The 11:47 PM train to the city was always late. Most people didn’t notice, but those who waited long enough would see the lights flicker and the platform grow colder. It wasn’t just the usual rush-hour chill; it was a deep, bone-deep cold that made your breath hang in the air like smoke. Elena had been waiting for over an hour when she finally saw the train arrive. The doors slid open with a sound like a sigh, and the car was empty except for one man sitting in the far corner. He didn’t look up as she stepped inside, his face obscured by the shadow of his hat. The moment the doors closed, the temperature dropped again, and the faint scent of old paper and mildew filled the air. The train moved slowly through the tunnel, the only sound the soft hum of the tracks and the occasional creak of metal. Elena glanced at her watch—11:52 PM. The journey should have taken only ten minutes. She looked around, but the other cars were dark and silent. No other passengers, no signs of life beyond the single man in the corner. She leaned against the window, watching the flickering lights pass by. The tunnel walls seemed to shift slightly, as if they were breathing. A strange silence settled over the car, broken only by the man’s quiet breathing. He never moved, never spoke, just sat there with his head bowed. At the next stop, the doors opened again. This time, the platform was completely empty. No one else had arrived. The man still sat in the same spot, his hand resting on the armrest as if he were waiting for someone. Elena hesitated, then stepped out. The air outside was even colder, and the station lights were dim, casting long shadows across the tiles. She turned back to the train, expecting it to be gone. But it was still there, waiting. The doors remained open, and the man hadn’t moved. For a moment, she thought she saw something behind him—a faint figure, barely visible, standing in the doorway. Then it vanished. Elena ran back to the platform, her heart pounding. The train doors began to close slowly, as if they were being pulled shut by an invisible force. She reached out, but the gap was too narrow. The train started moving, and the last thing she saw was the man’s face, now fully visible. His eyes were empty, his mouth stretched into a thin line, as if he were trying to speak but couldn’t. The next morning, the station was closed for maintenance. No one remembered seeing the 11:47 PM train. The man in the corner was never found, and the only clue was a single yellow ticket stub tucked under a bench, dated two weeks earlier. It had no destination, only a number written in shaky handwriting: 13. Some say the train runs only when the moon is full, and that it stops at places not marked on any map. Others claim it's a ghost train, carrying passengers who never meant to go anywhere. But the most unsettling theory is that the train doesn't take people—it waits for them. And when it arrives, it's already too late.