The midnight express thundered through the eerie silence, slicing through the darkness like a phantom. The railway tracks echoed its relentless speed, the sound magnified in the dead of night. The train was nearly empty, its few passengers lost in restless slumber.

At exactly 1:45 AM, Eleanor Hastings stepped onto the deserted platform, her heart pounding. If she missed this train, she would be stranded in the chilling night air until dawn. But it wasn’t just the cold that unsettled her—it was the fear that had gripped her for the past month.

A series of horrific murders had shaken London’s railway system. Four working women had been found dead, thrown from moving trains. The city buzzed with rumors of a phantom killer, but the truth was far more sinister—there were whispers of shadowy figures lurking in empty bogies, preying on lone travelers.

Eleanor had once witnessed such horror firsthand. A month ago, while traveling home from her job at a publishing house, she had awoken to muffled cries. Across from her, a woman was being assaulted. The other passengers had remained silent, paralyzed by fear—or worse, apathy. Eleanor had been no different. She had done nothing but watch in terror as the woman was hurled off the train into the abyss of the night.

The guilt had consumed her.

Now, she boarded the train, clutching her handbag tightly. The dimly lit carriage was nearly empty, save for an exhausted young woman—Charlotte Sinclair—who had collapsed into a seat near the door.

Eleanor sat down, trying to calm her nerves, but then, her eyes landed on a discarded newspaper at her feet.

“Another Working Woman Found Dead – Midnight Train Murders Continue!”

A chill ran down her spine. Her fingers trembled as she read further. The victim’s grainy photograph blurred before her eyes. She forced herself to look away.

A sudden rustling sound broke the silence.

Two men entered the carriage. Their faces were partially hidden under thick scarves, only their eyes glinting in the dim light.

Eleanor’s breath hitched. Something about them was eerily familiar—the way they scanned the empty seats, their deliberate, predatory movements.

They were searching for prey.

Her heart pounded violently as their eyes landed on Charlotte. The young woman, oblivious to their presence, had dozed off, her head resting against the window.

Eleanor wanted to scream—to warn her—but fear paralyzed her.

One of the men moved first, gripping Charlotte’s wrist. She stirred, confusion flashing across her face. The second man grabbed her by the hair, yanking her toward the door.

Charlotte’s screams shattered the silence.

“No! Please!” she begged, struggling against their grip.

The train continued its relentless journey through the dark countryside, indifferent to the horror unfolding inside.

Eleanor clenched her fists. This was it—the moment she had run from before. But could she run now?

The memory of the last victim haunted her. The helpless woman’s final scream. The way she had disappeared into the void.

Not this time.

Eleanor shot up from her seat, grabbing the first thing within reach—a heavy metal fire extinguisher. With a surge of adrenaline, she swung it at the nearest attacker. The impact sent him sprawling onto the floor.

The second man lunged at her, but she dodged just in time, using all her strength to push him away from Charlotte. The young woman collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air.

A sharp whistle pierced the night.

The train was approaching a station.

The door at the far end burst open, and two uniformed officers stormed in.

“Drop your weapons!” one of them barked.

The attackers tried to flee, but it was too late. Within seconds, they were wrestled to the ground, their hands shackled.

Charlotte sobbed in relief. Eleanor’s body trembled with the weight of what had just happened.

As she caught her breath, her eyes fell on the crumpled newspaper once again. This time, she didn’t look away.

Tonight, the cycle of silence had been broken.

The midnight train had carried its last victim….