Here's another **very long**, dark story in its own block —**Story #11: "The Passenger on the Last Coach of the London Underground"**.--

# 🚇 **11. "The Passenger on the Last Coach of the London Underground" – a very long horror story**

---

## *Prologue: The Tube That Never Sleeps*

The London Underground is the pulsating vein of the city.

Millions of people enter and exit every day, never wondering what happens between the last journey and the first blast of the morning loudspeakers.

And yet there is **one line** that Transport for London employees talk about while they sit over coffee on their nightly breaks.

The Jubilee Line.

When it's past midnight.

When the tunnels are empty.

When there shouldn't be anyone on the platforms.

But apparently there is.

“The last passenger.

The one who is never on camera,

but who is always seen.”

--

# 💼 *Chapter I: The Night Worker on the Underground*

Marcus Lowe had worked on the London Underground for 12 years as a night inspector.

He knew the tunnels, schedules, signals, sounds, and smells like the back of his hand.

He wasn't afraid of the dark or deserted platforms.

One night, he received a call from the driver:

> “Marcus, I have a passenger in the last carriage who…

> I don't know how to say this…

> I don't think he boarded at any station.”

“What?” Marcus frowned.

“The cameras didn't detect him.

He's not at the entrance, he's not on the platform, but…

I *see* him.”

Marcus went to *North Greenwich* station.

He boarded the last carriage.

There was no one there.

The driver swore that just a second earlier *someone had been sitting there*.

Marcus dismissed it as fatigue.

Poor lighting.

Reflection of the glass.

But the driver had a fear in his eyes that wasn't the result of fatigue.

Or imagination.

--

# 🚦 *Chapter II: The Man in the Coat*

Subsequent nights brought more reports.

Always from different drivers.

Always from a different part of the line.

The description repeated itself:

**A man in a long, dark coat.

Thin.

With his head bowed.

Sitting in the last carriage.

Always alone.

Always motionless.**

But whenever the workers went to check on him, he disappeared.

Marcus decided to ride the entire route one evening.

He boarded at *Stratford* station at 1:08 AM.

The last carriage was empty.

For the first two stations, nothing happened.

Just the clang of lamps, the long tunnel, and the rumbling of wheels.

At *Canary Wharf*, the carriage shook so violently that Marcus hit the seat.

The lights flickered.

And then he saw him for the first time.

The man sat directly across from him.

So quietly, as if he'd been there the whole time.

He had his head down.

The black coat fell to the floor.

His feet were pointed toward Marcus.

Marcus glanced at his watch.

01:11.

And then back at the man.

He lifted his head.

--

# 👁️ *Chapter III: Eyes That Were Not Human*

His face was… wrong.

Skin paler than human.

As if made of wax.

Not a single hair.

Not a single pore.

And his eyes…

…glassy.

Too large.

Black not like a pupil, but like emptiness.

Marcus felt his throat tighten.

Just like that—sudden, palpable panic.

“Excuse me, sir, last train, where are you going?” he whispered.

The man opened his mouth.

It was completely dry.

Too wide.

As if it had been cut out and didn't fit his face.

And no voice came out.

Only a *hiss*.

A long, drawn-out sound, like air escaping from a deep hole.

Marcus jumped back.

The lights went out.

When they came back on, the man was gone.

--

# 📡 *Chapter IV: When Cameras Lie*

Marcus reported the incident.

The subway staff reviewed all the footage.

Second by second.

At 1:08 AM, Marcus boards the train.

Alone.

At 01:09, he's driving through the tunnel.

Alone.

At 01:11, the lights are flashing.

The recording shows nothing, only static.

And then Marcus again—alone.

At the end of the recording, his face is visible.

He looks like a man who just saw something he shouldn't have seen.

His superiors suggested:

"Take a week off. Fatigue is taking its toll."

Marcus refused.

He wanted to know.

---

# 🕳️ *Chapter V: The Nonexistent Station*

Three nights later, Marcus was checking the route at 02:00.

This time, he was prepared:

Flashlight.

Infrared camera.

Radio.

Telephone.

At *Baker Street* station, the train car shook again like an earthquake.

The lights flickered.

The sound of the train changed to something deeper, as if the car were gliding through water, not steel.

And then the subway began to slow.

Marcus glanced out the window.

He saw the **platform**.

But the station number was blurred.

Unnaturally—as if someone had passed a hand made of smoke over it.

The board read a single word:

**“RETURN”**

Marcus opened his mouth.

“What the…?”

The car stopped.

The doors opened of their own accord.

A **man in a coat** stood on the platform.

Directly opposite the door.

His face was even more contorted now, as if something had pulled it downward.

And his eyes…

…were still black.

But now they reflected something else.

Lights.

Subway lamps.

Corridors.

And hundreds of silhouettes.

As if they saw other people—standing here on this platform once.

People who **didn't come back**.

--

# 🚇 *Chapter VI: The Man Who Didn't

I want to be alone*

Marcus retreated to the center of the carriage.

The man took a step forward.

And another.

And another.

He wasn't walking normally.

His movements were long, fluid, as if he were taking a step too far, like a spider's leg.

Marcus pressed the emergency button.

"Central Station! Central Station! This is Marcus Lowe, I'm at the station… I don't know which one! Overhear!"

The radio was dead.

The man entered the carriage.

The lights began to go out one by one, as if someone were blowing them out.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The display above the door flickered and read:

**YOU ARE NOT RIDING ALONE**

Marcus ran to the next carriage.

The door slammed shut behind him.

---

# 🔥 *Chapter VII: The Endless Ride*

The train started moving—alone, driverless.

Marcus ran through the cars, trying to get to the front.

But each car looked… different.

One was old, like something from the 1970s.

In the next, the seats were broken, and the walls were steamy, as if someone had just breathed in them.

In the third, footsteps could be heard on the ceiling.

In the fourth, it was pitch black.

In the fifth, hundreds of tickets were lying around.

All at the same time.

All invalid.

Marcus heard a sound behind him.

*tap… tap… tap…*

The man in the coat was following him.

Always at the same pace.

Always with the same bowed head.

He wasn't running.

He didn't have to.

Marcus realized the man wasn't physically chasing him.

He was chasing the **time** Marcus had left.

---

# 🛑 *Chapter VIII: The Last Car*

Marcus finally reached the door leading to the driver's cabin.

It was locked.

He reached into his pocket—he didn't have it, though he'd made sure it was there before leaving.

*tap… tap… tap…*

The man's footsteps were right behind him.

Marcus turned slowly.

The car was empty.

No one was following him.

No one was standing.

But the door at the end of the car was open.

Alone.

Marcus began to back away.

The light went out.

This was the last thing he heard:

> *"Don't ride alone."*

---

# ⌛ *Epilogue: The Report That Wasn't Published*

Marcus Lowe is missing.

The train he was on stopped empty at *Green Park* station.

The interior cameras were down from 1:12 a.m. to 2:03 a.m.

The recordings show only one thing:

Someone is sitting in the last carriage, right by the door.

A man in a dark coat.

His head bowed.

The time is written on the side:

**01:11**

—the exact time Marcus first saw him.

And the next night, the driver at *Wembley Park* station reported something strange:

"I have a passenger in the last carriage.

I don't know where he got on.

He's not on the cameras.

But…

His voice trembled.

"But I don't think it's a person."

--