Episode 1 – The Train Back
The train smelled like wet metal and old fear.
I had been on enough warfronts to recognize the latter. Fear has a texture — thin, papery, brittle. You feel it before you see it.
Most of the ride was normal. Just the rattle of the wheels and the muted coughs of tired passengers. But about forty minutes before my stop, the air changed.
It started with the conductor.
He slid open the carriage door, muttered something to the ticket inspector, and then… stopped looking out the windows.
Not a single glance.
We passed through a stretch of pine forest, the kind that swallows light. The overhead bulbs flickered. People shifted uncomfortably.
No one was talking anymore.
An old man two rows ahead leaned toward me without turning his head. His voice was so low I almost missed it.
"Don't notice it. Not even in your head."
I frowned.
"Excuse me?"
He didn't respond. His knuckles were white around the handle of his cane.
The train slowed, creaking as if under strain, though the tracks looked fine.
Then I saw it.
Between the trees — something was moving, matching our speed exactly. Not running. Not walking. Just… there.
It didn't blur past like the rest of the forest.
It stayed.
I tried to make out its shape, but every time my eyes adjusted, my vision skated away like oil on water.
The old man's warning rang in my ears: Don't notice it.
I looked away.
And that's when the train jerked violently, throwing me against the window.
A face slammed against the glass.
My face.
Same scar under the eye. Same jaw. Same bloodshot stare.
It was grinning.
And the grin didn't fade even as the train roared past and left it behind.