The Last Passenger

Every night at 12:40, a nearly empty train left Manchester Piccadilly. Thomas worked late and took it home almost every evening. For months, there was always one passenger sitting at the far end of his carriage: an elderly woman wearing a dark coat, staring straight ahead. She never spoke, never used her phone, and never seemed to get off. 

The Flat That Wasn't Empty

One night, Thomas finally sat opposite her. “You take this train every night?” he asked. She slowly turned toward him. “Only when someone dies.” Thomas smiled awkwardly. “That's cheerful.” The woman looked toward the window. “You won't be here tomorrow.” Thomas laughed, but she didn't. The next morning, he mentioned the strange encounter to a colleague, who went pale. “Mate... that woman died twelve years ago.” Thomas checked the train's CCTV footage with a friend who worked at the station. Every recording showed Thomas sitting alone. There was never anyone opposite him. That evening, Thomas stayed home. At 12:40, his phone rang. It was the railway station. The caller sounded terrified. “Sir, are you Thomas Bennett?” “Yes.” “We're calling because your usual train has just arrived.” Thomas frowned. “So?” The man swallowed. “Every passenger got off except you.”