The Last Train of the Night

 The station was almost empty when Emma ran down the cold platform, her breath visible in the winter air. The loudspeaker echoed, “The last train of the night will depart in two minutes.” She clutched her small suitcase and checked the clock—11:58 p.m. If she missed this train, she would be stuck in the city until morning, and that was the one thing she couldn’t let happen.

As the doors began to close, Emma jumped in just in time. She sat down, heart pounding, and looked around. The carriage was nearly empty—only an old man reading a newspaper, a young couple whispering, and a man in a dark coat sitting at the far end, staring out the window.

For a while, everything felt normal. But when the train entered a long tunnel, the lights flickered. When they came back on, the man in the dark coat was suddenly sitting across from her. Emma froze.

He smiled faintly. “You almost missed it,” he said in a calm, low voice.
“Missed what?” she asked, confused.
“The last train,” he replied. “It doesn’t run every night.”

Something in his tone sent a chill through her. She glanced at the window and realized the city lights were gone. Only darkness surrounded them. The air grew colder.

Then, the old man’s newspaper slipped from his hands—and Emma saw the date: October 14, 1975.

Her suitcase fell to the floor. “Where… where are we going?” she whispered.

The man stood, tipping his hat. “Back to where you left your story unfinished.”

The train slowed, and when the doors opened, Emma stepped out into a small, forgotten town under a starless sky—a place she knew from her childhood but hadn’t seen in years.

And the train behind her disappeared into the dark, carrying only echoes of the past.