Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

At precisely 3:03 AM, the whistle pierced the silence of Evershade Station—long since closed, long since forgotten.

Jasper Crane was the only one who heard it that night.

He had returned to Evershade on a dare—or perhaps a curse. Once a bustling terminal, the station had been abandoned after the disappearance of the midnight express forty years ago. Every passenger on board had vanished. And they said a conductor still walked the platforms, waiting for a train that never truly left.

The station loomed in rusted iron and cracked glass, its grandeur swallowed by rot. The only lights came from old lamps flickering to life as Jasper passed. He stepped cautiously, boots crunching against ash and broken tiles.

Then he heard the click of metal footsteps behind him.

He turned.

There stood a man in a faded conductor's uniform, skin pale as candle wax, eyes like black holes. A whistle hung from his neck, but he never touched it. When he spoke, it was with the sound of screeching brakes and engines dying.

"Ticket, sir?"

Jasper backed away. "I… don't have one."

"Everyone boards," said the Phantom Conductor, lifting one skeletal hand. "Everyone has somewhere to go."

With a sweep of his arm, the station transformed. Suddenly, the midnight train shimmered into existence on the tracks, its windows glowing with flickering, unnatural light. Shadows moved inside—figures with no faces, passengers trapped between destinations.

Jasper felt himself pulled forward. He knew this wasn't just a dream. The train fed on regrets, on things left unsaid, lives unlived. And somewhere deep down, he remembered why he had come.

His brother, Martin, had vanished years ago.

Rumor said he'd taken this train—lured by a voice on the wind and a promise of absolution.

Jasper stepped onto the platform edge. "I want to see him."

The conductor's grin widened unnaturally.

"Then ride."

Jasper boarded.

Inside, the compartments were wrong. Hallways folded into themselves. Doors opened into looping memories. Whispered announcements spoke in riddles:

"Next stop: The Moment You Turned Away."

"Final destination: The Words You Never Said."

Jasper moved from car to car, seeing passengers clutching relics of their lives—photos, love letters, old watches ticking in reverse. And finally, in the dining car, he saw him.

Martin. Still young. Still broken.

He turned to Jasper, eyes hollow.

"You're late," Martin whispered.

"I came to bring you back."

Martin shook his head. "There's no back. Only forward… until the ride ends."

The Phantom Conductor stepped in again.

"One soul must stay. One may leave."

Jasper didn't hesitate.

"Take me."

Martin screamed—but the train lurched, and the deal was sealed.

Jasper awoke outside the station.

Alive.

But the whistle still echoes in his ears. Every night at 3:03.

And when he closes his eyes, he sees the conductor's smile… and the next stop etched in smoke:

Your Turn Is Coming.