Sometimes, you overhear something you were never meant to… and from that moment on, it hears you too.
---
I was just about to leave the office when I overheard them.
Two cleaners, talking in hushed voices outside the storage room.
“…same station again?” one whispered.
“Yeah,” said the other, “Third year in a row. Same date. Same girl.”
They paused, both suddenly glancing over their shoulders. Then one said something I’ll never forget:
“Just don’t make eye contact if you see her on the last platform. She remembers faces.”
I didn’t understand what they meant.
But something cold brushed my spine.
I shook it off.
It had been a long day. I needed to get home, and fast. I had barely enough time to catch the last train from Sobarpur. I stepped into the street, flagged a cab, and slumped into the seat.
But the words I overheard kept spinning in my head:
“She remembers faces.”
Who remembers? What girl?
The traffic was unusually silent. No horns. No engines. Just a low humming, like something pulsing beneath the road.
Then everything stopped.
Cars. People. Even the breeze.
We were trapped in a jam that didn’t look real.
It was as if the world had hit pause.
After ten long minutes, the cab moved forward. But by the time I reached Sobarpur, the second-last train had gone. The silence at the station was… unnatural.
Not peaceful.
Empty.
Like something was waiting.
The lights flickered overhead. The display board glitched. I was the only person on the platform.
At least, that’s what I thought.
Then I heard footsteps.
Soft. Bare.
I turned. No one.
My phone rang.
“Hello, beta?” Papa’s voice crackled through.
“I’m at Sobarpur, Papa. Waiting for the last train.”
A pause.
Then his voice — soft, trembling:
“Don’t. Please. Not tonight. Not that train.”
“Papa—why are you saying that?”
He took a breath. “You won’t believe me. Just… some trains don’t take you home. Some come for something else.”
I frowned. “You’re scaring me.”
“Then listen. Do not look her in the eyes.”
“What are you talking about?”
But he had already cut the call.
An announcement rang out, distorted and broken:
“Train number 2319… arriving on platform 4… final departure.”
The lights flickered again.
I turned—and that’s when I saw it.
A black cat, sitting on the tracks.
Its body still. Eyes glowing red. Staring directly at me.
It didn’t move.
But I felt its stare clawing into my chest.
The train screeched in. I boarded quickly.
The compartment was empty. Dust floated in the dim yellow lights like dead stars. The air smelled like rust and something else — like wet soil... and blood.
I sat, heart pounding.
I could still feel that cat watching me.
Three stations passed.
Not a soul entered.
Then the lights flickered violently.
And she appeared.
Not walked in. Not from the door.
Just appeared.
She sat across from me. A woman draped in a black voile kurta. Her face was hidden, but her mouth… was stretched into a faint, crooked smile.
She didn’t blink.
Didn’t breathe.
She simply whispered:
“You’re late. I waited.”
I couldn’t speak.
She leaned forward, her voice thin like a breeze through bone.
“Where are you going?”
I forced the words out. “T-Thakurnagar.”
She tilted her head. “You missed it.”
“No, I haven’t. It’s the next—”
“No,” she said, smiling wider, “That platform doesn’t exist anymore. We passed it five minutes ago.”
I turned to the window.
Darkness.
No signs.
No light.
Just… tunnel. Endless.
Then she whispered again.
“Last platform. That’s where we all go.”
I wanted to scream, but no sound came out.
She opened her bag. Pulled out something. Began to eat.
The smell hit me like a blow.
Rotten meat. Burned hair. Maggots.
She chewed slowly, juices dripping down her chin.
I gasped.
She looked up.
And her face—
Half her cheek was gone. Melted. Her jaw hung lower than it should. Black, seared flesh oozed where her skin had once been. One eye was missing. The other glowed red.
She leaned forward.
“You were supposed to be with us last year. But you ran.”
I backed away, trembling.
She stood up, her bones cracking, her hands claw-like.
She pointed at me.
“You heard them talking, didn’t you? You weren’t meant to. Now… you belong to me.”
She lunged.
I stumbled back, hit the door — and it opened.
Wind roared around me as I fell—
But—
I woke up.
On the platform.
Sweating. Shaking. Breathing hard.
Was it a dream?
It felt too real.
I stood up.
And froze.
That black cat.
Sitting exactly where it had been in my dream.
Staring.
Unblinking.
I slowly turned and walked away, never taking my eyes off it.
Back in my hostel, I searched everything I could about the train.
And I found it.
Three years ago, on this same date, a train derailed after platform 4. It never made it to Thakurnagar.
One girl was never identified.
All they found was her melted face and black voile clothing.
Since then, three different girls have vanished from Sobarpur station — each on the same night.
Each one had told someone, “I’m taking the last train.”
None were seen again.
They say a cleaner once heard a whisper while sweeping platform 4.
A female voice behind him said:
“The last platform is not a place.
It’s a promise.”
---
So here’s my warning to anyone who waits for the last train at night:
If you overhear something strange…
If a cat stares at you without blinking…
If someone asks, “Where are you going?”
Don’t answer.
Don’t board.
And whatever you do…
Don’t look her in the eyes.
Because she remembers faces.
And she waits.
