A tall man in a black uniform appeared from the next compartment.
He had pale skin and a thin smile.
"Ticket," he whispered.
Rafiq nervously handed over his train ticket.
The man looked at it… then looked at him.
"You're not supposed to be here."
Rafiq's heart stopped.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
The ticket collector leaned closer.
"This train is only for those who have already died."
Suddenly, every passenger stood up at the same time.
Their stitched mouths slowly began to tear open.