All Passengers Gone, Agent Said the Train Never Left

1 The express train pulled out of the station. I’d just come back from the restroom, and over a thousand passengers had vanished. I refused to believe it, frantically dialing the station’s help line. The agent on the phone insisted that due to a severe blizzard, Express Train G404 had been canceled. It never left the station. But I was sitting right there, in the warmth of a first-class seat. Even more terrifying, when I tried to call my mother, the number came back as disconnected. And the world outside the window, once a snowy landscape, had dissolved into a colorless, gray void... When I opened my eyes again, I was screaming in a psychiatric hospital. The doctors increased my dosage, even subjected me to electroshock therapy, all to make me forget the train. During an exercise period, I threw myself from a tenth-story window. And now, I was back. A second chance, on the same day of the holiday rush. “Attention passengers, the train is now approaching the platform…” My head snapped up. I stared at the crimson letters on the departures board. “Train G404, now boarding.” I pinched my thigh, hard. The pain was sharp, real. This time, I would find out the truth, even if it meant dying on this train. … I looked down at the sweat-dampened blue ticket in my hand. Train G404, Car 05, Seat 12F. Grabbing my suitcase, I bolted for the gate. I tumbled through, luggage and all, just a second before the barriers slid shut. The white bullet train sat silently on the tracks. With a trembling hand, I reached out and touched its cold, steel skin. The frantic beating in my chest finally slowed. It wasn't a hallucination. I dragged my suitcase toward car 05. Shoving my way through the crowded aisle, I finally reached my seat. A man in his forties, his clothes worn from labor, was sitting there, peeling an orange, just like the last time. He looked up as I approached, awkwardly pulling his woven duffel bag closer to his legs. “Sorry, miss. Got a lot of stuff here. Let me make some room for you.” I stared at him for three long seconds. Then I reached out and patted his arm. It was warm, the muscle beneath his sleeve firm. He was a living person. “It’s okay,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “A little crowded, but it’s cozier that way.” I let out a long breath, heaved my suitcase onto the overhead rack, and sank into my seat. I glanced out the window. A platform attendant was waving a green flag. A sharp beep sounded. The doors hissed shut, and the train began to move. I pulled out my phone, opened my map app to track our GPS location, then leaned back and closed my eyes. Just three more hours, and I’d be home. “Water, miss?” The man beside me offered a bottle of water, his smile kind. “You’re sweating. Must be in a hurry to get home for the New Year, eh?” I took the water, a warmth spreading through my chest. “Yeah. In a hurry. My mom’s waiting.” “Heh, me too,” he said, his eyes crinkling into a smile. “Been working all year. This is the day I live for. My little girl wanted cherries, so I got her a whole crate.” I twisted the cap off the bottle but only took a tiny sip. This time, I wasn't going to the restroom. I would hold it until we arrived, no matter what. 2 Last time, they locked me away like I was crazy. This time, I needed irrefutable proof. I opened my phone’s camera and started recording. “It is currently 3:20 PM on February 16th, 2026. New Year’s Eve.” “I’m in car number 05 of the G404 Express.” I narrated quietly, panning the camera across the car. The lens captured the young couple in front of me sharing a cup of instant noodles. In the aisle, a young mother struggled to soothe her wailing infant. Diagonally behind me, a few older men were playing a loud game of cards, the snap of their hands hitting the table echoing through the car. Finally, I turned the camera on the man next to me. “Hey, want to say hi? A little holiday travel documentary,” I said with a smile. He looked a bit shy, covering his face with one hand as he offered me half of his freshly peeled orange with the other. “Don't film me, I'm a mess. Here, have an orange. It's sweet.” “Thanks,” I said, making sure to capture the orange, and the digital watch on his wrist, in the video. I saved the clip and immediately uploaded it to my family’s group chat, then posted it to my social media. Caption: “Full speed ahead! Mom, get the dumplings ready, I’ll be home soon!” As the replies rolled in from aunts and uncles—emojis wishing me a safe trip—the last knot of anxiety in my stomach loosened. I had video. I had witnesses. I had a GPS trail. Not even God himself could call me a liar this time. I popped a segment of the sweet orange into my mouth. It was delicious. “Miss, do you feel that…?” the man beside me suddenly asked, his brow furrowed. “Is it just me, or is this ride getting really rough?” I paused. “Is it?” I glanced down at the water bottle on the tray table. The surface of the water was vibrating violently. “And… my ears are ringing,” he said, rubbing them with a pained expression. A cold dread trickled down my spine. Last time, I’d been so focused on getting to the restroom that I hadn’t paid any attention to my surroundings. Just then, the train’s PA system crackled to life with a piercing shriek of static. “Screeeeee—” Everyone in the car clapped their hands over their ears. The baby’s cries intensified. Grumbling turned to angry shouts. “What the hell is going on? Conductor!” “They’re going to make us deaf!” I whipped my head toward the window. A dark, gaping hole loomed ahead. A tunnel. The instant the front of the train entered the tunnel, the lights inside the car flickered. An immense pressure slammed into us. It felt like my head was being squeezed in a vise, my eyeballs about to burst from their sockets. The baby’s cries became a high, thin wail. The man’s curses warped into a low, guttural groan. “Sir! Sir, are you okay?” I gasped. Just as my hand was about to touch his sleeve… Crack! A sharp snap echoed in my mind. The lights went out completely. A second later, they flickered back on. I was panting, my hand still hovering in the air. But the man beside me was gone. I shot to my feet and scanned the car. The couple with their noodles, the mother with her baby, the men playing cards… In a single second, they had all evaporated. The entire train car was spotless, as pristine as a factory model. Even the creases on the seats had been smoothed away. I was the only one left, standing alone in the aisle. The half-eaten orange was still in my hand, its juice dripping onto the floor. “Aaaah!” A scream ripped from my throat as the familiar, suffocating despair crashed down on me once more. 3 I burst out of car 05, stumbling blindly through the train. Car 04 was empty. Car 03 was empty. The dining car was also empty. Over a thousand passengers, along with the luggage that had clogged the aisles, had all vanished. Outside the window, the blizzard was gone, replaced by a churning, chaotic grayness. I couldn’t see a thing, only the roar of the train reminding me that I was still alive. “Is anyone there? Hello!” “Conductor! Anybody!” I ran, shouting, but my voice was swallowed by the silence. Driven by desperation, I reached the connection between cars and slammed the emergency intercom button. “Bzzzt… bzzzt…” Only static answered. Calm down, Anna! You’re not the same naive girl you were last time! My hands shaking, I pulled out my phone. One bar of signal. I immediately dialed my mom. Ring… ring… ring… Answer, Mom! Please, please answer! “Hello? Anna?” The call connected! The moment I heard her familiar voice, a wave of relief washed over me. I slid to the floor and broke down, sobbing. “Mom! Mom, help me! Something’s wrong with the train! Everyone’s gone!” There was a two-second pause. “Anna? Honey, what are you talking about? What do you mean everyone’s gone?” “The train! G404! I’m on it!” I screamed, the words tumbling out in a rush. “It was full of people, and then suddenly they all disappeared! I’m the only one left!” “Anna… is it happening again?” My mom’s voice was laced with a new, terrifying edge of fear. “Are you still in the city? Are you just upset you couldn’t get a ticket?” “No! I got one! I’m on the train!” “You’re lying!” she suddenly shouted. “They just made an announcement at the station! It’s all over the news! The blizzard caused a power failure on the line. Train G404 was canceled! Everyone who had a ticket is here getting a refund right now!” It was happening. It was all happening again, just like last time. My panic reached a fever pitch. “That’s impossible! I have the ticket in my hand! I’ve been on this train for an hour! Mom, look at the group chat! I sent a video! I filmed the other people in the car!” I fumbled with my phone, switching back to the messaging app. “Look, Mom! The video in the group chat! That’s my proof!” I heard my mom fumbling with her phone on the other end. “What am I supposed to be looking at? The only thing in here is a video of you talking to an empty train car!” she cried, her voice breaking. “Anna, are you sick? Please don’t scare me like this!” Talking to an empty car? My body went rigid. I looked down, my thumb trembling as I pressed play. On the screen, I saw myself, holding my phone with a bright smile, excitedly narrating to the camera. “It is currently 3:20 PM on February 16th…” The background was a car of empty seats. “Hey, want to say hi…?” my video-self said, cheerfully panning the camera to the seat beside me. It was empty. There was no construction worker, no duffel bag, no golden-yellow orange. “No… no…” I stared at the screen, my grip on the phone so tight I thought it would shatter. “That’s impossible! I ate the orange! Look! Look at my hand!” I thrust my left hand forward. I was still clutching the half-eaten piece of fruit. But the video showed something different. I watched myself pop empty fingers into my mouth and pretend to chew. A wave of nausea and cold dread washed over me, starting from my toes and crawling up my spine. Am I losing my mind? No! I refused to believe it! The sweet, tangy taste of the orange was still on my tongue. It was real! “Mom! Believe me! I’m on the train!” I pleaded. “It’s still moving! It’s going really fast!” “Anna, where are you? I’ve already called the police! They’re tracking your phone right now!” my mom sobbed. “Don’t go anywhere! Just stay where you are!” The police… yes, the police would figure it out! “Mom, tell them to check! I have GPS! I’m moving! I’m really, really moving!” I switched back to my map app. The little blue dot representing me was flying across the map at an incredible speed. The display read: 190 mph. See! That was the proof! Who on earth can run at nearly two hundred miles an hour?! 4 Ten minutes later, a call came through from an unknown number. “Is this Ms. Anna Reid? This is Detective Morgan.” “Detective! Help me! I’m on train G404, and all the passengers are gone!” I clung to his voice like a lifeline. “Ms. Reid, I need you to remain calm.” The detective’s tone was strange, as if he was trying to suppress some strong emotion. “We’ve just pinpointed your phone’s location.” “You see it, right? I’m moving! The train is heading toward my hometown!” “Yes, we see that,” he said, pausing for a beat. “Your phone is indeed moving at approximately 190 miles per hour, and its location is tracking along the main North-South rail line.” “But…” “But what?” My throat tightened. “But we have the real-time dispatch map from the national rail network. At this very moment, there are no trains operating on that line. Not even a freight train.” “What does that mean?” My tongue felt thick and clumsy. The detective’s voice hardened. “Ms. Reid, are you carrying some kind of illegal signal jammer or GPS spoofer? I need to warn you, disrupting the rail network during the holiday season is a federal offense.” “No! I’m on the train! It’s a bullet train! It’s white! Why won’t any of you believe me?” I screamed, tears and snot streaming down my face. “Ms. Reid,” the detective asked suddenly, “do you have any history of mental illness?” His question was like a bucket of ice water. Last time, that’s exactly what they had asked. “I have a history of depression, from work-related stress,” I said, my teeth clenched. “But I’m not crazy! I can tell the difference between reality and a hallucination!” “And I have my ticket!” “Tickets can be faked.” “I have a video!” “Your mother showed it to us. You’re alone in it.” “I have an orange! The man next to me gave me an orange!” “You can buy an orange anywhere.” The world had built a perfect, logical prison around me, and the only conclusion was that I was insane.

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