Speaker 1: The job offer came as an email with no company logo,
no sender information beyond a string of numbers and a
subject line that just read conductor position, private contract. I'd
been out of work for months, barely scraping by and
scam emails for nothing new, but when I opened it
the details made me pause. The pay was astronomical, six
times what I'd ever made running freight trains for a
single ride. The hours were vague, for the message emphasized discretion, reliability,
and the ability to work alone. There was a number
at the bottom. I called, half expecting a disconnected line
or a robotic scam message. Instead, a man entered on
the first ring. He introduced himself only as a recruiter
for a private client and asked if I was available
to meet the next day. No company name, no office address,
just a location, a roadside diner off a highway. I went,
of course. The diner was nearly empty when I arrived.
The man was waiting for me, sitting at a booth
near the back. He wore a black suit, a crisp
tie to match, and a dull expression. He didn't even
introduce himself properly, just gestured for me to sit. There
wasn't any small talk. He slid a contract across the table.
You'll receive a list of instructions, he said, voice flat.
Read them on your job site. They are non negotiable. Ah,
all right, what kind of instructions? A pause? Then I
tried again. I looked up at the recruiter. What kind
of train is this? His expression didn't change. Just follow
the instructions. Everything else is self explanatory. Then he pointed
to something in the middle of the contract, a single
bolded line. If you break any instructions, press the red
button on the center console immediately. Someone will tell you
what to do. I almost laughed. And if they don't,
the recruiter didn't blink or say a word, just stared.
After a long silence, he tapped the contract again. Sign
The private station was nothing like I expected. It was
tucked away in a dead end road beyond an industrial lot,
surrounded by rusted fences and half collapsed buildings, no signs
or employees, just the set of old but pristine tracks
and a sleek, immaculate train waiting for me in the dark.
The train looked like it belonged in a billionaire's collection.
Long streamlined gleaming under the dim platform lights. The exterior
was spotless, not a single scratch or sign of wear.
I boarded the conductor's entrance and stepped into the control cabin.
The cabin smell like fresh polish. Every dial, switch and
lever was perfectly placed, modern yet oddly unfamiliar. There was
no dust, not a single clue to indicate this train
had ever actually been used. The chair was stiff and
the seat belt untouched, and the passenger cars were almost
completely empty. No boarding crew or a bit of luggage
here and there. No clients were anywhere to be seen.
I had no idea where I was going, who owned
this train, or what I was transporting, if anything. I
sat down on the chair and picked up a laminated
sheet sitting on top of the control panel. The instructions
the train must never stop, no matter what happens. Keep moving.
Do not open any passenger doors. No one should be
on board. If you hear knocking from inside an empty car,
ignore it. If someone appears on the tracks, do not
slow down. Do not look at them in the rear
view mirror. At exactly two thirteen a m. Turn off
all cabin lights for three minutes. Do as instructed thereafter.
If the intercom comes on but no one speaks, respond
by saying we are on schedule. Then do not speak
again for exactly five minutes. One of the train cars
will be filled with passengers. Do not acknowledge them, do
not look at them. Do not enter the car. If
you see someone sitting on the conductor's seat when you
return from a break, leave the train immediately. You will
not be able to board again. You may see another
train running parallel to yours. If this happens, do not
look at it for longer than ten seconds. If you
break an instruction, press the red button immediately. Some one
will call you with further instructions. I read them once,
then again. My first thought was, what kind of sick
joke is this? I glanced around the cabin, expecting cameras,
some hidden speaker system ready to blare out a voice
laughing at my reaction, But I was only met with
ornate and beautiful decorations that adorn the corners and walls
of the control cabin. I scoffed, shaking my head. I'd
heard of companies testing new hires to see how much
crab they'd put up with, but I wasn't sure a
scare tactic, maybe some over the top way to keep
conductors focused on the job. But why the hell where
they need to It's a train. You follow the schedule,
watch the tracks, and keep things moving. What was all
this about knocking doors and not looking at passengers? I
rubbed my temples. Whatever, if they wanted me to play along,
I'd play along. As long as the paycheck cleared. They
could put all the weird rules they wanted. The train
pulled out of the station, smoothly, gliding over the tracks
with barely a tremor. The engine was quieter than anything
I'd operated before, smooth to the point I couldn't even
tell when I was moving when I closed my eyes,
I barely had to touch the controls. For the first hour,
not much to note happened, just endless stretches of empty
fields and dense forests rolling past under the dim glow
of the moon. The rails were calming. For a moment,
I actually thought this might be the easiest job I'd
ever had. Then the intercom crackled. A burst of static,
sharp and sudden filled the cabin. I turned instinctively, waiting
for an announcement. For some kind of instruction. I frowned,
tapping the panel, flipping a few switches to clear the channel.
Still nothing. My eyes wandered to the list of rules
sitting next to me. Number six. If the intercom comes
on but no one speaks, respond by saying we are
on schedule, then do not speak again for exactly five minutes.
I almost hesitated. It was stupid, right, just a dumb
corporate rule, a test to see if I would comply.
I was sure of it. I cleared my throat. We er,
we are on schedule. Something had changed, but I couldn't
tell what it was. Immediately, some sort of pressure started
rubbing against my skin. The hum of the engine felt
further away, like I was sinking underwater while everything else
drifted above me. I stared straight ahead, forcing myself to
focus on the tracks. Four minutes. The longer I sat there,
the worse it got. My head started ringing and I
couldn't keep my eyes focused. Three minutes, the hairs on
my arms stood up. The air smelled different, now charged
like the moment before a thunderstorm. Two minutes I was
entirely hitched in place. One minute the feeling passed, just
like that. The weight lifted. The engine sounded normal again.
I checked the clock, five minutes exactly. I exhaled slowly.
What the hell was that? My mind started wondering with
ideas from conspiracy theory documentaries. I've been watching brainwashing people
into specific radio waves and such. But I brushed it
aside and kept moving. The train sped forward, the night
stretched out ahead of me. A blur of movement flashed
just ahead. Right as I was starting to relax and
put the strange feeling aside. I concentrated as the shape
moved out of the trees to the left and right
onto the tracks, fast enough that I couldn't properly register it.
The headlights cut across the rails, and my stomach lurched.
Some one was standing right on the tracks, a man.
His clothes were loose, billowing in the wind, even though
the night was clear. His outline was blurry, but I
was closing in on him quickly. He didn't move. My
fingers twitched toward the brakes. I had to stop. I
remembered number four. If some one appears in the tracks,
do not slow down, do not look at them in
the rear view mirror. Every muscle in my body screamed
at me to hit the brakes, but I willed myself
to stop. I don't know what made me think hitting
a man with a train was going to be justified
by any instruction or rule, but I had no time
for second thoughts. The train plowed through him, no impact
or thud. I looked around, panicking. I couldn't believe what
I'd just done. My heart hammered, and I snapped my
gaze to the rear view camera, then stopped myself. I
couldn't look. I forced my eyes back to the controls,
gripping the levers tightly. The train rattled slightly as it
shot forward, speeding into the black. I let go of
the levers, pulse raising. It was fine, just the trick
of the light, a stray thaw getting tangled with the night.
If I had actually hid something, the results would have
been catastrophic. I was going ninety five miles per hour.
A train this size going at that speed would make
some sort of noise, hitting even a leaf. I lad
out a slow breath, trying to shake the tension off,
reminding myself of the money waiting for me at the
end of it. These rules were making me forget that
I'd been doing this exact job for years. This was
going to be no different. I was just nervous and
over analyzed everything, so I guess the rules worked. My
mind started to wonder. There was a much to do
While the train ran, just miles of dark, empty landscape
stretching out ahead. My mind drifted, skimming over the rows
of dials and switches, then settling almost absent mindedly and
the passenger monitors. Some one was sitting in one of
the previously empty chairs, same loose, billowing clothes, same blurred,
indistinct face, the same man I had seen on the tracks.
I blinked hard. What I had checked the entire train
before departing. Every car was empty. I would have seen him.
There was no way I missed some one, had he
been here the whole time. There had to be a
logical explanation. Maybe I'd just been too focused on the
start up sequence, going through the motions without really seeing
the empty cars. It wouldn't have been the first time.
Or maybe I'd just spaced out. Long haul conductors do
it all the time. You get used to the routine,
Your mind drifts and things blur together. Yeah, that was
It didn't matter chances were this was some rich, big
shot I was transporting, and he wanted a train all
to himself, maybe even hid from me somehow, on purpose.
I shook the tension from my hands and calmed down.
The train was moving, everything was running, and I even
had a passenger. Now I knew what I was transporting.
As long as I followed the schedule, I'd be fine.
Outside the world slipped by in streaks of dark green
and silver, thick forest, stretching endlessly into the night. The
hum of the engine filled the cabin, steady, and even
a rhythmic pulse beneath my finger tips miles of emptiness ahead,
miles of emptiness behind. Then out of nowhere, a slow,
steady tap, tap tap against one of the cabin doors.
I straightened in my seat, eyes flicking toward the control panel.
The passenger cars were still empty. Apart from the man.
Nothing had changed, and yet the knocking persisted. I reread
the rules, rule three. If you hear knocking from inside
an empty car, ignore it. I did my best, the
focus forward, pretending it wasn't happening, but the knocking grew louder,
bam bam bam, like someone was hammering their fists against
the metal, trying to break through. Desperate, I felt a
sensation in my chest, a deep frustration. I was tired,
I was irritated, and I was done playing along with
these stupid rules. They had driven me to such delusion
that I thought I'd hit someone. I stood up. My
boots thudded against the floor as I strode back into
the passenger cabins, heart pounding as I followed. The sound
the knocking led me to cast six. I hesitated. The
rule says to ignore it. I inhaled, sharply, my hand
hovering over the latch. What was I expecting a prank,
a malfunctioning door. If it was any of those, I
was entirely ready for the consequences. These rules were taking
a toll on me, making me imagine things that weren't
even there. I'd just break this one rule, prove myself right,
and get on with my shift. I unlatched the lock
and swung the door open. The cabin was completely empty.
No people, no luggage, no sign of life at all,
except for the footprints. They stretched across the floor in
a perfect trail, starting right in front of me and
disappearing into the next car. The footprints were dirty, muddy,
like someone had just stepped inside. A shiver crawled up
my spine, A feeling deep inside me, screaming that I
had just made a mistake. Before that thought could fully manifest,
I was thrown off balance. The train started slowing down.
The air around me lurched, and I grabbed the door
frame to steady myself. The train was losing speed, but
I hadn't touched anything. I spun, rushing back to the
control cabin, my breath coming faster now. My eyes flicked
the dashboard. Every system was still active. The speed should
have been constant, but the train was steadily slowing down.
The radio crackled again, a burst of static, followed by
a voice warped and distorted, like it was dragging itself
through the speakers. Why did you stop? My pulls hammered
against my ribs. I I didn't. The brakes when engaged.
The emergency systems weren't triggered. The train was stopping on
its own. I grabbed the controls, yanking the throttle, trying
to force it back to speed. It wouldn't respond. Outside
the front window, the landscape crawled by, slower and slower,
until the train finally completely halted silence. Shortly after movement.
Beyond the trees, just at the edge of the dim
platform lights, figures were emerging from the darkness, dozens of them,
tall and thin, the limbs stretching at unnatural angles as
they moved toward the train in slow, balanced steps, not rushing,
just walking. A mechanical hiss cut through everything. I snapped
my head toward the monitors, a cold pit forming in
my stomach. The train doors were opening once again. I
hadn't touched the controls. My hands were still clenched around
the throttle, my knuckles white. The system hadn't even indicated
a stop. We weren't supposed to stop, and yet the
door slid open smoothly. Outside the figures stepped forward. One
by one. They emerged from the trees, their shapes flickering
against the dim glow of the train's lights. They moved
like they had all the time in the world. The
first one stepped inside, then another, and another, filling the
empty cars. I could see them on the monitors, standing
in the aisles, in the seats, occupying every available space,
yet never moving. I swore quietly, my fingers flying over
the dashboard searching for anything, some kind of override, an
emergency restart that failsafe. Nothing worked. I tried the radio.
I flipped the breakers, I jammed the throttle forward, no results.
Outside the figures had started boarding. The doors remained open.
None of the figures did anything but stare blankly forward.
I felt panic rise up in my chest, real panic.
My pulse roared in my ears. Why is the train
not moving? My eyes darted to the red button. I
slammed my palm against it. The radio crackled a life instantly, Hello.
My voice came out sharp, panicked. I didn't do anything.
The train stopped on its own. You broke a rule.
My throat tightened, but before I could say anything, the
voice continued, Do not acknowledge them, they are the passengers.
Now keep driving until the last stop, and do not
break any more rules. Stay vigilant. A low clunk echoed
through the cabin. The door slid shut. I tried moving
the train again, and as smoothly as the first time,
it started moving forward. I press my lips together, keeping
my gaze locked forward. The intercom stayed silent, and the
train sped back into the night. The tension never left
my body My fingers remained locked around the controls, stiff
and aching, my forearms hurting from the strain. I refused
to lock back, not even a glance. There was an
overwhelming sense that if I did, if I so much
as acknowledged their existence again, I would not be in
for a good time. After a while of total stillness, monotony,
and paranoia from my end, something shifted at the very
edge of my vision. Moving alongside the train keeping perfect pace,
another flicker, a break in the darkness. A second train
was running parallel to mine. The sight of it made
no sense. There had been no crossings or signals that
another set of tracks even existed beside my own. Yet
there it was, keeping speed effortlessly, its steel body gleaming
under the faint moonlight, and through the windows I saw figures.
They appeared dark, the interiors shrouded in shadow. But as
I looked closer, I realized there were dozens of them,
maybe more, pressed harshly against the glass, each one wearing
the same wide grin. Their faces were frozen and their
eyes locked directly at mine. They looked just like the
passengers that had just joined my own train number nine.
If you see another train running parallel to yours. Do
not look at it for longer than ten seconds. I
wouldn't make the same mistake again. The presence of the
other train lingered in my periphery, but I didn't acknowledge
it again. I just kept driving. The intercom shot to life.
A sudden burst of static made my shoulders jump, the
tension in my body snapping tight. For a moment, there
was only empty noise, the same cold emptiness that had
filled the radio the last time I pressed the red button.
Look at the time. Slowly, I glanced at the digital
clock on the control panel. Two twelve a M number five.
At exactly two thirteen a M. Turn off all cabin
lights for three minutes. Do as instructed. Thereafter, I paused
and reached for the switch. My fingers trembled slightly as
I flipped it down. The cabin was plunged into absolute darkness.
I blinked, trying to adjust, but there wasn't anything to
adjust to. It was so dark that everything was swallowed whole.
No outlines, no faint glimmers of control lights, no reflection
of the window. Just avoid The intercom came through again.
This time, there was no prelude to it just a clear,
short sentence, do not move. A new sound filled the air.
I heard it before I felt it, A slow, painful
movement against the metal floor. Not footsteps, but something dragging
itself forward, joints popping, a strange slithering scrape beneath the
clatter of the train. Whatever was making that noise, it
was in the cabin with me. Then came the wheezing.
It was deep and uneven like. Whatever it was had
several lungs that were inhaling, in staggered burst. Each breath
pulled at the air, filling the cabin with a thick,
humid heat that stuck to my skin like mucus. The
smell followed her second later. It wasn't like anything I'd
ever encounter before. It was sharp, medicinal foremost, but undercut
with a sticky sour scent, like burnt plastic mixed with
harsh chemicals. The stench made me want to throw up,
but I kept perfectly motionless. It crawled closer, still shifting
near the control panel, sniffing its breath, rasping against the levers.
A single clawed scrape against the console made my entire
body lock up. It circled me the warmth of its breath,
shifting from one side to the other. Something brushing against
my shoulder but not quite touching my chest burst, but
I didn't dare do so much as exhale. Three minutes
I counted in my head, trying not to let panic
take hold. I couldn't move, I couldn't react. I could
only sit there, locked in place, as whatever was inside
the cabin decided whether or not I was worth noticing.
In a split second, with no sound at all, it
was gone. The heat in the air lifted, the smell faded,
a low click, the cabin lights flickered back on. I
was still too terrified to move, unwilling to take any chances.
After a while, I was confident enough to adjust myself
and my chair. I shoved down the lingering nausea and
pressed my hands against my lap, trying to stop them
from shaking. The digital clock blinked two sixteen a m.
I saw the words appear in the main day display
final stop, arrival imminent. The station lights emerged from the
darkness ahead, cold and unwelcoming, but still the most welcoming
thing possible to me. The train didn't slow as it approached.
I calmly pulled the brake, but it wouldn't budge. We
were getting closer. I pulled the lever until my arms
felt like they'd rip off my body. I fumbled with
the controls, smashing the red button until my palm throbbed,
but nothing gave. We rushed toward the platform at a
great speed. I didn't know what to do. Adrenaline searched
through my body as my legs started shaking, and before
I could even take precaution impact the first jolt sent
me flying forward, slamming my chest into the console. A
crunch from inside me followed. It hurts so badly I
thought I'd die then and there. The windshields shattered as
steel and concrete collided, the deafening snap of metal ripping
through the cabin. The sound was unbearable, screeching, tearing, the
agonized wail of the train collapsing in on itself. Sparks
exploded across my vision as the front cars crumpled like
a soda can, the force of the impact buckling the
walls inward. The entire world turned sideways. I was thrown backward,
hitting the wall before rolling onto the floor. My ears rang,
my ribs ached. The air was thick with smoke and dust,
filling my lungs with every ragged breath. Somewhere beyond the
ringing in my skull, I could hear the train's last
desperate groans, the final shuddering low as it came to
a violent grinding hold. I lay there, stunned, my hands
trembling against the cold floor. I was still alive, somehow,
despite the crash, despite the sheer destruction I'd just experienced,
I was fine. Slowly, painfully, I pushed myself up. The
cabin was intact, no shattered glass, no twisted wreckage, no
clapsed walls. The train sat perfectly parked at the station,
as if it never even moved at all. The console
was unscathed, the windshield unbroken. Even the faint hum of
the engine had returned steady, like it had been running
this whole time. But I knew what I felt, the
bruising forming on my arms I had been in that crash.
My injuries weren't as fatal as I was sure they
were just moments ago. But the train had collided with
the station, had collapsed around me, that I was sure of.
Yet here I was unharmed. I turned toward the passenger
monitors to see empty rows of seats, the train finally
rid of its impossible travelers. My stomach tightened the moment
my eyes landed on him. The figures from earlier had
all disappeared, but the men remained. His clothes waved around
as he walked. There was a fluid grace to him.
As he rose from his seat and began walking forward.
His movements were so smooth they were hypnotizing. My body tensed.
My instincts screamed at me to move, to run, to
get out before something happened that I couldn't undo. I
staggered toward the door, but it was locked. No matter
how much I pulled or pushed, I couldn't open it.
The weight of the moment was suffocating, and for the
first time since this nightmare began, I finally had a
moment of clarity, and I realized just how wrong everything
had gone. I snapped out of my days and slammed
my hand against the red button. The radio remained silent.
I hit it again, harder, this time, my palms sweating
against the plastic. No response. The man kept walking. I
pressed the button again harder. Desperation crawled up my throat
like bile. The doors behind me opened. A deep mechanical
noise filled the cabin as the last remaining entrance slid
open with agonizing slowness, revealing an empty, black void beyond it,
he stepped into the conductor's cabin. I was trapped, my
back pressed against the console, every muscle in my body
locked in place as he stopped just a few feet
from me. Up close, his shape was even more wrong,
his proportions slightly off, his arms too long, his posture
just a fraction too rigid. It was like someone had
built the idea of a man without ever having seen one,
a close approximation that almost fit, but missed something fundamental.
For the first time, he turned his head slightly, as
if acknowledging me directly. Voice there was neither deep nor high,
neither young nor old, neither kind nor cruel. He spoke,
thank you for the ride. He looked at me a
moment longer, his featureless face betraying no emotion. Then without
another word, he turned and opened the conductor room door,
the one that I couldn't open no matter how hard
I tried, then stepped out. A new sound pulled my
attention away footsteps. I turned toward the platform the recruiter
was waiting. His hands were clasped neatly in front of him.
I practically jumped out of my seat and straight toward
the man. Who What the hell was that? What the
hell was I transporting? What just happened? The recruiter didn't
answer immediately. Instead, he glanced past me toward the train,
his gaze lingering on the now empty cars. He exhaled
and barely their sound before finally speaking, what did you
think of the job. There's another Riode schedule for tomorrow night.
You did a splendid job, bringing the train all the
way to the last stop. I quit, I rasped my voice, raw.
I don't care about the money, I don't care about
whatever this is. I'm done. The recruiter smiled, not smugly, though,
just the warm and welcoming smile. Then he gave me
a slow nod. You were transporting the dead. I didn't
ask any more questions, as absurd as what he had
said just sounded. I was too tired to care or
rationalize anything else. I walked away from the train, from
the recruiter, from the nightmare I had barely survived. I
just knew one thing for certain. I would never set
foot on a train again.