不可思議傳說｜第十二篇 – 從未抵達月台的末班車 | The Last Train That Never Arrived: A Haunted Metro Station Story of the Vanishing Midnight Line
在某個陰雨綿綿的夜晚，我再次踏入那座捷運站。這裡不再是我熟悉的通勤場所，而是變成了一個充滿未知的靈異場域。自從那晚見到牆上漂浮的列車影像後，我的生活再也無法回到原來的軌道。每當深夜降臨，我總是忍不住回想起那些詭異的畫面，那些一動不動的乘客，那些消失的聲音，還有電子看板上令人不寒而慄的訊息。
這一次，我決定不再逃避。我需要答案，需要知道那晚究竟發生了什麼。為此，我特意選擇了那條路線的末班車，心中暗自期待著能再次見到那列奇異的列車。捷運站依然如往常般寂靜，只有雨滴拍打地面的聲音回蕩在空氣中。我站在月台上，眼睛緊盯著隧道深處，等待著那熟悉的低沉列車聲。
時間一分一秒地流逝，電子看板上顯示著列車即將進站。我感到一陣熟悉的風迎面吹來，帶著一絲寒意。隧道裡開始響起列車行駛的聲音，燈光也開始微微閃爍。我屏住呼吸，心跳快得像要跳出胸口。然而，當倒數時間歸零時，軌道上卻空無一物。
「又是這樣……」我喃喃自語，眼神不自覺地飄向隧道牆壁。果然，那奇異的反射影像再次出現了。列車依然漂浮在空中，車窗裡的燈光明亮，乘客們依舊像雕塑般一動不動。這次，我注意到其中一個乘客的臉。那是一張蒼白無血色的臉，眼神空洞，嘴角微微上揚，彷彿在對我微笑。
我的心臟猛地一縮，腳下彷彿被釘住了一般動彈不得。就在這時，那列車的聲音突然停止，電子看板上的訊息再次改變：「請退後，列車即將進站。」
我感到一股莫名的力量拉扯著我的身體，讓我不由自主地向後退了一步。但我的目光始終停留在牆上的影像，那些乘客的臉逐漸變得清晰。他們的目光似乎全都轉向了我，其中幾人的嘴唇微微張開，像是在說話，但我聽不到任何聲音。
突然間，一個低沉的聲音在我耳邊響起：「你看到了什麼？」
我猛地回頭，月台上空無一人。我開始懷疑自己的精神狀態，但那牆上的影像依然存在。就在我試圖平復心情時，一個熟悉的身影出現在影像中——那是我自己。我看到自己坐在列車裡，眼神空洞，動作僵硬，就像那些乘客一樣。
「這不可能……」我喃喃著，感到頭皮發麻。那影像中的「我」突然轉頭看向我，嘴角揚起了一抹詭異的笑容。
「你已經是其中的一員了。」低沉的聲音再次響起，這一次，它清晰得像是從我的腦海深處傳來。
我瘋狂地往後退去，不敢再看向牆上的影像。然而，就在我轉身準備逃離時，一道強光從隧道深處射了過來。我瞪大眼睛，看見一列真正的列車以不可思議的速度駛入站台。它停下來時，我才發現這不是普通的捷運列車，而是與牆上的影像一模一樣。
車門打開了，一股冰冷的氣息撲面而來。我愣在原地，不知道該不該踏上這列車。就在這時，一個熟悉的聲音從車內傳來：「快上來吧，我們等你很久了。」
那是一個男人的聲音，低沉而帶著詭異的笑意。我無法辨認他的身份，但心底卻有一種奇怪的熟悉感。我猶豫著，不敢踏出一步。然而，那股拉扯我的力量再次出現，讓我的身體不由自主地向前傾去。
「別害怕，你已經屬於這裡了。」男人的聲音再次響起。
就在我的腳即將踏入車門的一瞬間，我猛地甩開那股力量，用盡全力向後跑去。我衝出了月台，跑上了樓梯，直到離開捷運站才敢停下腳步。外面的雨依然下個不停，但我卻感到前所未有的安全感。
回到家後，我試圖說服自己那只是幻覺，但心底深處卻知道，那一切都是真實的。第二天早晨，我再次查詢捷運公司的網站，那條路線果然又有服務公告：「昨晚末班車因故取消。」
然而，就在公告下方，我看到了一則新的留言：「我們還在等你。」
看到這句話時，我感到全身冰冷。那列車似乎並未放棄，它仍在等待著我，也許是在等待某個合適的時機將我帶走。
接下來的一段日子，我開始避免搭乘捷運，甚至改變了通勤路線。然而，每當夜晚降臨，我總能聽到低沉的列車聲響徹耳邊，那些熟悉的影像也常常在我的夢境中出現。有時候，我甚至能感覺到那些乘客正在注視著我，用無聲的語言訴說著某種隱秘的信息。
某天深夜，我在家中整理舊物時，發現了一本泛黃的日記。日記裡記載著一段故事：多年前，有一列滿載乘客的捷運列車因不明原因失控，在隧道中消失無蹤。官方宣稱那是一場事故，但日記的主人卻堅信，那列車並未真正消失，而是進入了一個無法被人類理解的空間。
「那些乘客還活著嗎？」日記最後寫道，「還是他們已經成為某種存在？如果有一天你看到他們，不要試圖接近，否則你也會成為其中的一員。」
讀完這段文字，我感到渾身發冷。那些影像、那些聲音、那些留言……或許它們正是那列失控列車留下的痕跡。而我，只是不小心闖入了它們的世界。
至今，我仍無法確定那晚究竟發生了什麼，也無法擺脫心中的恐懼。但有一件事我很清楚：有些真相，是我們永遠無法承受的。而那些真相，就藏在捷運站昏暗的隧道深處——等待著某一天被揭示出來。
English Version
On a rain-soaked night, when the city seemed to dissolve into shadows and reflections, I returned once more to that metro station—the same place that had long ceased to feel like an ordinary stop along my daily commute and had instead become something else entirely, something uncertain and deeply unsettling; ever since that night when I first saw the impossible reflection of a train floating along the wall of the tunnel, my life had quietly slipped off its familiar track, replaced by a lingering unease that surfaced most strongly after midnight, when silence thickened and memory sharpened into something almost tangible, replaying again and again those frozen passengers, those absent sounds, and the chilling message that flickered across the electronic display as if it had been meant for me alone I told myself that I needed answers, that I could not simply let the experience dissolve into doubt or denial, and so I chose deliberately to take the last train on that same line, hoping—perhaps foolishly—that I might encounter the phenomenon again and finally understand what had happened; the station greeted me with its usual emptiness, punctuated only by the steady rhythm of rain striking concrete, echoing through the cavernous space like a distant heartbeat, and as I stood on the platform staring into the dark throat of the tunnel, I waited, listening for the low mechanical hum that signals an approaching train, watching the seconds slip by on the digital board as anticipation tightened around me; when the display announced the train’s imminent arrival, a cold gust swept through the platform, brushing against my skin with an unnatural chill, and the tunnel began to resonate with the familiar sound of movement, accompanied by a faint flicker of lights, as though something were indeed approaching, yet when the countdown reached zero, the tracks remained empty, untouched, as if nothing had ever been there at all, and a quiet realization settled in me—this was happening again; almost instinctively, my gaze drifted toward the tunnel wall, and there it was, the same impossible image, the train suspended in reflection, illuminated windows revealing rows of passengers frozen in unnatural stillness, their bodies rigid, their faces devoid of motion, as if time itself had abandoned them, and this time my eyes were drawn to one particular face, pale and bloodless, with hollow eyes and the faintest upward curl of a smile that did not belong to any living expression, a smile that felt directed at me; my chest tightened, my body refusing to move as if anchored to the ground, and just then the sound of the train abruptly ceased, replaced by a new message flashing across the display: “Please stand back, the train is arriving,” the words repeating with mechanical indifference, and yet there was no train—only the image on the wall, growing clearer, more defined, as though it were becoming real while reality itself thinned around it; I felt something tug at me, subtle at first but undeniable, drawing me backward by a force I could not explain, and though my body obeyed, my eyes remained fixed on the reflection, on those passengers whose faces were now turning, one by one, toward me, their lips parting slightly as if speaking, yet no sound reached me, only silence so heavy it seemed to press against my ears; then, suddenly, a voice emerged—not from the platform, not from the tunnel, but from somewhere impossibly close, as if whispered directly into my consciousness: “What did you see?” I spun around, heart pounding, but the platform was empty, devoid of any presence, leaving me to question whether the voice had ever existed at all, yet when I turned back, the image remained, unchanged and undeniable, and as I struggled to steady myself, something shifted within the reflection, something that made my breath catch in my throat—among the motionless passengers, I saw a figure I recognized, a figure seated stiffly, eyes vacant, movements unnatural, identical to the others, and it took me a moment to understand what I was seeing: it was me; disbelief surged through me, my mind rejecting the possibility even as my eyes confirmed it, and in that instant the figure in the reflection turned its head, meeting my gaze directly, its lips curling into the same eerie smile I had noticed before, and the voice returned, clearer this time, resonating as if it belonged to the deepest part of my own thoughts: “You are already one of us”; panic overtook me, and I stumbled backward, tearing my gaze away from the wall, refusing to look again, yet before I could fully turn, a blinding light burst from the tunnel, forcing me to shield my eyes, and when I looked up, a train was rushing into the station at an impossible speed, its arrival accompanied by a deafening roar that seemed to shake the entire platform, and as it came to a stop, I realized with growing horror that this was no ordinary train—it was identical to the one in the reflection, every detail perfectly matched, as if the image had stepped out of the wall and into reality; the doors slid open with a mechanical hiss, releasing a wave of cold air so intense it felt like stepping into another world, and I stood there, frozen, uncertain whether to approach or flee, when a voice called out from inside the carriage, familiar yet unplaceable, low and tinged with a strange amusement: “Come on, we’ve been waiting for you,” the words carried a weight that stirred something deep within me, a sense of recognition I could not explain, and though hesitation held me back, the pulling sensation returned, stronger now, urging me forward, drawing me closer to the open doors as if I no longer had control over my own body; “Don’t be afraid,” the voice continued, “you belong here now,” and just as my foot hovered at the threshold, on the verge of stepping inside, something within me resisted, a sudden surge of instinct or fear breaking through the unseen force, and with all the strength I could muster, I tore myself away, stumbling backward before turning and running, fleeing the platform, racing up the stairs without looking back, not daring to slow until I had burst out of the station entirely, into the rain-soaked streets where the ordinary world seemed almost unreal in its normalcy, yet offered a fragile sense of safety; back home, I tried to convince myself that it had all been a hallucination, a trick of stress or exhaustion, but deep down I knew that explanation was insufficient, that what I had experienced was something far beyond rational understanding, and the following morning, driven by a need for confirmation, I checked the metro company’s website, where I found the expected notice stating that the last train on that line had been canceled due to unspecified reasons, yet beneath the announcement was a new message, one that sent a chill through my entire body: “We are still waiting for you,” the words lingering on the screen as if they had been written for me alone; in the days that followed, I avoided the metro entirely, altering my routines, seeking distance from anything that might draw me back, yet the experience refused to release me, returning in fragments each night, in the echo of distant train sounds that seemed to reverberate through my thoughts, in dreams where I found myself once again on that platform, surrounded by silent passengers whose eyes followed my every movement, communicating something I could not decipher; one night, while sorting through old belongings, I came across a worn, yellowed diary, its pages filled with entries that told a story disturbingly similar to my own, describing a train that had disappeared years ago under mysterious circumstances, vanishing within a tunnel without explanation, officially recorded as an accident yet suspected by the writer to be something far stranger, something that had carried its passengers into a place beyond human comprehension, and the final lines of the diary stood out with chilling clarity: “If you ever see them, do not approach, or you will become one of them,” and as I closed the book, a cold realization settled over me—that the images, the voices, the messages were not isolated incidents but remnants of that lost train, traces of something that had never truly left, something that had merely crossed into another realm while maintaining a tenuous connection to ours, and that somehow, without intention or understanding, I had stepped into its path; even now, I cannot fully explain what happened that night, nor can I say with certainty whether I escaped or merely delayed the inevitable, because sometimes, in the quiet hours before dawn, I still hear it—the low, distant rumble of a train that should not exist, approaching from somewhere unseen, as if it is still searching, still waiting, and perhaps, one day, it will arrive again, and next time, I may not be able to turn away.
