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Chapter 13 – The Ghost Train
The sound of the horn cut through the night like a scream.
It didn't echo like normal sound—it vibrated, sinking into Amara's bones, rattling her teeth. The fog glowed with a cold blue light as the ancient locomotive rolled forward, wheels shrieking against invisible rails.
Liam sat frozen behind the wheel. "This can't be happening," he whispered. "That train burned down with everyone inside."
Amara didn't answer. Her hand clenched the charred ticket so tightly the edges bit into her palm. She could feel it pulsing, faintly warm—alive, almost—as though responding to the light ahead.
The train slowed. Steam hissed around it, and through the mist, she could make out faded words along the side of the engine:
"Midnight Line."
The same words from the nightmares.
A door slid open with a deep metallic groan. Inside, blue light spilled down the steps like liquid frost.
"Don't," Liam said sharply, grabbing her arm. "We don't know what's on that thing."
"I think…" She looked down at the ticket. "It's waiting for me."
"Amara—"
But she was already stepping out of the car.
---
The ground beneath her feet felt unreal, like walking through smoke. Her breath formed white clouds in the air as she climbed the steps. Each one creaked softly, like sighs.
The moment her foot crossed the threshold, the world changed.
The rain stopped.
The wind vanished.
And suddenly, everything was quiet—too quiet.
She stood in a long corridor lined with empty seats and broken glass. The air shimmered faintly, thick with memories that didn't belong to the living.
At the far end, a conductor stood waiting.
He was tall, skeletal, dressed in a burnt uniform. His face was pale as ash, and his eyes were hollow sockets filled with flickering blue flame. When he spoke, his voice carried the sound of grinding metal.
"Ticket, please."
Amara hesitated, then held out the charred slip of paper.
The conductor took it with gloved fingers and examined it carefully. His smile was thin, almost kind. "Ah… a return journey."
"Return where?" she asked.
He looked up. "Home."
Before she could reply, he punched the ticket with a motion so quick she barely saw it. The moment he did, the train lurched forward.
Amara stumbled, grabbing onto a seat. Outside the window, the fog turned into streaks of light, shapes and shadows flashing past—faces screaming, fires burning, cities collapsing. It wasn't just a train ride; it was a passage through time.
She turned back to the conductor. "What is this place?"
"The line between the lost and the living," he said. "You've been here before, Amara."
Her pulse quickened. "I don't remember."
"You will."
---
The lights flickered. A sound echoed down the corridor—footsteps.
Someone was coming.
Amara turned, and her heart stopped.
It was the man from the station—the one with silver eyes and the shadowed face.
He walked toward her with calm purpose, his coat billowing behind him like smoke.
"You shouldn't have come alone," he said.
"You keep saying that," she snapped. "But you never tell me who you are!"
The corners of his mouth twitched. "You knew me once. Before the fire."
The same words again. Only this time, something in his voice struck a chord deep within her.
A flash—
Her hand reaching through smoke.
A boy's voice shouting her name.
A locket burning against her skin.
She staggered. "You—"
He stepped closer. "Yes."
Her breath caught. "You were the one who tried to save me."
He nodded once. "And failed."
---
The train jolted violently, throwing them both to the floor. The windows darkened, and the sound of screams filled the air. Flames burst through the aisle, crawling up the seats like living things.
Amara scrambled backward. "What's happening?"
He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. "The past. It's replaying itself. Hold on to me!"
The fire spread faster. The ceiling cracked open, smoke pouring through. She could hear the cries—dozens of them—people trapped, choking, burning. It wasn't a memory anymore. It was real.
Amara clung to the man as they stumbled toward the front of the train. "Why are you showing me this?" she screamed.
"I'm not," he shouted back. "You are."
"What?"
He turned to her, eyes blazing silver through the smoke. "You started the fire, Amara!"
Her world froze.
The words hit harder than the flames.
"No," she whispered. "That's not true—"
"You tried to stop it, but it was too late. You remember the explosion? The chemicals from your father's workshop?"
Images shattered through her mind like glass—her father yelling, the bottle spilling, the spark from the wire—then heat, fire, terror.
"I didn't mean to," she choked.
He softened. "I know. But you've been running from it ever since."
The train shuddered again. Flames closed in from every direction.
"Then why bring me here?" she cried.
"To end it," he said simply.
---
They burst through the final door into the engine room. Inside, the controls glowed with eerie blue light. The conductor stood at the lever, motionless.
Amara stepped forward. "Stop the train!"
The conductor tilted his head. "Only you can."
The man beside her nodded. "Take control. Accept what happened."
She looked around. The walls were shaking. The fire was everywhere now, pressing closer, whispering her name.
"I can't," she said, trembling.
"Yes, you can," he said. "Face it. Forgive yourself."
The floor cracked beneath her feet. The flames roared louder, but this time, she didn't run. She grabbed the lever with both hands and pulled.
A deafening screech filled the air as the train's wheels locked. Light exploded around her—blue, white, and gold—swallowing everything.
---
When the world came back, she was lying on the platform outside.
The fog was gone. The rain had stopped.
And the train… had vanished.
Liam was kneeling beside her, shaking her gently. "Amara! Hey, wake up!"
She blinked, disoriented. "Liam?"
"You were gone," he said. "The whole train just—disappeared."
Amara sat up slowly. The charred ticket lay on the ground beside her, now whole and clean, as if it had never burned. She turned it over.
The words on the back had changed.
"Debt repaid. The line is closed."
She felt something wet on her cheek and realized she was crying—not out of fear, but release.
The man with silver eyes was gone, but she could still feel him—like warmth on her skin, like forgiveness whispered through the wind.
Liam looked at her cautiously. "Are you okay?"
Amara nodded faintly. "For the first time in a long while… I think I am."
She stood, facing the empty tracks. The night was silent again, peaceful, as though the world had finally exhaled.
But deep in the distance, almost too faint to hear, came one last echo—the soft, mournful sound of a train horn fading into eternity.
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