Fear Train

In the gritty town of Lin City, the urban legend of the “Fear Train” terrified those who spoke of it. They said a spectral freight train, its cars black as coal and windows glowing red, roared through the old rail yard at 1:11 AM, but only for those burdened by guilt. Clara, a private investigator with a dark past, heard the tale from a client and decided to face it, hoping to disprove the myth. She stood by the rusted tracks, the night air sharp with rust and regret.

At 1:11 AM, the ground trembled, and a low wail cut through the silence. The Fear Train emerged from the fog, its engine pulsing like a heartbeat. Clara’s chest tightened as the train slowed, its doors sliding open to reveal a car filled with mirrors. Against her better judgment, she stepped inside. The doors slammed shut, and the mirrors reflected not her face, but moments she’d buried—lies she’d told, people she’d failed. Each reflection whispered her secrets, their voices overlapping into a scream.

The train sped up, shaking violently, and the mirrors cracked, showing glimpses of a figure—herself, but warped, eyes hollow, hands stained red. She begged to get off, but the train only laughed, a metallic screech. When it finally stopped, Clara stumbled out into the rail yard, the train vanishing into the mist. Her watch read 1:11 AM, as if no time had passed. She never spoke of what she saw, but those who knew her said she flinched at mirrors and avoided trains. Dunmere’s locals warn that the Fear Train still runs, waiting for those who carry shame to board—and face what they fear most.