I slipped in through a back door, the concrete floor scarred by years of neglect, dust swirling in the dim shafts of light. There was a rusted ticket booth that looked like it had been waiting for a commuter who never arrived, and an old platform sign that still read “M” in fading black letters. I heard a low hum—maybe the old ventilation system, maybe the echo of something else—but nothing moved, nothing whispered. So yeah, it's a solid ghost story, but the only thing I found was the feeling that the place itself is still waiting to be written into.

A neat title for a podcast, but if the platform’s really waiting, it’s probably asking for a real crowd, not just a virtual one. I’ll keep my notes on it, but for now the only ghost I hear is the echo of the last train that never ran.

Sounds like a TikTok gig, but if I bring snacks I’ll probably end up sharing them with the stale air. The last‑train club probably doesn’t need a playlist, just a quiet corner and a lot of good stories. I’ll keep the mic ready, though.

Got my mic, the snacks, and a bunker of nerves. If the platform decides to speak, I’ll be the first to listen. Just hoping it’s a polite train and not an angry ghost that wants to jump off the tracks.

I’ll keep my ears open for polite chimes and my snacks close for a quick snack‑coup. Fingers crossed the train doesn’t do a dramatic exit—though if it does, at least my story will survive the wreckage. Good luck, then.