Chapter 2: Maple Ridge
The train rumbled steadily through the darkness, its windows rattling softly with each curve. Sarah sat tense, her eyes flitting between the envelope in her lap and the eerie, old-fashioned decor around her. No one else spoke. The silence wasn't peaceful—it was off.
A low chime echoed through the car, followed by a calm announcement.
"Next stop: Maple Ridge."
Outside, the rain had lightened, but the mist was thicker than ever. Sarah pressed her face to the glass. As the train slowed, faint lights emerged—gas lamps lining a wooden platform, their glow barely cutting through the fog.
The train screeched to a halt.
Maple Ridge didn't look like any modern station. The sign was hand-painted, the wood aged and cracked. There was no terminal, no crowd, no signs of life. Just one thing stood out: a figure in a bright red coat, standing completely still.
Sarah felt compelled to move. She grabbed the envelope, stuffed it into her coat, and exited the train.
The platform creaked under her boots. The figure in red hadn't moved.
"Excuse me?" Sarah called.
No response.
As she approached, she realized: it wasn't a person at all. It was a mannequin — or something like it. Its waxy face was expressionless, but its eyes were too realistic. In its hand was a folded paper, extended as if offering it.
Against her better judgment, Sarah took it.
It was a newspaper clipping — dated October 17, 1963. The headline read:
"Maple Ridge Tragedy: Six Vanish After Last Train Departs"
Below, grainy photos. One of the missing passengers looked exactly like the man in the fedora she'd seen on the platform earlier.
Suddenly, a loud hiss of steam sounded behind her. The train was preparing to leave.
She turned back—but the mannequin was gone.
Heart pounding, Sarah sprinted and barely jumped onto the last car as the train began to move again.
Inside, her seat was no longer empty.
The man in the fedora was sitting there, staring straight ahead.