I boarded the train to Shibuya one night, dismissing the ominous tales that swirled in the air after 10 PM. The allure of the unknown overwhelmed my sense of caution. Passengers entered, faces blending into the ordinary. The train set off into the quiet night, its rhythmic clatter and gentle hum forming a soothing backdrop.
I took a seat by the window, my eyes caught the familiar red glow of a “No Smoking” sign facing me. Ignoring the prohibition, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a cigarette, letting the flame of my lighter dance in the dimly lit cabin.
The first puff of smoke spiraled into the air, carrying with it a subtle defiance. However, my act of rebellion didn’t go unnoticed. An elderly man, seated across from me, fixed me with an eerie look. His eyes held a strange intensity as if he could see through the veil of reality.
“Smoking is not allowed on this train,” he declared, his voice carrying weight. His words echoed with a sense of authority that sent a chill down my spine. Surprised and slightly uneasy, I quickly stubbed out the cigarette, muttering an apology.
The elderly man continued to gaze at me with an unsettling stare, his expression unyielding. As the train rumbled through the tunnels, the atmosphere grew tense, and the other passengers seemed to withdraw into an unnatural silence.
In the dim light, the elder’s face remained etched in my memory, his disapproval lingering like a shadow. The “No Smoking” sign, now a silent sentinel, seemed to intensify its glow, casting a judgmental light on my feeble act of rebellion.
As the train approached its next stop, the announcement crackled through the speakers, “Next stop, Shibuya.” The elderly man’s gaze never wavered, a silent reminder that some rules were not meant to be broken. Amidst the hushed atmosphere of the train, my attention was now drawn to a young man who entered the cabin. There was an air of quiet confidence about him, and his eyes held a certain allure that captivated my gaze. He chose a seat beside me, his presence breaking the unsettling silence. With a coy smile, he asked, “Traveling so late, aren’t we?” His voice was melodic, cutting through the quiet like a soothing breeze. I chuckled, feeling a bit self-conscious under his scrutiny. “Couldn’t resist the allure of a late-night adventure,” I replied, trying to match his playful tone. As the train continued its rhythmic journey, he shared a glimpse of his own story. “Had a bit of a spat with my ex before boarding. You know how it goes,” he confessed, his eyes reflecting a hint of sadness beneath the captivating charm. I nodded empathetically, acknowledging the universality of such experiences. We found ourselves immersed in conversation, the train becoming a confessional for shared tales of late-night escapades and unexpected encounters. The man’s laughter rang through the cabin, momentarily dispelling the eerie tension that lingered.
Our playful banter continued as the train journeyed through the night. The man seated beside me exuded a captivating allure, and the dimly lit cabin seemed to pulsate with a subtle tension.
“So, what brings you to Shibuya this late?” he asked with a mischievous grin. I explained that I was visiting a friend, attempting to navigate the conversation away from the eerie atmosphere that enveloped the train. His response was a sultry proposition, offering to take me home with him. Politely declining, I sensed a layer of vulnerability beneath his confident exterior.
Undeterred, he insisted, “You should come with me now.” The urgency in his voice struck a dissonant chord, and I hesitated, unsettled by the sudden intensity of his request. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine,” I replied, the weight of the train’s eerie ambiance hanging in the air.
As he prepared to leave the train, he looked back at me with a flicker of fear in his eyes. It wasn’t fear for himself, but for me. The vulnerability in his gaze momentarily shattered the enchanting facade he had maintained throughout our encounter.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” he asked one last time, his voice carrying a note of concern. I reassured him that I was fine, the surreal atmosphere of the train clinging to our exchange.
As the doors closed behind him, I was left alone in the dimly lit cabin, the haunting melody of the journey persisting. The man’s departure added an unexpected layer of complexity to the enigmatic night, and the disquieting atmosphere heightened my awareness of the mysteries that lurked in the shadows.
In his haste, he left his watch behind, a sleek timepiece with an elegant design.
Realizing his forgetfulness, I grabbed the watch, intending to return it. However, before I could reach him, the doors abruptly shut, sealing off the compartments and separating us. The rhythmic hum of the train intensified, resonating with a disconcerting energy. Panic set in as I pressed against the closed doors, desperately trying to catch his attention. “Hey, you left your watch!” I called out, my words swallowed by the relentless clatter of the moving train. The man, oblivious to his oversight, remained unaware as the distance between us grew.
“Approaching destination, next stop, Shibuya.”
Glancing at my reflection in the glass door, I noticed something strange. There I was, but not in my seat. Instead, I saw myself standing at the back of the cabin, peering out the window. Confused, I got up to investigate, my footsteps echoing in the eerily quiet carriage. Approaching the back of the train, I saw a staff member in a crisp uniform. I asked him how long the journey to Shibuya would take. He replied casually, “About 10 minutes, ma’am.” Bored of sitting next to that old man and a group of questionable teenagers, I struck up a conversation with him. My eyes caught a detail about the worker that I hadn’t noticed before. A small, distinctive mole rested just below his right eye. The dim light of the train cabin accentuated its presence, adding a touch of character to his otherwise stoic demeanor.
I offered a compliment, “You know, that mole below your right eye—it adds a unique charm to your look.” The worker, surprised by the unexpected remark, flashed a brief but genuine smile. “Oh, thanks. Never really thought much about it,” he replied, his tone softening for a moment.
The compliment seemed to break the tension that had lingered in the air, and a subtle camaraderie settled between us. The train continued its journey, the rhythmic clatter of the tracks now accompanied by a more casual exchange.
As we chatted about mundane topics, the disquieting stories of the train past 10 PM faded into the background. The mole below the worker’s right eye became a focal point of our conversation, a small detail that humanized him in the midst of the mysterious journey.
I couldn’t shake the strange stories that lingered in the air, tales of bizarre encounters on this train past 10 PM. The worker, in his crisp uniform, seemed nonchalant as he shared one of these eerie narratives. I couldn’t help but bring up the topic of strange occurrences on the late-night journey to Shibuya. The worker, now engaged in conversation, shared a different urban legend.
“There’s this tale,” he began, his voice carrying a hint of intrigue, “about someone getting on the train, having a casual chat with a fellow passenger, and then leaving their watch behind. Nothing unusual, right?” He paused, as if building anticipation.
“But here’s the kicker,” he continued, “the watch doesn’t work. It stops right at 10:47 PM. And what’s more, the seconds hand never moves smoothly. It jumps from 00 to 4 and back. 4, you know, the number associated with death. Silly, I suppose.”
A shiver ran down my spine as the disquieting details of the legend settled in. The rhythmic clatter of the train seemed to underscore the eerie atmosphere, emphasizing the uncanny nature of the story. The seconds hand endlessly looping between 00 and 4 painted a vivid image of a time frozen in an unsettling moment.
I tried to play off my unease with a nervous chuckle. “Superstitions, right? But there’s something oddly chilling about a watch stuck at the moment of 10:47 PM, seconds fixated on 4.” The worker nodded in agreement, acknowledging the peculiar nature of the tale.
A surreal tension filled the cabin as the seconds hand on the watch I held seemed to linger on the number 4, mirroring the eerie urban legend shared earlier. The train pressed forward, the city lights outside blurring into streaks, and I was left with a profound sense of dislocation.
The watch in my hand became a symbol of an interrupted connection, a silent testimony to the mysterious occurrences that unfolded on the train past 10 PM. As the train hurtled towards Shibuya, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the encounter and the forgotten watch held a significance beyond mere coincidence. The urban legend had taken an unexpected turn, leaving me with unanswered questions and a watch frozen in a moment that seemed suspended in an inexplicable, eternal night.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost. You alright?” he asked, his eyes narrowing in a scrutinizing gaze. I quickly excused myself, stammering something about needing to use the restroom. The confined space of the train seemed to close in on me as I made my way to the solitude of the restroom, seeking a momentary escape from the disquieting stories that now echoed through my mind.
Behind the closed door, I stared at my pale reflection in the restroom mirror, the weight of the worker’s words sinking in. The train’s rhythmic hum provided a haunting backdrop, and the air inside the restroom felt charged with an unspoken unease. I splashed water on my face, trying to shake off the irrational fear that had taken hold.
As I returned to my seat, the train’s announcement crackled through the speakers, “Next stop, Shibuya.” The mundane sound carried an ominous resonance, and the city lights outside blurred into an indistinct dreamscape. The encounter with the worker had added a layer of disquiet to the journey, and the enigmatic night seemed to hold secrets beyond comprehension.
A disconcerting feeling lingered in the air as I glanced down at the watch in my hand. To my bewilderment, the clock face was now reversed, its hands moving counterclockwise. It defied all logic, leaving me momentarily frozen in disbelief. Attempting to make sense of the inexplicable, I looked around the train cabin. My gaze landed on the “No Smoking” sign above, but something was off. The letters and symbols appeared reversed, creating an eerie illusion that distorted the familiar surroundings.
Feeling a growing unease, I approached the worker who had shared the urban legend. “Hey, how long is this gonna take? I swear, that story you told me is really getting to me,” I admitted, a tinge of anxiety in my voice. The worker looked at me with a perplexed expression, his brow furrowing.
“Ma’am, I’m not sure what story you’re talking about. This is the first time I’m speaking to you,” he replied, his response only deepening my confusion. Despite my insistence, he seemed genuinely unaware of our earlier conversation. “But, The train should reach Shibuya in 10 minutes,” he added with a polite smile. Baffled by the surreal turn of events, I looked up at the worker once more. To my shock, I noticed that the distinctive mole beneath his eye was now on the left side of his face. It contradicted my earlier observation, adding a layer of disorientation to the already bizarre situation.
As the train hurtled forward, the distorted reality persisted, and the once-familiar journey to Shibuya became an odyssey through a mirrored realm. The reversed clock, the mirrored sign, and the shifting details of the worker’s appearance created an unsettling tapestry of mystery.
The announcement crackled through the speakers, “Next stop, Shibuya.” The city lights outside blurred into an indistinct dreamscape, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had stepped into a reality where the boundaries between urban legend and unsettling truth had blurred into an inexplicable, eternal night.
The train kept going for what seemed like forever. I’ve struck the same conversation with the worker, stared at the watch, and heard the teenagers make the same joke a hundred times. The creepy old man looks at me. “Rebellious girl, aren’t you?” he says, with an uncanny smile. “Excuse me?” “Admit it, you’re stuck. I can tell you how to get out if you want to,” he offers. Desperate, I ask him to share. “Simple, really. I expected you’d figure it out by now, but you’ve been spitting the same nonsense to that bellboy by the announcement altar. if only you’d walk into another cabin. Drop the watch to some unknowing passenger, or save them altogether? Let’s see how good of a conscience you’ve got. Once you drop it, do not look back. Do not take the watch. Do not respond to the passenger. Do not tell him about the time loop. Get off of the train and hope you’re in the right world. You have 4 minutes before you’re stuck with me again. and again. and again.” he smiles, eerily.
I rush to the cabin next door. The worker glances at me, confused. I spot a man, sitting by the exit door silently. “A little late to be going to the city, don’t you think?” I strike a conversation in a desperate attempt to get over with this in what I have left of these 4 minutes. He smiles. “Meeting my brother tonight, been about 2 years since I last saw him. What about you, miss?” “My friend is in town, pretty much the same purpose, I suppose.” We spoke for what felt like a while. The train finally came to a stop. I thought about the old man, and the young man who offered me a stay at his home. “you wanna come to my place tonight? Bet I could shorten this ride.” I say, implying the loop he’s about to get stuck in. He declines, but I insist. He thinks I’m a total weirdo, and i don’t blame him. He declines again.
“Approaching destination, Shibuya.” the speakers announce. I drop the watch and turn before leaving one last time, only to be met by the sight of the man, only his once green eyes now pitch black, including the whites, as he stares coldly at me. I finally understood why the man I spoke to looked at me in fear. I quickly exit into the doors to my freedom. I hear the man yelling at me to take my watch, but I don’t dare turn around. As the train starts moving again, I look back, the old man waving at me from the window, with that eerie smile of his.
I glance at my watch. It’s 10.48pm.