The subway was always quiet after midnight, but tonight it felt different. The fluorescent lights flickered like dying stars, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch and shift when no one was looking. I had taken the 12:47 train home from my late shift at the library, hoping for a few hours of sleep before the next day began. But as the train rolled into the station, I noticed something strange—the platform was empty. Not just empty, but unnaturally so. No commuters, no janitors, no security guards. Just the soft hum of the underground air and the distant echo of footsteps that didn’t belong to me. I stepped onto the platform, my boots clicking against the tile. The doors hissed open with an unnatural sound, like a breath exhaled after a long silence. Inside, the car was dimly lit, its seats arranged in a way that made me feel like I was being watched. I sat down, the leather creaking beneath me. The train started moving, and as it passed through the tunnel, the lights inside the car went out. A cold draft swept through the carriage, carrying with it a faint whisper—like someone calling my name, though I couldn’t be sure if it was real or just my imagination. When the lights came back on, I noticed something odd. The passengers had changed. The man who had been sitting two seats over now looked entirely different. His face was pale, his eyes too wide, and he wasn't wearing the same clothes. I turned away quickly, heart pounding. The train slowed, and the doors opened again. This time, the platform was completely different. Instead of the usual gray walls, there were murals of people with blank faces, their mouths stretched into silent screams. I stepped off the train, but the doors closed behind me, sealing me inside the unknown. I wandered through the tunnels, trying to find a way back. The air grew colder, and the walls pulsed faintly, as if they were alive. I passed a door labeled “Maintenance,” but when I tried to open it, it wouldn’t budge. Instead, I heard a voice from behind me. It was soft, almost a sigh. “You shouldn’t have come here.” I turned around, but no one was there. The voice repeated, this time more clearly. “You’re not supposed to be here.” I ran, my feet slapping against the wet floor. The deeper I went, the more the world around me shifted. The tunnel walls became smoother, the lighting more artificial. I found a staircase leading up, and I climbed it, each step echoing louder than the last. At the top, I emerged into a small room with a single chair and a mirror. In the mirror, I saw myself—but I wasn’t alone. Behind me, a figure stood, its form blurred and shifting like smoke. I turned, but there was nothing there. The mirror showed only my reflection, but I could feel something watching me. I reached out to touch it, and the glass rippled like water. Then, without warning, the mirror shattered. I woke up on the subway platform, drenched in sweat, the train gone. My watch read 1:03 AM. I didn’t remember how I got there. The other passengers were back, staring at me with blank expressions, as if they hadn’t noticed anything was wrong. I stood up, heart racing, and walked toward the exit, but as I reached the stairs, I looked back one last time. The train was still there, waiting. And in the window, I saw a face—my own, but smiling.