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There were no passengers on the platform. The station, old and crumbling, seemed forgotten by time. Only the distant clanging of the train’s gears reminded her this was still present, though it felt as though she had stepped into another world.
Nora boarded the train, her footsteps echoing unnaturally loud. As the doors slid shut behind her, the sound of the outside world disappeared entirely, leaving only the soft hum of the train.
Inside, the carriages were dimly lit. Each compartment she passed was empty, the seats covered in a thin layer of dust as if they hadn’t been touched in years. Yet, the train was moving—smooth and steady.
She found a seat by the window, her reflection staring back at her, distorted in the glass. The night outside was impenetrable, the landscape swallowed by darkness. Her fingers tapped nervously on the armrest.
Just as she was beginning to relax, the compartment door slid open. Startled, she turned. A man stood in the doorway. His face was pale, eyes shadowed by the brim of a dark hat. He held a briefcase, his grip so tight that his knuckles were bone white.
"May I sit?" he asked in a low, gravelly voice.
Nora hesitated but nodded. Her pulse quickened. He sat across from her, placing the briefcase on his lap, never once taking his eyes off her.
“Strange night for travel,” he said after a long silence, his voice cutting through the tension.
Nora forced a smile. “Yes, it is. I didn’t see anyone else at the station.”
The man’s lips curled into a thin smile. “Most don’t see what they’re not meant to.”
The cryptic response sent a shiver down her spine. She glanced at the briefcase. It was old, worn at the edges, with strange markings etched into the leather. She tried to look away, but something about it captivated her, pulling her gaze back.
“What’s in the briefcase?” The question slipped out before she could stop herself.
The man’s smile faded. He leaned forward, his eyes darkening. “You don’t want to know.”
Nora’s heart pounded. She didn’t understand why, but she felt a sudden urgency to leave the compartment, to get off the train. Yet, the doors were locked. The hum of the train grew louder, vibrating through the floor.
“What’s in the briefcase?” she repeated, her voice trembling.
The man sighed, almost regretfully, and slowly unlatched the case. The lid creaked open, revealing... nothing. At least, that’s what it looked like. But as Nora leaned closer, the emptiness seemed to shift, pulling at her, drawing her in. She felt her vision blur, the compartment around her fading as if she were being sucked into a void.
“You see,” the man said softly, his voice echoing from a distance, “some mysteries aren’t meant to be solved.”
Before Nora could react, everything went black.
When she awoke, she was lying on the platform, the distant sound of the train's whistle fading into the night. The station was deserted as if the train had never arrived. Her head spun as she struggled to remember what had happened, but the details slipped away like a dream.
Beside her, on the cold stone, lay the briefcase. Sealed shut.
She didn’t dare open it.
Nora sat up slowly, her hand trembling as it brushed against the briefcase. The mist around the platform had thickened, swirling in the cold night air, and the distant echoes of the train were long gone. Her breath came in shallow bursts as she stared at the briefcase.
She should leave it behind. That was the rational thing to do. Yet something about it tugged at her, urging her to take it.
Reluctantly, she picked it up, the weight of the case feeling heavier than it had when the man held it. Her heart raced as she walked off the platform and down the lonely road leading away from the station. She kept glancing over her shoulder, half-expecting the man to appear out of the mist or for the train to come roaring back into the station.
The briefcase seemed to hum with an energy of its own, vibrating slightly in her hand. She tried to focus on the road ahead, but her mind kept circling back to the briefcase. What was inside? Or was it what it represented that mattered?
As she reached the edge of the town, the streetlights flickering above, a figure appeared under the dim glow of the nearest lamp. Nora froze. It wasn’t the man from the train, but a woman, dressed in a long coat and scarf, her face shadowed in the pale light.
“You shouldn’t have taken it,” the woman said, her voice cutting through the silence.
Nora’s blood ran cold. “Who are you?”
The woman stepped closer, her eyes locking onto the briefcase. “That case doesn’t belong to you. And whatever you do, don’t open it.”
Nora took a step back, clutching the briefcase tighter. “Why? What’s inside?”
The woman’s face twisted with something like pity. “It’s not about what’s inside. It’s about what it does.”
Before Nora could ask anything else, the woman vanished—just gone, like a wisp of smoke in the night. The streetlight above her flickered once and then died, plunging Nora into darkness.
Her pulse quickened as she hurried home, her mind racing with questions. Who was the woman? What did she mean by "what it does"? Every instinct told her to abandon the briefcase, to leave it in some alleyway or throw it into the river, but she couldn’t. It felt as though the briefcase had attached itself to her, a weight she couldn’t discard.
By the time she reached her small apartment, her legs were shaking. She locked the door behind her, slid the briefcase onto her kitchen table, and stared at it under the flickering light of her kitchen lamp.
Don’t open it.
The warning repeated in her mind, but the temptation gnawed at her. She needed answers.
Nora hesitated for a long moment before slowly reaching for the latches. Her fingers hovered over them, the hum from the briefcase growing louder as though it sensed her intention.
Just as she was about to flip the locks open, there was a loud knock at her door, followed by another. Her heart leapt into her throat. She looked toward the door, the sound reverberating through the apartment, heavy and urgent.
Her hands shook as she approached the door, peeking through the peephole.
There was no one there.
Another knock—louder, harder—echoed through the apartment, but this time, it came from behind her.
From the kitchen.
She slowly turned back toward the briefcase. It rattled on the table, the vibrations growing stronger, more violent.
And then she saw it: shadows seeping from the edges of the briefcase, dark tendrils curling out and spreading across the table like ink spilling from a broken bottle. They coiled and twisted, snaking their way toward her.
Nora’s breath hitched. She backed away, stumbling into the wall. The shadows were moving faster now, and as they reached her feet, she felt the cold touch of something—something ancient and alive.
She tried to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. The shadows wrapped around her ankles, pulling her toward the briefcase. She screamed, but the darkness swallowed the sound.
The last thing she saw before the shadows consumed her was the briefcase popping open on its own, revealing a void inside—black and endless.
And then, silence.
When the morning came, the apartment was empty. The briefcase sat on the table, closed and untouched, as though nothing had ever happened.
No one ever saw Nora again. The only trace of her was the mysterious briefcase, left behind, waiting for its next curious victim.
