The train slowed.
Not suddenly.
Not enough to alarm.
But enough—
to feel wrong.
At first, no one noticed.
Passengers remained lost in their own worlds.
Phones.
Conversations.
Sleep.
Normal life continued—
unaware that something had already begun to shift.
Outside—
Darkness had fully taken over.
Not the comforting kind that comes with night.
But the kind that feels heavy.
Unnatural.
As if it's hiding something.
A small station emerged from the shadows. Barely visible. Almost forgotten.
The platform lights flickered weakly.
One tube light buzzed faintly, its glow unstable—fading in and out like it was struggling to survive.
The station board stood crooked.
Its name half-visible.
The paint peeling.
Letters worn down by time.
No vendors.
No announcements.
No movement.
Too quiet.
Inside the train—
No one paid attention.
Why would they?
To them—
This was just another brief stop.
Another nameless station on a long journey.
But outside—
Something was wrong.
Near the far end of the platform—
A figure appeared.
Slowly.
Staggering forward.
Its movements were off.
Unsteady.
Jerking slightly with each step.
Another figure followed.
Then another.
They didn't walk like people.
Not anymore.
One of them collapsed suddenly.
Its body hitting the ground with a dull thud.
For a moment—
It didn't move.
Then—
It twitched.
Violently.
Inside the train—
Someone yawned.
Another adjusted their blanket.
A child turned in their sleep.
Life continued.
Blind to what was happening just outside the window.
The train doors slid open with a mechanical hiss.
Routine halt.
No one stepped out.
No one stepped in.
At least—
That's what it seemed like.
Because something did enter.
Small.
Quick.
Unnoticed.
A rat.
It slipped through the gap between the platform and the train.
Its body moved erratically.
Too fast.
Too sharp.
Its fur looked uneven.
Patches missing.
Skin visible underneath.
Its eyes—
Dark.
Glossy.
Wrong.
It paused for a second—
As if sensing something.
Then darted forward.
Disappearing beneath the seats.
Gone.
Just like that.
The doors closed again.
With the same mechanical finality.
The train began to move.
Slow at first.
Then faster.
Leaving the station behind.
Leaving the figures behind.
The darkness.
The silence.
But not the danger.
Because sometimes—
The most dangerous things aren't the ones you see.
They're the ones that enter quietly.
And by the time you notice—
It's already late. Too late.