The last train always feels different. Especially when you’re the only one awake, surrounded by the humming silence of Hong Kong’s MTR late at night. My name is Michael, a 32-year-old marketing executive who had worked overtime more times than I could count.
The Mong Kok station seemed eerily quiet that November night. Flickering fluorescent lights cast long, dancing shadows across the nearly empty platform. An elderly woman in traditional cheongsam stood motionless, her silhouette seemingly blending with the station’s worn tiles. Something about her presence made the hair on my neck stand up – a feeling that whispered something wasn’t quite right.
When the train arrived, its doors opened with an unnaturally smooth motion. The interior was dimly lit, almost like a faded photograph from another era. I noticed only a few passengers: a sleeping businessman, a young couple holding hands, and surprisingly, the same elderly woman from the platform. Her eyes seemed to follow me as I chose a seat near the train’s middle section.
Suddenly, the train’s rhythm changed. We passed stations without stopping, and the digital display began showing unfamiliar names – locations that didn’t exist on any MTR map. My phone’s signal disappeared, replaced by an unsettling static that seemed to pulse with an otherworldly frequency. The temperature dropped dramatically, and I could see my breath forming small clouds in the cold air.
Between the Tiu Keng Leng and an unknown station, the train came to an abrupt halt. The lights flickered violently, revealing more passengers – each dressed in clothing from different historical periods. Their faces were pale, translucent, watching me with an intensity that froze my blood. The elderly woman now sat directly across from me, her appearance transforming into something between human and spirit.
‘終點站,’ she whispered in an ancient dialect, her voice echoing through the train car. ‘Terminal Station.’ I remembered my grandmother’s teachings about protective Buddhist prayers, instinctively reaching for my phone’s light. The spirits around me seemed to recoil from its modern glow, their forms wavering like smoke.
Just as suddenly as it began, the train jerked back to life. Normal lighting returned, and I found myself at my intended destination. The other passengers had vanished without a trace. When I checked the security footage later, I appeared completely alone in the train’s recording.
Local news would later report unexplained incidents along these MTR tracks – stories of passengers who disappeared, of souls collected between stations. But for me, it was more than just a story. It was a midnight journey I would never forget.
Horror Level:
4 / 5
Categories: Asian Horror, Ghost Stories, Ghost Stories, Modern Ghost Stories, Public Transport Horror, Urban Legends
Tags: Buddhist prayer, Chinese ghost, ghost story, haunted train, Hong Kong, MTR, public transport, supernatural, urban legend
Religion: Buddhism
Country of Origin: Hong Kong
Topic: Ghost Story
Ethnicity: Chinese
