The Last Train Passenger

Every night, Aya took the last train from Shinjuku to her tiny suburb. It was always empty—until

one evening, a woman stepped on at the final stop. Her long hair hid

her face, and she stood unnaturally still, swaying with the train though it

hadn’t moved yet. Aya tried not to stare… until she noticed something wrong.

The woman’s feet weren’t touching the floor. The train lurched forward.

Lights flickered. In each flash, the woman was closer—first at the end of the carriage… then halfway…

then right beside Aya. Aya froze as a cold whisper pressed against her ear:

“Don’t look at my face.” Aya held her breath. But curiosity won for a split second—she