# 🚂 **5. “The Invisible Passengers of Dartmoor” – A Very Long Horror Tale**

### *Prologue: Mists That No One Disperses*

Dartmoor is a place where the wind has a language of its own and the moors seem to stretch on forever.

People say this land remembers everything: the screams of convicts, the footsteps of escaped prisoners, the cries of lost travelers.

But one story is whispered the softest.

The story of a train that disappeared into the fog.

And in its carriages—the passengers who never made it home.

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## *Chapter I: The Railwayman Who Heard Too Much*

Thomas Brigham had worked on the Exeter-Plymouth line for twenty years.

He wasn't afraid of Dartmoor—he knew every path, every station, every fog.

But November 12th was different.

The fog was unusual.

It lay low, as if crawling along the tracks.

It muffled all sounds, even the clatter of the wheels.

Thomas was waiting for train number 67—it was due at 10:40 PM.

10:40 PM passed.

10:45 PM too.

At 11:00 PM, Thomas heard a whistle.

Relief.

The train was coming.

But when he looked toward the tracks, he saw no lights.

There was no locomotive.

There were no carriages.

And yet…

the air quivered as if at a crossing.

Something invisible passed the station.

And then Thomas heard:

**dozens of voices whispering simultaneously.**

> *“Help… help us…”*

He froze.

And a moment later…

something grabbed his arm.

---

## *Chapter II: Invisible Passengers*

When Thomas turned around, there was no one there.

But there were…

footprints on the ground.

Small. Childlike.

As if someone had just stepped off a train that didn't exist.

At that moment, Jane, a young station attendant, entered the control room.

"Thomas? Did you hear something?"

Thomas showed her the footprints.

Jane paled.

"That's… impossible."

"Nothing is impossible on Dartmoor," he replied quietly.

Suddenly they heard a tapping sound.

A regular, steady sound.

Like someone dragging a cane across a stone platform.

Tap… tap… tap…

They both looked into the darkness.

A silhouette emerged from the mist.

Tall.

Thin.

With a top hat.

But the face…

It had no skin. Only a dark, shadowy void.

The man raised his staff and tapped the ground with it.

Once.

Twice.

Thirdly.

And then he was gone.

---

## *Chapter III: The Lost Train*

Jane carried Thomas to the station shelter.

When he told her everything, she shook her head.

"It must have been an illusion. A hallucination."

"The tracks aren't a hallucination."

Jane pursed her lips.

"There's a story... about a train that disappeared a hundred years ago. It carried families, soldiers returning from the front, children, the elderly... It entered the fog between two stations—and never left."

Thomas looked at her in disbelief.

"And you're telling me this now?"

"Because it's just a legend!"

"And those tracks?"

Jane didn't answer.

---

## *Chapter IV: The Train Returns*

At 1:10, the fog thickened.

And then they heard it again:

the clatter of wheels.

And the scream of brakes.

But the track was empty.

And yet the platform trembled.

“He… is coming back,” Thomas whispered.

Suddenly, something… out of thin air began to form before them.

First, the fog took the shape of a locomotive.

Then carriages.

A door.

They heard a cry.

A child's cry.

A little girl appeared in the doorway.

Her hair was braided.

“Please…” she whispered. “Please let us out…”

She held out her hand.

Thomas took a step.

Suddenly, someone clasped cold fingers around his wrist.

The same thin figure with the top hat.

His emptiness, instead of a face, was close.

> *“They belong to the fog…”*

The voice was like the rustling of wind in a tunnel.

> *“And whoever touches them…

> will stay.”*

Thomas jerked away and stepped back.

At that moment, the “train” let out a shrill sound.

It was like a hundred people screaming at once.

Everything vanished.

--

## *Chapter V: The Truth from an Old Book*

The next day, Thomas returned to the station.

He hadn’t slept a minute.

He found an old railway chronicle.

Inside was a report about train number 67.

Dated **November 12, 1914**.

Exactly one hundred years ago.

The train had entered the fog.

It disappeared.

And the engineer was…

**Henry Brigham**

His great-grandfather.

Thomas's blood ran cold.

--

## *Chapter VI: The Last Night of the Fog*

The next night, the fog fell again.

Thomas felt he had to do something.

That it wasn't an accident.

When the clatter of wheels began, he stood on the platform.

"Henry Brigham!" he shouted. "If you're here—show yourself!"

The fog thickened.

The locomotive formed more distinctly than before.

And outside the driver's cab window stood...

an older man.A man.

With the same blank look instead of a face.

Thomas understood.

"Grandpa," he whispered. "I don't want you to be their guard."

The man raised his hand.

The passengers began to whisper.

> *"We want to... leave..."*

Thomas took a step toward the door.

The fog sucked him in.

He found himself inside the train.

Children.

Women.

Old men.

Everyone pale.

"What do I do?" he asked.

The girl with pigtails replied:

> *"You have to release him...

> because only the Guard can stop us."*

Thomas turned away.

The engineer stared blankly.

Thomas placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You can leave," he said. "That's enough."

The engineer nodded.

Then the train began to fall apart.

First the locomotive.

Then the carriages.

Lastly, the passengers.

They lit up.

They vanished.

Leaving silence.

---

## *Epilogue*

The next day, the fog didn't return.

And train number 67 appeared…

—the wreck was found on the moors, the newspapers reported.

As if it had suddenly materialized from a dream.

There was no body inside.

Only the driver's hat.

Thomas took him home.

And sometimes at night he hears a soft whisper:

> *"Thank you."*

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