Jack Holloway pulled his coat tighter around him as the sharp chill of the Underground’s air conditioning hit his skin. The Piccadilly Line platform at Green Park was nearly empty, the usual hum of activity replaced by an eerie stillness. It was nearly midnight, and the next train was already overdue. He checked his phone for the time—11:58 p.m.—before slipping it back into his pocket. No signal. Typical for the Underground.

He wasn’t supposed to be here this late, but an unexpected shift change had kept him at work hours longer than planned. He felt the weight of exhaustion pressing against his temples. Green Park was a transfer hub, a place of motion. But now, standing alone in the silence, it felt unnervingly static.

A gust of air announced the arrival of the train. Jack stepped back as the Piccadilly Line rumbled into view, its carriages sleek and empty. The doors hissed open, and a woman’s voice echoed from the intercom:

“Mind the gap.”

The automated announcement sounded...off. Slower, almost like a drawl, as though the system were fatigued. Jack glanced down the length of the train, searching for another passenger. No one. The idea of riding alone unnerved him, but there wasn’t much choice. The last train home.

He stepped into the carriage and grabbed a pole. The doors slid shut behind him, cutting off the distant echoes of the station. As the train began to move, the world outside the windows blurred into the black void of the tunnels.

At first, he distracted himself by scrolling through his phone, though the lack of service turned it into little more than a glowing brick. Restless, he looked up, noticing how the overhead lights flickered faintly, just enough to cast moving shadows across the empty seats. The train sped through stations without stopping, the names on the platform signs flashing by too quickly to read.

And then the train slowed. Jack frowned, leaning toward the window. The glow of another platform seeped into view, and the train halted at Covent Garden. The station, though brightly lit, was eerily devoid of passengers. Covent Garden was usually bustling, even late at night, with tourists and street performers spilling into its narrow corridors.

The doors opened with a hiss. Jack waited, expecting someone to board. No one did.

For several long seconds, the train sat motionless. The silence pressed against his ears. He leaned out slightly, peering into the station. A scrap of paper drifted along the platform, caught by a phantom breeze. Something about the emptiness felt wrong—too staged, as though the station had been evacuated just moments before his arrival.

“Hello?” he called out. His voice echoed, bouncing back to him.

No response.

The train’s doors closed abruptly, causing him to jump. The engine hummed to life, and the carriage began to move again. This time, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. He glanced toward the adjoining carriages, their interiors dimmer than his own. The glass separating the cars reflected his own face, pale and tired, but behind it—

He froze. For a brief moment, he thought he saw movement in the next carriage. A figure? No, just a trick of the light. He exhaled sharply and turned away, forcing himself to focus on the rhythmic rattle of the train.

As the train continued its journey, the intercom crackled to life.

“Next station: Holborn,” the voice announced, though it was distorted, the syllables stretched unnaturally.

He shook his head, brushing it off as a malfunction. Holborn’s platform slid into view moments later, but the scene was no different. Bright lights, empty space, and an oppressive silence. Jack considered disembarking, but something held him back—a primal instinct warning him to stay where he was.

When the train doors didn’t open at Holborn, his unease deepened. He watched helplessly as the station receded, the train carrying him further into the night.

As they sped through the dark, a faint vibration began to hum through the carriage, like a low, droning note. Jack leaned back against his seat, staring at the roof of the train, his breath catching slightly as the lights flickered more violently this time.

The intercom crackled again.

“Next station...” The voice paused, and static filled the air. “...Angel.”

Something in the way it said Angel sent a shiver down his spine. He remembered Angel Station—the long escalators, the narrow platforms. The thought of stopping there, alone, unsettled him. He stood, suddenly restless, and made his way to the door.

The glass reflected him again, but this time, he didn’t dare look at the next carriage. He kept his gaze fixed forward, bracing himself as the train slowed once more.

The station came into view, but it was darker than the others. The fluorescent lights cast a sickly yellow hue, and shadows pooled unnaturally in the corners. The train came to a stop, and this time, the doors slid open without hesitation.

Jack stepped closer to the edge of the carriage but didn’t step out. Something about Angel felt wrong, like stepping into it might be stepping into a trap. He peered into the shadows, searching for any sign of life.

“Is someone there?” he called again, his voice quavering.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, faintly, from somewhere deep within the station, came the sound of footsteps.

Jack Holloway froze in place, his ears straining for another sound. The faint footsteps echoed faintly through the dim station, fading in and out like a ghostly heartbeat. He glanced at the train behind him, its open door an invitation to retreat. But something about the sound, distant and hollow, pulled at his curiosity despite the creeping fear wrapping around his chest.

“Hello?” he called again, this time louder. His voice echoed unnaturally in the stillness, bouncing back distorted as if the station itself were mocking him.

The footsteps stopped.

He swallowed hard, his breath catching in his throat. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the train behind him. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, their flickering casting jagged shadows on the tiled walls.

He stepped cautiously onto the platform, his shoes making soft scuffs against the grimy floor. Angel Station looked different—wrong, somehow. The narrow platform stretched out endlessly in both directions, the exit signs dim and unreadable. The escalators, usually moving in an endless loop, stood frozen in place.

Jack squinted toward the far end of the platform, where the shadows grew darker. Something was off about the geometry—lines that should have been straight seemed to bend imperceptibly, the angles of the walls subtly distorted. He shook his head, willing away the dizziness that crept over him.

The sound of a loud clank shattered the stillness. Jack spun around, his pulse hammering. It came from somewhere behind him, where the train waited.

He took a cautious step toward the noise, his nerves alight. “Who’s there?” he demanded, his voice sharper now.

For a moment, there was no response. Then, as if in answer, the train’s interior lights flickered violently, plunging the carriages into brief darkness. Jack took an involuntary step back, his stomach twisting with unease. When the lights steadied again, he saw something—or thought he did.

At the far end of the train, where the last carriage should have been, a figure stood silhouetted in the dim glow.

Jack blinked hard, trying to focus. The figure didn’t move, its form vague and shadowy, but he could feel its presence like a weight pressing against his chest. His rational mind screamed that it was just his imagination, a trick of the flickering light. But deep down, he knew better.

“Hey!” Jack shouted, forcing strength into his voice. “Who are you?”

The figure didn’t respond. Instead, the train’s intercom crackled to life, its static filling the air like a swarm of bees.

“Next station: King’s Cross St. Pancras,” the voice announced. But the tone was different—warped, guttural. Jack’s blood ran cold as the name of the station dragged out unnaturally, the syllables twisting into something unrecognizable.

Then the train’s doors slammed shut, breaking the spell. Jack whipped around, rushing back toward the platform edge.

“No, no, no!” he yelled, reaching out as if he could physically stop the train. But it was too late. The train lurched forward, disappearing into the black tunnel, its taillights shrinking like the last embers of a dying fire.

Jack stood frozen, his chest heaving. For the first time, he realized how alone he was. The usual distant hum of other trains or announcements was absent. Even the faint sounds of London above seemed to have vanished, leaving Angel Station in a bubble of oppressive silence.

He turned back toward the platform, hoping to find some semblance of normality. That’s when he saw it.

A dark smear stretched across the tiles near the far escalators, glistening faintly under the flickering lights. At first, he thought it was water, but as he moved closer, the coppery tang in the air made him stop short.

Blood.

It was smeared in uneven streaks, as though something—or someone—had been dragged toward the shadows at the far end of the station. Jack’s breath quickened, his body screaming at him to turn and run. But his legs refused to obey, his gaze fixed on the trail disappearing into the dark.

The footsteps returned.

They were closer now, sharper, echoing directly above him. Jack looked up, his stomach flipping as he saw a figure moving along the metal catwalk that spanned the ceiling. It moved with unnatural fluidity, its form tall and spindly. The figure paused, tilting its head as if it had noticed him.

Jack stumbled back, his hands gripping the edge of the platform to steady himself. His heart pounded in his ears, drowning out all other sound.

The figure dropped.

It fell from the catwalk with impossible speed, landing silently in the shadows at the far end of the platform. Jack’s mouth went dry, his body trembling with primal fear. He couldn’t see it anymore, but he could feel it, the air around him growing heavier with every passing second.

“Stay back!” he shouted, his voice cracking. He fumbled for his phone, his fingers slipping on the screen as he tried to activate the flashlight.

The beam cut through the darkness, illuminating the streaks of blood on the floor. The shadows beyond seemed to shift, writhing like living things. Then, from the blackness, something emerged.

A hand.

Long, skeletal fingers curled around the edge of the platform, their pale skin glistening as if wet. Jack staggered back, his flashlight shaking. Another hand followed, and then a head—its features obscured by shadow but its eyes gleaming unnaturally bright.

Jack didn’t wait to see the rest.

He turned and bolted toward the escalators, his shoes slamming against the tiles as he ran. The lights above flickered wildly, casting his sprint in disjointed flashes. Behind him, he heard the creature’s pursuit—a horrible scraping sound, like nails dragging across the platform floor.

Reaching the frozen escalators, Jack gripped the handrail and began to climb, two steps at a time. His muscles burned, and his breath came in ragged gasps. He didn’t dare look back, the sound of the scraping growing louder, closer.

The shadows at the top of the escalators loomed larger with every step, threatening to swallow him whole.

Jack pushed himself up the motionless escalator, his legs straining with every frantic step. The metallic groan of the creature’s pursuit reverberated through the empty station, each sound driving him harder. He dared not look back. He couldn’t. The rational part of his mind whispered that if he did, he might not survive to see what came next.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The escalator stretched upward endlessly, its once familiar structure now distorted by shadow and flickering light. Each step he climbed seemed to blur into another, his vision tunneling with exertion. The sickly yellow glow above grew brighter as he approached, but his instincts screamed that salvation wasn’t waiting for him at the top.

“Just keep moving,” he muttered under his breath, a desperate mantra to drown out the scraping behind him.

The noise stopped.

Jack stumbled, nearly collapsing onto the cold metal of the escalator. His chest heaved as he listened, his heartbeat thunderous in the silence. The absence of sound was more unnerving than the pursuit.

He turned his head slightly, risking a glance down.

The platform below was empty. The dim glow of the fluorescent lights revealed nothing—no figure, no shadow, not even the glistening blood trail he had seen before. It was as if the station itself had erased all evidence of what had been chasing him.

But the silence carried weight, heavy and oppressive. He felt its presence pressing down on him, an unseen force that made his skin crawl.

At the top of the escalator, Jack staggered into a corridor he didn’t recognize. Angel Station’s layout should have been straightforward: the escalators should have led to a short hallway, then the ticket barriers, and finally the street. But this was different.

The walls were bare concrete, streaked with grime and condensation. The air smelled damp and stale, tinged with a metallic tang that made his stomach churn. The corridor stretched ahead, unnaturally long and dimly lit by a single flickering bulb dangling from the ceiling.

“This isn’t right,” Jack whispered. His voice felt small, swallowed by the corridor’s oppressive length.

He turned back toward the escalators, only to find them gone. The opening he had emerged from was now a blank concrete wall, seamless and smooth.

“No,” he said, louder this time. He pressed his palms against the wall, searching for cracks or seams, but it was solid. Panic clawed at his throat as he pounded against the surface, his fists echoing hollowly.

A distant noise stopped him cold.

It was faint, almost imperceptible—a sound like whispering. Jack’s head whipped around, his eyes scanning the corridor. The whispers seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, growing louder with each passing second.

He backed away, his footsteps slow and cautious. The whispers grew more distinct, forming fragmented words he couldn’t fully comprehend:

“...stay...below...”

“...always...waiting...”

“...come back...”

Jack’s breath quickened as the air around him seemed to grow colder. The shadows along the walls deepened, writhing like living things. He tightened his grip on his phone, the weak beam of its flashlight barely cutting through the encroaching darkness.

Ahead, the corridor twisted unnaturally, its angles sharp and alien. He had no choice but to move forward.

The whispers followed him, a constant murmur just at the edge of his hearing. Jack’s shoes squeaked against the damp floor as he walked, his every step tentative. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, his neck prickling as though a hundred unseen eyes were trained on him.

The corridor began to narrow. The walls closed in gradually, forcing him to turn sideways to keep moving. The flickering bulb above him sputtered and died, plunging the passage into total darkness.

Jack froze, his flashlight the only source of light. Its beam wavered as his hand trembled, casting erratic shadows on the walls. He pressed his back against the cold concrete, his breath ragged.

From somewhere up ahead came a sound—a wet, dragging noise, like something heavy being pulled across the floor. Jack’s stomach churned as he strained to see what lay beyond the reach of his light.

“Hello?” he called, his voice cracking. He didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t want one.

The dragging sound stopped abruptly. For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, from the shadows, a figure began to emerge.

It moved awkwardly, its limbs jerking unnaturally as it crawled toward him. The beam of Jack’s flashlight caught glimpses of its form: mottled skin, elongated fingers, and eyes that shone like twin beacons in the dark. Its head tilted as it regarded him, its expression unreadable but deeply unsettling.

Jack’s instincts screamed at him to run, but his body refused to move. His feet felt rooted to the floor, as though the corridor itself had claimed him.

The creature reached the edge of his light and stopped. Its hand stretched forward, fingers twitching, as if testing the air between them.

“No,” Jack whispered, shaking his head. “Stay back.”

The creature paused, its head cocking to one side. Then it smiled.

The sight broke whatever trance had held Jack frozen. He turned and bolted, the narrow corridor scraping against his shoulders as he forced his way through. The whispers erupted into a cacophony, voices overlapping and screaming incomprehensible words.

The dragging sound returned, faster now, chasing him through the dark.

The corridor opened suddenly into a vast chamber, and Jack stumbled forward, nearly collapsing onto the uneven floor. He scrambled to his feet, his eyes darting around the space. The chamber was massive, its ceiling lost in darkness. The walls were lined with old, rusted tracks that disappeared into distant tunnels.

In the center of the room stood a single bench, illuminated by a faint, unnatural glow. It looked out of place, pristine and untouched. Jack hesitated, his instincts screaming to stay away, but something about it drew him closer.

As he approached, he noticed a small object resting on the bench. It was a train ticket.

The edges were frayed, and the ink was faded, but the destination was clear: "Terminal."

Jack stared at the ticket resting on the bench, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breath. The word "Terminal" glared back at him, ominous and final. His instincts screamed at him to turn away, to leave the strange object untouched, but his curiosity itched at the edges of his fear.

“Terminal,” he whispered, his voice breaking the suffocating silence. The word felt heavy on his tongue, like an invocation.

He hesitated for another moment before slowly reaching for the ticket. His fingers brushed the brittle paper, and the instant he touched it, the lights in the chamber flickered violently. A deep, resonant hum filled the air, vibrating through his chest. Jack snatched the ticket and stumbled back, clutching it tightly as he scanned the darkened room.

The walls of the chamber seemed to shift, the rusted tracks warping like melted wax. Shadows stretched and danced along the walls, twisting into shapes that defied comprehension.

“Jack...”

The sound was faint but unmistakable—a voice calling his name. It came from one of the tunnels leading out of the chamber, low and distant, as though carried on a cold breeze.

“Who’s there?” he shouted, his voice cracking. His grip on the ticket tightened as he turned toward the source of the sound.

The tunnel loomed before him, its darkness absolute. For a brief moment, Jack considered running in the opposite direction, but when he turned back, the bench and the chamber behind him were gone. In their place stood another tunnel, identical to the one ahead.

There was no going back.

He took a cautious step forward, the soles of his shoes scraping against the uneven floor. The air grew colder as he approached the tunnel, his breath visible in faint, trembling clouds. Jack held up his phone, its weak light barely penetrating the darkness ahead.

The tunnel swallowed him whole.

As he ventured deeper, the hum grew louder, reverberating through the walls like the groan of a living thing. Jack’s flashlight caught glimpses of graffiti scrawled on the walls—arrows pointing in conflicting directions, cryptic phrases like "Keep moving" and "Turn back." Some of the words were smeared, their meanings lost, as though the tunnel itself had tried to erase them.

He pressed on, his legs heavy and his heart pounding in his chest. The darkness seemed to grow thicker, his flashlight struggling against it like a swimmer in heavy surf.

Then he heard it again.

“Jack...”

The voice was clearer now, closer, almost familiar. It sent shivers down his spine, not because it was threatening, but because it sounded like someone he knew. Someone he hadn’t heard from in years.

He stopped in his tracks, turning slowly.

“Who’s there?” he called, his voice trembling.

The tunnel answered with silence.

Jack forced himself forward, his steps quicker now, more frantic. His mind raced, memories of the voice surfacing unbidden. It was her voice. He knew it—knew it as well as his own.

“Impossible,” he whispered, shaking his head. He couldn’t let himself believe it.

The voice came again, louder this time, echoing around him.

“Jack! Wait!”

It was closer now, just behind him. Jack whipped around, his flashlight sweeping the darkness. For a split second, he thought he saw her—a figure in the distance, her silhouette lit faintly by an unseen source.

It was her.

“Emily?” he whispered, his throat tightening. He took a step toward the figure, then another, the fear in his chest giving way to something deeper. He hadn’t seen Emily in years, not since—

The figure turned and ran, her movements quick and fluid, disappearing into the dark.

“Wait!” Jack shouted, breaking into a sprint.

He chased her deeper into the tunnel, the walls seeming to close in around him. His flashlight shook in his hand, the beam flickering as though protesting against the pursuit. His lungs burned, his breaths ragged, but he pushed himself harder, desperate to catch up.

The figure darted around a corner, and Jack followed, the sound of his footsteps echoing loudly. He rounded the bend and stopped dead in his tracks.

The tunnel opened into another chamber, smaller than the first but just as unsettling. In the center stood a door—a massive, industrial thing made of rusted steel. It was out of place, standing upright with no wall to support it, its edges jagged and uneven.

Scrawled across the surface in bold, messy letters was a single word: "FORGOTTEN."

Jack approached cautiously, his flashlight trembling as he shone it on the door. His heart raced as he reached for the handle, a deep sense of foreboding settling over him.

He hesitated. The handle was ice-cold beneath his fingers.

Behind him, the whispers returned, louder than ever.

“Open it.”

The voice wasn’t Emily’s this time. It was harsher, deeper, and far more sinister.

Jack’s hand froze on the handle, his body trembling. He glanced back over his shoulder, his light revealing nothing but empty space.

“Open it,” the voice repeated, a low growl that seemed to come from the very walls.

Jack gritted his teeth and twisted the handle. The door groaned as it opened, its hinges screaming in protest. Beyond it lay a black void, endless and uninviting.

A cold wind rushed out, carrying with it the faint scent of decay. Jack stared into the darkness, his stomach twisting with dread.

And then he saw them.

Eyes. Dozens of them, glowing faintly in the void, all fixed on him.

The eyes blinked in unison, their faint glow intensifying with each passing second. Jack stumbled back, his heart hammering against his ribs. He tightened his grip on the flashlight, its feeble beam trembling as though even it feared to confront what lay beyond the door.

The air grew colder, biting at his skin and numbing his fingertips. He tried to steady his breath, but the sight of those unblinking eyes rooted him to the spot.

“What do you want?” he managed to choke out, his voice barely audible over the roaring in his ears.

The response came not as words but as movement. The eyes began to shift closer, gliding toward him through the void like oil spreading across water. With each step they took, the darkness seemed to pulse and writhe, as though it were alive.

Jack’s instincts screamed at him to run, but his legs refused to move. He stood frozen, his gaze locked on the shifting mass of eyes.

Then came the whisper.

“You.”

The single word slithered into his ears, low and guttural, spoken in a voice that was both everywhere and nowhere at once.

Jack’s paralysis broke. He turned and bolted, the sound of his footsteps drowned out by the rising cacophony of whispers behind him. The tunnel seemed to shift and distort as he ran, its walls closing in and stretching out unpredictably. The oppressive dark twisted around him, disorienting him with each turn he took.

He clutched the train ticket tightly in one hand, its edges digging into his palm. Somehow, he felt that dropping it would be the end of him, though he couldn’t explain why.

The whispers grew louder, rising into a shrill chorus of incomprehensible words. They pierced his ears, digging into his mind like claws. Jack stumbled, his knees hitting the cold, wet ground. He scrambled to his feet, his flashlight bouncing wildly as it hit the floor.

As he reached for it, a shadow darted across the edge of the beam.

“No,” he whispered, his voice shaking. He grabbed the flashlight and shone it down the tunnel.

Nothing.

But the whispers didn’t stop.

Jack forced himself to move, staggering forward with the flashlight clenched tightly in his hand. The tunnel twisted and turned, the walls lined with cryptic graffiti that seemed to glow faintly in the dark. The words shifted as he passed, their meanings elusive but unsettling:

“NO RETURN.”

“ALWAYS WATCHING.”

“RUN.”

The tunnel abruptly opened into another vast space. This chamber was larger than any he had encountered before, its ceiling lost in shadow. In the center stood a massive clock, its hands frozen at 11:58.

Jack hesitated, his breathing ragged. The room felt wrong, the air heavy and oppressive. The clock ticked once, its sound echoing like a gunshot.

And then, the eyes appeared again.

They emerged from the shadows, first one pair, then another, until the darkness was alive with them. They surrounded the chamber, unblinking and unrelenting, their glow casting strange patterns on the floor.

The whispers fell silent.

A voice, deep and resonant, filled the room.

“Your stop is here.”

Jack’s pulse thundered in his ears as the ground beneath him began to tremble. The clock’s hands jerked forward, ticking violently as if struggling against an unseen force. He looked around frantically, searching for an exit, but the walls of the chamber were smooth and seamless, offering no escape.

“No!” he shouted, his voice echoing into the void. “I’m not staying here!”

The voice laughed, a low, rumbling sound that made Jack’s skin crawl.

“You were always here, Jack. You’ve always been ours.”

The room began to twist, the walls spiraling inward as the floor cracked and shifted beneath his feet. Jack stumbled, falling to his knees as the ticket slipped from his grasp. It fluttered to the ground, its edges glowing faintly.

The eyes moved closer, their glow intensifying as the voice spoke again.

“All terminals end in silence.”

The floor beneath Jack crumbled, and he felt himself falling. The wind roared around him, the whispers rising to a deafening crescendo. He reached out, grasping for anything to stop his descent, but his hands closed on nothing but air.

The darkness consumed him.

Jack awoke with a gasp, his lungs burning as though he’d been underwater. He blinked against the bright fluorescent lights above him, their harsh glow making his head throb.

He was lying on a cold, tiled floor. Slowly, he pushed himself up, his muscles aching. The familiar hum of the Underground filled his ears, and the faint scent of oil and damp concrete reminded him of where he was.

He turned his head, his stomach dropping as he realized he was back at Angel Station. The platform stretched out before him, empty and eerily still. The escalators stood motionless, their metallic steps reflecting the flickering lights.

His hand trembled as he reached into his pocket. The train ticket was there, its edges frayed and the word "Terminal"faint but unmistakable.

Jack staggered to his feet, his legs unsteady. He looked around, his heart sinking as he saw the train pulling into the station.

The doors slid open, revealing an empty carriage. The intercom crackled, and the voice returned, distorted and slow:

“Mind...the...gap.”

Jack’s knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, the ticket slipping from his grasp and landing on the tiles.

The train waited.