The Last Train Home

I missed my train by maybe thirty seconds.

I remember being pissed about it because it was the last one of the night, and I had another forty minutes before the next train.

At least that's what the station display said.

I sat on the bench and watched the platform empty.

About ten minutes later, I heard a train coming.

The display still said there were no trains scheduled.

I stood up anyway.

The train rolled into the station completely silent.

No lights inside.

No announcement.

Just the doors opening.

I should've stayed where I was.

Instead, I got on.

There was one other passenger sitting at the far end of the carriage.

An old man in a dark coat.

He didn't look at me.

I sat down and checked my phone.

No signal.

Then the train started moving.

For the first few minutes, everything seemed normal.

Then I noticed something outside.

We passed the same station twice.

I knew it was the same one because there was a giant advertisement above the platform with a woman's face on it.

I watched it disappear behind us.

Then five minutes later, it appeared again.

Same platform.

Same advertisement.

Same woman.

I started getting nervous.

I walked toward the old man.

"Do you know where this train is going?"

He didn't answer.

I asked again.

He slowly turned toward me.

"You're not supposed to be on this one."

I laughed because I thought he was joking.

He wasn't.

He pointed at the window.

Outside wasn't the city anymore.

There were no buildings.

No roads.

Just darkness.

Then I saw lights.

Hundreds of them.

Tiny lights scattered across the landscape.

They looked like windows.

But there were no buildings around them.

The old man told me not to look at them.

Obviously, I looked.

The lights started moving.

They were getting closer.

I realized they weren't lights.

They were eyes.

Hundreds of eyes staring at the train.

I ran toward the doors.

The old man grabbed my arm.

"Don't get off."

I pulled away from him.

The train suddenly stopped.

The doors opened.

Outside was my neighborhood.

My actual street.

My house was right there.

I could see my bedroom window.

I stepped toward the platform.

The old man shouted behind me.

"That's not your house."

I stopped.

Then I looked closer.

The house was almost identical.

But there was something wrong.

Every window was black.

Every door was open.

And standing in the middle of the street was me.

Another version of me.

Just standing there.

Watching the train.

I backed away.

The doors closed.

The train started moving again.

I don't remember what happened after that.

I woke up on the original station platform the next morning.

My train had arrived at exactly the time it was supposed to.

The station worker told me I'd apparently fallen asleep on the bench.

I almost believed him.

Then I checked my pocket.

There was something inside that wasn't mine.

A train ticket.

No destination.

No date.

Just one sentence printed across the middle.

"NEXT TIME, GET OFF."

I still have it.

And every time I take the train now, I check the platform display twice.

Because once in a while, right at the bottom of the screen, for less than a second, I see another departure listed.

No destination.

No train number.

Just my name.