The Last Train to Mercy

Rain lashed against the train windows, blurring the desolate landscape outside. Eleanor huddled deeper into her coat, the worn leather offering little comfort against the encroaching chill. The train car was nearly empty, save for an old woman snoring softly across the aisle and a man at the far end, shrouded in shadow.

She glanced at her watch. 11:58 pm. Almost midnight. Almost to Mercy.

A tremor of unease ran through her. She shouldn’t have taken this train. The warnings echoed in her mind — locals whispering of disappearances, of a creature that stalked the midnight route. But she’d been desperate, fleeing a past that clung to her like a shroud.

The man in the shadows shifted, and a cold dread coiled in Eleanor’s stomach. He was tall and gaunt, his face obscured by a wide-brimmed hat. He hadn’t moved an inch since she’d boarded the train, hadn’t even looked in her direction.

The old woman across the aisle stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She looked at Eleanor, her face creased with worry.

“Dearie,” she whispered, her voice raspy. “You shouldn’t be on this train. Not tonight.”

Eleanor forced a smile. “It’s the last one to Mercy,” she replied, her voice strained.

The old woman shook her head, her gaze flickering to the shadowed figure at the end of the car. “He’s been waiting for you.”

Eleanor’s breath caught in her throat. “Who?” she whispered back, her heart pounding against her ribs.

The old woman leaned closer, her voice barely audible above the rhythmic clatter of the train. “He’s the one they call the Night Passenger. He collects souls lost on the midnight train.”

Eleanor’s blood ran cold. She risked a glance at the figure in the shadows. He was closer now, his head tilted at an unnatural angle, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“But… why me?” Eleanor stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

The old woman’s face softened with pity. “He knows what you’re running from, dearie. And he offers a twisted kind of mercy.”

The train lurched to a halt, plunging the car into darkness. Eleanor’s scream died in her throat as icy fingers closed around her wrist.

“Welcome to Mercy,” a voice rasped in her ear.

The only sound that followed was the mournful wail of the train whistle as it sped away, leaving Eleanor trapped in the darkness with the Night Passenger.