The Flickering Light
468 Words
The Flickering Lights**
Ryan leaned his head against the cold glass of the train window, watching the empty city blur past. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels against the tracks was oddly hypnotic, but something about the ride felt… off.
The train was too quiet. Even for this late at night, there should have been some noise—someone rustling a newspaper, a distant conversation, the occasional hum of an overhead announcement. But there was nothing. Just the dull hum of the lights above and the faint echo of the train moving through the tunnel.
He shifted in his seat and glanced across the aisle. The woman was still there. Unmoving. Her long black dress pooled around her feet, her hands delicately folded in her lap. She sat perfectly still, as if frozen in time.
Ryan frowned. Something about her posture was unsettling. Most people slouched, adjusted themselves, or even checked their phones. But she was stiff, unnatural—like a mannequin placed there for effect.
The train entered a tunnel, and the overhead lights flickered. The train shuddered slightly, and for a split second, the entire car was plunged into darkness.
Then, the lights snapped back on.
Ryan’s stomach twisted. The woman was closer.
She had moved—no, she *must* have moved. But he hadn’t heard anything.
His breath hitched as he scanned the rest of the car. No one else seemed to notice. The old man near the front kept mumbling to himself, and the other few passengers remained lost in their own worlds.
Ryan turned back toward the woman. Her face was still obscured by her long, dark hair. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he could *feel* her watching him.
A cold sweat prickled the back of his neck.
Then the lights flickered again.
And she was even closer.
Ryan’s heart slammed against his ribs. He gripped the edge of his seat, his breath coming in short gasps. *No.* This wasn’t right. This wasn’t possible.
The train jolted, sending a sharp screech through the cabin. The lights dimmed, casting long shadows along the floor. Ryan clenched his jaw and dared to glance at the woman one more time.
Her hands were no longer in her lap.
They were gripping the edge of her seat.
Tensed. Ready.
Ryan shot to his feet, his pulse hammering in his ears. He turned toward the door at the end of the car, intending to move to another section. He reached for the handle—
The train plunged into another tunnel.
The lights went out.
The darkness was suffocating, stretching endlessly, pressing in on him from all sides. He couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe—
Then, right next to his ear, a whisper.
“You took my seat.”
The lights came back.
And she was right beside him.
- Writer
