The early morning mist hung low as the train pulled into Hojai station, its rhythmic clattering echoing across the stillness of the platform. Armaan adjusted his backpack, his fingers brushing against the leather-bound journal he always carried. Beside him, Zayan yawned, half-asleep but visibly excited for the journey to Guwahati.
“This better be worth it,” Zayan muttered, rubbing his eyes. “You and your random adventures.”
Armaan grinned. “Come on, man. It’s about the journey, not the destination.”
They boarded the train and found seats by the window. As the train jerked to life, the soft light of dawn painted the countryside in hues of gold and green. Villages blurred past, and the occasional tea garden came into view. The fresh air mixed with the familiar scent of chai being sold by vendors walking through the compartments.
But soon, Armaan’s attention was drawn to something peculiar.
Outside the window, a young boy in a white kurta stood motionless near the tracks as the train sped by. His face was turned away, but something about him felt off—unnaturally still, like a frozen image.
“Did you see that?” Armaan nudged Zayan, who was scrolling on his phone.
“See what?”
“There was a kid outside…just standing there. Looked weird.”
Zayan shrugged. “Probably some villager. Stop overthinking.”
But Armaan couldn’t shake the sight. Minutes passed, and the boy appeared again. Same white kurta, same frozen posture, this time near a cluster of trees.
“Okay, now I’m creeped out,” Armaan whispered, leaning closer to the window.
Zayan finally looked up. “You’re imagining things.”
“No, I swear! That boy—he was there again.”
Zayan raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Armaan decided to let it go, chalking it up to sleep deprivation. But the unease lingered.
As the train slowed down near a small station, the air grew heavier. A faint hum vibrated in the background, almost like whispers carried by the wind. Armaan glanced out again—and froze.
The boy was standing on the platform now, directly facing their compartment. His face was pale, his eyes hollow like black pits.
“Zayan,” Armaan hissed, his voice trembling.
“What now?” Zayan turned and immediately went rigid.
The boy raised his hand and pointed at them, his lips moving soundlessly.
Suddenly, the train jolted, as if something had struck its wheels. The lights flickered, and a wave of murmurs spread through the compartment. A vendor’s kettle crashed to the floor, spilling tea everywhere.
“What the hell was that?” Zayan muttered, his voice edged with panic.
Before Armaan could respond, the train came to a complete stop in the middle of nowhere. The fields outside stretched endlessly, with no sign of habitation.
An eerie silence settled over the passengers. Then, faint footsteps echoed outside.
Armaan’s pulse quickened as he peeked out of the window. The boy was walking along the tracks, heading toward the front of the train.
“I’m not staying here,” Zayan declared, grabbing his bag. “Let’s find someone—maybe the conductor.”
As they moved through the compartments, they noticed something strange. Passengers were seated quietly, their eyes vacant, as if in a trance.
“Are they even breathing?” Zayan whispered, his voice cracking.
“Don’t.” Armaan grabbed his arm. “Let’s just keep moving.”
Reaching the front of the train, they found the conductor’s cabin empty. The engine hummed softly, but there was no sign of the crew.
“What is happening?” Zayan stammered.
Before Armaan could answer, the whispers grew louder. They turned—and saw the boy standing at the entrance of the cabin, blocking their way back.
“You shouldn’t have looked,” the boy said, his voice chillingly soft.
Armaan’s chest tightened. “What do you mean?”
The boy smiled, a slow, unsettling curve of his lips. “Once you see, you can’t unsee. He’s coming.”
“Who’s coming?” Zayan shouted, his voice breaking.
The boy didn’t reply. Instead, he stepped closer, and the cabin filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. The whispers turned into a deafening roar, and everything went black.
Armaan woke up to Zayan shaking him violently.
“Wake up, man! We’re almost at Guwahati!” Zayan’s voice was laced with urgency.
Disoriented, Armaan looked around. The train was moving smoothly, and the passengers appeared normal, chatting and laughing.
“What…what just happened?” Armaan mumbled, clutching his head.
“You fell asleep or something,” Zayan said. “I’ve been trying to wake you for ten minutes.”
Armaan stared out of the window, his heart still racing. The fields looked ordinary now, bathed in the golden light of late morning. But as they pulled into Guwahati station, he caught a glimpse of something in the crowd.
A boy in a white kurta, standing still, his hollow eyes locked onto Armaan.
This time, the boy smiled.
