The 11:47 PM train was never supposed to run. That’s what the signs said, and that’s what the conductor always repeated in a voice like rusted metal. But for those who rode it, the train wasn’t just a ghost of the system—it was something else entirely. No one knew when it started, but by the time people noticed, it had become a legend whispered in subway stations, passed between tired commuters and lost souls. On the night I first boarded, the platform was empty. The fluorescent lights flickered as if unsure whether to stay on or not. I had missed my regular train, and with no other options, I stepped onto the 11:47. The car was older than the rest, its seats worn and the windows fogged with dust. A few passengers sat in silence, their faces lit only by the soft glow of their phones. No one spoke, and no one looked up. As the train pulled away, the city outside faded into darkness. The tunnels were deeper than usual, the air colder. I could hear the hum of the tracks, low and resonant, like a heartbeat beneath the earth. The doors slid shut with a mechanical sigh, and the lights dimmed slightly. I noticed then that none of the other passengers had any belongings—no bags, no coats, just the clothes they wore. It was strange, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. After a while, the train slowed, and the lights went out completely. In the dark, I heard a soft clicking sound, like a clock ticking in another room. Then came a whisper, so faint I almost thought I imagined it. "You shouldn't be here." The voice was neither male nor female, just a presence that settled in my mind like a shadow. I turned around, expecting someone to be standing behind me. But the seats were empty. The other passengers had vanished, leaving only their seats as if they had been removed by invisible hands. My breath quickened, but I forced myself to stay calm. I reached for my phone, but the screen was black. No signal. No light. Just silence. Then the lights came back on, and the train was moving again. The passengers were back, seated as if nothing had happened. One of them, a woman with silver hair and eyes like polished glass, looked directly at me. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "You're late," she said. "But you're still here." I didn't know how to respond. Before I could ask what she meant, the train jolted to a stop. The doors opened, revealing a platform I had never seen before. The walls were covered in symbols that pulsed faintly, like living things. There were no signs, no directions, just an endless corridor stretching into the unknown. A man in a tattered suit stepped forward. He held a lantern that cast long shadows across the floor. "Welcome to the Station Between," he said. "You’ve come at the right time." "Where is this?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. He chuckled. "That depends on where you’re going. Some say it's a place for lost things. Others say it's a test." I felt a chill crawl up my spine. "What kind of test?" He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and walked down the corridor, his footsteps echoing strangely. The other passengers followed without hesitation, as if they had been waiting for this moment all along. I hesitated, but something inside me urged me to move. I stepped off the train and into the corridor. The air grew heavier, thick with the scent of old paper and forgotten memories. The walls seemed to breathe, shifting subtly as I passed. I saw glimpses of other places—familiar streets, empty rooms, a child laughing in a field. Each image was fleeting, like a dream slipping through my fingers. At the end of the corridor, there was a door. It was simple, wooden, and unmarked. The man in the suit stood before it, holding the lantern high. "This is where you decide," he said. "Do you go forward, or do you turn back?" I stared at the door. I had no idea what lay beyond, but I also knew I couldn’t go back. The train had disappeared, and the world I knew was far behind me. I took a deep breath and reached for the handle. As my fingers touched the wood, the lantern flickered and died. The corridor went dark. And in that silence, I heard the whisper again. "You should have stayed on the train."