Ghost Stories Train Novelas e Histórias

Episode 4 – Stranger on The Train The air inside the train car was thick with the smell of stale coffee, damp wool, and the faint, metallic tang of the rails below. It was the 7:45 PM commuter express, a rolling tomb of exhausted humanity. I slumped in my seat, tie loose, staring blankly at the rain-streaked window reflecting the ghost of my own tired face. Another day, another dollar, another silent journey home to an empty apartment. That’s when she sat down opposite me.

Account not found. I tried again. Same response. Account not found. I refreshed the entire application. The encrypted system reloaded from the beginning before presenting the same empty inbox. No unread messages. No conversation history. No trace the account had ever existed. I searched the identifier manually instead of relying on the shortcut. Account not found. I searched using partial strings. Nothing. I searched recent connections. Nothing. The system logs showed no evidence that another account had communicated with Ghost within the last several minutes. That was impossible. Or… Someone had accomplished something I’d never seen before.

Printed across the faded paper were six chilling words. RETURN JOURNEY NOT AVAILABLE. At that exact moment, the train's brakes screamed. The entire carriage shook violently. The conductor's voice echoed through every compartment. "Now arriving..." A long pause followed. Then, in a calm, emotionless tone— "...Black Hollow." The train came to a stop with a long, metallic scream. Silence followed. No announcement. No movement. Only the slow ticking of Adrian's watch. The carriage doors remained closed. Outside, thick snow drifted across the abandoned platform.

"Brenda! Brenda!! Please! Don’t leave me here!" They disappeared. "PONNNN!!" I turned to the oncoming train. It blazed forward, unstoppable. "BRENDAAAA!!!" But it was too late. GBOAA!! The train hit. Silence followed. No pain. No sound. Nothing. Just… silence. Just death.

Lila’s scarred hand reached, but the staircase yanked me deeper, the red emergency strips flickering like dying stars. I landed hard on my back, breath punched out, the impact jarring every bone. The platform was abandoned, 1918-vintage, tiles cracked and curling like old fingernails, graffiti in languages I didn’t know—Dutch, Lenape, something that looked like blood runes. The air was thick, humid, the kind of damp that soaks into your soul. A single train idled on the tracks, not modern MTA silver but brass and mahogany, windows glowing red, doors open like a mouth. LINE 3 – HEARTSTONE EXPRESS was painted on the side in peeling gold leaf. Inside, the seats were filled with passengers—not p

What she was sure of was that the other party was aware of being followed, you could tell from the driver constantly adjusting the rearview mirror. Even though the meeting went well, one person was still asking, "What's up with Damon? He was perfectly fine and then went crazy?" "He said there were ghosts on the train," the woman replied as Amelia had said, "It was like a nightmare, shouting that those children were all coming to find him." The other person turned the steering wheel and said, "The kids are doing well now, he just worried too much." Another one sneered and said, "The thing we fear the least is ghosts. Are you sure there are no other situations?"

Just another handsome stranger. “Thanks,” she murmured, taking the book. She paid quickly and left, pulse oddly unsettled. Saturday night came. She boarded the 10:30 p.m. train again, telling herself this would be the last time she chased after a ghost. The carriage was nearly empty so she sat in her usual spot, arranging her skirt with shaky hands. Underneath, she wore the delicate crotchless lace she’d bought on impulse during the week. A secret act of hope. Then she felt it.

There was a trace of fear and trepidation in that gravity; it was as if he had just seen a ghost. “I think I just saw some ghosts! I really did see some ghosts! Just now, I saw a few figures from the rearview mirror of the train. They jumped from the last wagon of the train behind us.” “Can you stop f*cking around? The train is about to reach its destination soon, and we have to work for a while. Can’t you just knock it off for a while? Stop disturbing us.” One of the crew members complained. Another crew member also followed suit and complained in agreement, “Are you high on drugs this time? Why do you keep on having hallucinations?”

Then— The rails under my feet **hummed. It started low, a vibration at the edge of perception. Then it grew, a rhythm vibrating through the metal ties, up through my soles and into my bones. My breath hitched. “Feel that?” Jax asked. “Train,” Grant said. “We should get off the—” “Wait,” I cut in, heart speeding. “Just—wait.” In my draft, the ghost train didn’t kill everyone. It only took the ones who looked back. I remembered sitting there, fingers on keys, thinking: *Fear makes people check the monster. The ones who can’t stop themselves die first.*

"Thanks so much." Logan gave the old female some coins before they left and continued their tour. "This is the territory of the Clan of the ghost" he uttered pointing at the huge kingdom before them. "Stop Danny" he commanded and Danny did. "Wow, looks terrifying. Any mortal will shit in his/her pants if they sight this kingdom." "Lol. Nothing is terrifying here. Just vultures, skulls, Red pieces of clothes, spiders, snakes, and rumbling of the sky." "Is that all you see? And who told you there aren't mortals who got phobia for spiders and snakes? Also, do you think it's everyone that can bear the different sounds going on?"