Chapter 12 – Whispers Beneath the Rain
The rain came without warning.
One moment the sky was heavy but silent, and the next, thunder cracked open the clouds and poured sheets of cold water over the earth. Amara pulled her jacket tighter as she trudged down the narrow, unlit road leading to the old train station.
She shouldn't have come.
Every step echoed with doubt, but something—an instinct, or maybe desperation—pushed her forward. Ever since that night in the basement when the shadow had whispered her name, she hadn't slept properly. The voice lingered, growing clearer each time she closed her eyes.
"You can't run from what's inside you."
Those words haunted her.
Now, in the storm's fury, the world seemed to echo them back.
---
The train station loomed ahead, a skeleton of glass and rust. It hadn't been used in years, not since the fire. Everyone said the place was cursed, that strange lights still flickered in the windows and that if you listened closely, you could hear the last passengers screaming as the flames took them.
Amara swallowed her fear and stepped inside.
Her shoes splashed against the puddles gathering on the cracked tile floor. The air smelled of mold, ash, and something faintly metallic—blood, maybe. The beams of her flashlight sliced through the darkness, illuminating fragments of shattered benches, torn posters, and the ghost of a life that once thrived here.
She wasn't alone.
A soft creak came from the far end of the platform.
"Hello?" she called, her voice trembling.
No response. Only the dripping of rain through holes in the ceiling.
She took a few cautious steps forward. Her light landed on something strange—a trail of footprints in the dust. They were fresh, glistening with water, leading deeper into the building.
Amara hesitated. The rational part of her screamed to turn around, to go home, to pretend none of this existed. But the other part—the one that had heard the voice, the one that remembered the figure in her dreams—demanded answers.
She followed.
---
The trail led her down a narrow hallway and into what used to be the ticket office. The glass window was shattered, papers littered the floor, and the old cash drawer hung open. A faint blue glow pulsed from the back room.
"Who's there?" she whispered.
This time, a voice replied.
"Amara."
She froze.
It wasn't human. It wasn't even echoing from a direction—it was everywhere. The sound curled around her like mist, low and familiar, a voice that carried both longing and threat.
"Why do you keep running?" it said softly.
"Who are you?"
"You already know."
Her flashlight flickered. The blue glow grew brighter, spreading across the walls until they shimmered like ripples of water. The air turned cold enough for her breath to fog.
And then she saw him.
A figure emerged from the glow—tall, cloaked in black, face half-shadowed. His eyes were pale silver, unblinking. He looked like a memory given form.
Amara's heart pounded. "You… you were in my dreams."
He smiled faintly. "Not dreams. Memories."
She shook her head. "That's impossible. I don't know you."
He stepped closer. "You knew me before the fire."
The mention of fire sent a jolt through her. Flashes erupted in her mind—screaming, heat, a hand reaching for hers through smoke. But the memories slipped away as fast as they came, leaving behind only pain.
"Stop!" she cried, clutching her head.
"You have to remember," he said. "Before it's too late."
---
A gust of wind slammed through the station, scattering papers and extinguishing the blue light. When Amara looked up again, he was gone.
In his place, a single object lay on the floor—a charred train ticket.
Her name was printed on it.
She bent down to pick it up, hands trembling. The ticket felt warm, like it had just come from the fire. On the back, a line of words was scrawled in ink that seemed to shift as she read it.
"Return before midnight, or you'll never leave."
The station clock struck once—eleven o'clock.
---
Amara ran.
Her mind screamed as she stumbled out into the rain, clutching the ticket to her chest. The storm had worsened, thunder shaking the ground beneath her feet. She didn't know where to go—only that she had one hour before something terrible happened.
As she reached the main road, headlights appeared in the distance. A car slowed beside her, and the window rolled down.
It was Liam.
"Amara? What the hell are you doing out here?"
She barely had time to breathe before she climbed in, slamming the door shut.
"I found him," she whispered.
Liam frowned. "Found who?"
"The man from my dreams. He said I knew him before the fire."
Liam's expression changed instantly. His grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Don't talk about that night."
She turned to him. "You remember it too, don't you?"
His jaw clenched. "I remember enough to know we shouldn't dig it up."
Amara stared out the window, rain streaking the glass. "We can't ignore it anymore, Liam. Something's coming for us."
For a moment, he said nothing. Then he exhaled slowly. "Where do you want to go?"
She looked at the ticket in her hand. The writing shimmered again, and this time, a faint address appeared beneath the warning.
"The old railyard," she said quietly. "Before midnight."
Liam nodded, started the engine, and drove into the storm.
---
The road to the railyard twisted through the woods, each turn darker than the last. The headlights barely pierced the fog.
Halfway there, the radio flickered to life on its own. A voice—soft, distorted—spoke through the static.
> "One hour left… return what was taken…"
Liam smacked the dashboard. "What the—?"
The car's lights flickered. The engine sputtered. And then, suddenly, everything went black.
The vehicle coasted to a stop.
Amara gripped the seat. "Liam?"
He tried the ignition again—nothing.
Outside, the rain had stopped. The silence was worse than the storm.
Then, faintly, they heard it—the distant sound of a train horn, echoing through the night.
Liam turned to her, eyes wide. "That line's been shut down for ten years."
Amara's hand tightened around the ticket. "Not tonight," she whispered.
And as the fog thickened, swallowing the car, a shape emerged on the tracks ahead—an old, glowing locomotive, its lights burning blue like the eyes of the dead.
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To be continued...
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