vanished. Her phone had no signal. The time stayed frozen at 12:07.

At the far end of the platform stood a single door marked EXIT — STAFF ONLY. Footsteps echoed

behind her. “Hello?” she whispered. From the darkness came a voice, layered and wrong:

“Don’t turn around.” The door opened on its own. Inside was the same platform.

And across the tracks, she saw herself—checking her phone, unaware. Something stood