2 — Suspense Digest June 2019 Part

Arthur screamed—a sound like twisting metal—and was yanked upward through the crack. The train jolted. The orange light went white. The normal hum of the Acela returned.

The ceiling panel above him bowed inward. Once. Twice. A thin crack spiderwebbed across the white plastic. A single drop of dark, viscous fluid—not water, not oil—fell onto Arthur’s shoulder. He didn’t wipe it away. He just started to cry.

She tucked it into her bag and watched the real Connecticut night rush by. She never took the train again. suspense digest june 2019 part 2

Seat 6D, a young woman with noise-canceling headphones, didn’t flinch. Seat 6B, a florid man snoring softly, slept on. But Arthur in 6C went rigid. His jaw clenched so hard Eleanor saw a muscle jump in his temple.

“You hear it too,” Eleanor whispered. The normal hum of the Acela returned

When they came back on—a dim, sickly orange—the car was different. The upholstery was older. The windows were streaked with grime. And the passengers… they were still there, but their faces were wrong. The woman in 6D had a gash across her throat that wept no blood. The man in 6B had his head turned a full 180 degrees, his open eyes staring at Eleanor from over the seatback.

The man in 6C—Arthur—looked up.

The conductor’s voice crackled over the intercom, thin and stretched. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are experiencing a minor… delay. We will be stationary for a brief period. Please remain seated.”

The hand from the ceiling recoiled.

She tried to stand. Her legs were lead. Tried to scream. Her throat was full of dust.

“Not because I’m brave,” she said, looking at Arthur. “But because you’re lying. There is no sixth seat. There never was. You’re the one who died in 1997. And you’ve been tricking the living into taking your place ever since.” “Not because I’m brave