The Last Train Home is a creepy story about a young woman who is traveling home alone late at night after a party.
Last year, my company held a New Year’s Eve party in the city. When the party was over, I left to catch the last train home that night. I sat down in my seat and gazed out the window at the city lights flashing by.
After a while, I saw that the only other person in the carriage with was a man in a black trenchcoat. He was sitting a few rows in front of me and his head was hanging down. He appeared to be dozing off. I was quite sleepy too and my eyelids started to feel very heavy. It wasn’t long until I began to doze off too.
A few minutes later, I was jolted awake by the rattling of the train. When I opened my eyes, something seemed different. I wasn’t sure, but it seemed as if the man in the black trenchcoat was one seat closer to me. I thought I was just imagining things and told myself not to be so paranoid. Not long afterwards, I began to doze off again.
After a few seconds, I got a strange and unpleasant feeling in the pit of my stomach. I opened my eyes and, this time, the man seemed to have moved even closer to me. Still, I couldn’t be sure. It was extremely unsettling.
I decided to try and see if my suspcins were correct. My plan was to pretend to fall asleep again, but keep one eye half-open, just to see what the man would do.
He just sat there, not moving a muscle. I could feel his eyes staring at me, but he didn’t budge an inch. Just as I was about to breathe a sigh of relief, I heard him muttering something under his breath. Listening closely, I could make out what he was saying over and over:
“Don’t be fooled. She’s just pretending… Don’t be fooled. She’s just pretending…”
It made my blood run cold. My heart started pounding in my chest. Despite being scared out of my wits, I kept my head down, pretending to doze off and desperately hoping that the train would reach the next station soon.
When it finally stopped and the doors opened, I bided my time and waited for the right moment. Just as the doors were about to close, I scrambled out of my seat and jumped out onto the platform.
I heard the doors shut behind me and turned around. As the train pulled out of the station, I saw the man in the black trenchcoat standing up, his face pressed against the window. There was a look of fury on his face and, in his hand, a glistening knife.
Ever since then, I never take the last train home alone.