The compartment near the washroom was quieter than the rest of the coach.
Not completely silent—
But different.
The lights were dimmer here.
The air slightly heavier.
The usual noise of conversations faded into a distant murmur, replaced by the occasional metallic creak of the train and the soft hum of motion beneath the floor.
It was the kind of place people passed through quickly.
Not where they stayed.
A young girl stood near the washroom door.
Still.
Completely still.
At first glance, there was nothing unusual about her.
She looked like any other passenger—
simple clothes, slightly messy hair, small frame.
But something about her presence—
Felt wrong.
A man walking past slowed slightly.
His eyes lingered.
Not because he understood what was wrong—
But because his instincts told him something was.
"You okay?" he asked casually.
No response.
He frowned.
Maybe she didn't hear.
Maybe she was unwell.
He stepped closer.
"You need help?"
Still nothing.
Now it felt strange.
Too strange.
But discomfort is easy to ignore.
Especially when the explanation feels simpler.
"She's probably sick," he muttered to himself.
People act weird all the time.
No need to get involved.
He turned away.
Pushed open the washroom door.
Stepped inside.
Leaving it slightly ajar behind him.
The corridor returned to stillness.
Behind him—
The girl's fingers twitched.
Just slightly.
Barely noticeable.
A sound escaped her throat.
Low.
Uneven.
Not quite human.
Not quite animal.
Something in between.
Her head tilted to the side.
Too sharply.
Too suddenly.
Her breathing changed.
Slow at first.
Then irregular.
Shallow.
Then heavy.
Her chest rose and fell in uneven rhythms—
As if her body had forgotten how to function normally.
Her hand lifted.
Hung in the air.
Then dropped again.
For a moment—
Everything went still again.
Then—
The washroom door opened.
The man stepped out, adjusting his sleeve, already forgetting the strange girl behind him.
Already returning to normal life.
He didn't even have time to react.
She moved.
Not like before.
Not slow.
Not uncertain.
Fast.
Violent.
She lunged.
A scream tore through the compartment.
Raw.
Sudden.
Unprepared.
Passengers turned instantly.
Confusion flickered across their faces—
Before understanding had the chance to catch up.
"HEY—HEY—what are you doing?!" someone shouted.
"Someone stop her!"
But no one moved fast enough.
Because no one expected this.
Her hands clawed at him.
Her teeth—
Blood spread.
Quickly.
Shockingly.
The man stumbled back, his balance lost, his voice breaking into something between a scream and a gasp.
She didn't stop.
Didn't hesitate.
Didn't even seem to think.
She attacked again.
And again.
Within seconds—
The first victim fell.
The compartment froze.
Not because people didn't want to help—
But because their minds refused to process what they were seeing.
"This isn't normal…" someone whispered.
No.
It wasn't.
Because something worse was about to happen.
The man on the ground—
Started shaking.
At first—
Small movements.
Tremors.
Then—
Violent convulsions.
His body twisted unnaturally.
His back arched.
His fingers curled tightly—
As if something inside him was taking control.
"Call the police!" someone shouted.
"Pull the chain!" another screamed.
Panic began to rise.
Fast.
Uncontrolled.
But before anyone could act—
He stopped moving.
For one second—
There was silence.
Then—
He sat up.
Not slowly.
Not normally.
Wrong.
His movements were jerky.
Unstable.
As if his body no longer followed human rhythm.
His head snapped to the side.
His eyes—
Empty.
Hungry.
And then—
He attacked.
That's when panic truly began.
Because now—
It wasn't just one.
It was spreading.
And no one understood how.