Direct To The End Of The Line

20260427

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

Why don’t I remember getting on this train? I, I don’t think I normally take the train home… and why haven’t we reached a station?
It’s not a nightmare. I wish it was. But I’ve been slapping myself since I found myself here, train doors closing behind me. Maybe if I’d been quicker to react I could’ve gotten off - though I don’t know the station would’ve been better.
I clutch a handrail and peer down this carriage. Wherever this train is going, it’s packed. Well, technically not packed, it’s just… there’s nowhere to sit which isn’t next to someone. And… rather like the train, these people aren’t quite right.
So I’ve been walking through the carriages. Hoping one will be emptier. None have been. At least, not enough that there’s been truly empty seats.
I… I can’t remember how many carriages I’ve checked. But I do feel it’s far more than any train ought to have.
Then I see him. Sitting at a table seat. Every other has at least three people around it, yet he’s sitting alone. And, unlike every other figure, hunched over so I can’t make out any features, he’s sitting upright. Elbow propped on the window ledge, head resting on his hand. Watching me. With a faint smile on his face which I desperately hope is friendly.
Tired and rattled I point to the empty pair of seats opposite him. “Are those taken?”
“Not yet.” He says in an amiable fashion.
Relieved, I sit down. “Where are we? Do you know?”
“On a train.” He says, as if that’s obvious, and alright it is but it also doesn’t answer my question.
“What’s the next station?”
“Oh, it only stops at one station. The end of the line.”
I must’ve gotten on very late, then. Oh well.
“When are we due to get there?”
“Beats me. You’d have to ask the conductor.”
“The conductor?”
“Yes.” He’s speaking a little slower now, his smile slightly wider. “Of course there’s a conductor. It’s a train.”
Although that does make sense, given nothing else about this makes any sense, that solitary scrap of logic feels out of place. Even suspicious.
“How do I find the conductor?”
“Oh, they’ll find you.” His smile has an increasing curve. It… doesn’t look friendly. “After all, you don’t have a ticket. Do you?”
“Eh?” I fumble in my pockets and find nothing. Nothing at all. Not even lint. Normally I’d panic about having lost my phone and everything, but right now those are irrelevant. “Um…”
“As soon as the conductor realises that, they’ll come throw you off.” His smooth, nonchalant voice makes my ears itch.
“Throw me…??”
“Yes. You’ve seen the doors, haven’t you? You should’ve come in some.”
Either the passing landscape is going by so fast it’s impossible to make anything out, or what’s out there is in fact some multicoloured blurscape. I’m honestly not sure which option would be worse. Contemplating the possibilities causes me to break out in cold sweats.
“Can’t let you ride without a ticket.” He says, as if this is all perfectly reasonable!!
“I, but, I didn’t mean to get on! I don’t even know how I ended up here!”
He shrugs. “Tell them. Not me.”
I hunch low in my seat and peer up and down the aisle. Before I was scared. Now I’m terrified.
“Hm. Well,” he leans forward, his arm dropping to rest on the table, “if you’re that set on riding, I could give you my ticket. I don’t mind explaining matters. Or walking, if it comes to that.”
“Would… are you sure that’d be alright?”
I can’t read his expression. My chest is aching. My palms are slick and feel fuzzy, like they’re far away.
“Should be fine.”
His other hand reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ticket. Not quite like any railway ticket I’ve ever seen, but definitely a railway ticket, in the same way this train is definitely a train and those strange hunched figures are definitely passengers.
“Here. Take it.”
Why am I hesitating? The back of my mind is screaming, but there’s too much fizzing fog in the way. I blink back sweat and tears and try to focus.
“I…”
“You want to ride the train, right?” His gaze is boring into mine. His smile is fading.
Something, perhaps a forgotten memory, perhaps a lesson from my parents, perhaps a primal instinct, drives me to stagger to my feet, clutching the chair back for support.
“No. No,” I stammer, earnest and scared, “I wouldn’t want to do that to you.”
His face flickers, though his voice remains perfectly smooth. “Oh, I wouldn’t mind.”
No. No, you wouldn’t, and that scares me more than this train.
“I, I will just explain.” I suck in air and try vainly to compose myself. “I’m sure the conductor-”
Just as I feel a presence close behind me, his eyes widen and the lingering smile vanishes like it never was, his hand holding the ticket whisking under the table.
“Jack.” The voice is clipped and measured. Made to say “tickets, please”. “I’ve warned you about trying to trap the living.”
“I didn’t do nothing!” The man - Jack - wheedles, eyes wide and expression the picture of wounded innocence. “Just trying to help. They seemed a bit panicked, so…”
Panicked by what you told me!
Loathe though I am to turn my back on Jack, I face the conductor. They are… utterly indistinct. I can’t even remember their face while I’m looking at them. But their uniform, and the ticket puncher hanging around their neck, leaves no doubt as to their station.
“Please. Follow me.”
As I stumble down the aisle after them, I realise the train is slowing. Though the outside doesn’t get any more distinct. By the time I reach the doors we’re at a station.
“Do take care.” They touch their cap.
The doors open.
I step out, trying to see a sign or-
Lights. Voices. Surgical… masks?
Ohh…

Prompt was “Write a horror or thriller story that takes place on a train.”