I saw the same woman at three train stations during one late journey home.
I commute by train enough that I normally forget everyone I see within minutes.
That is why I noticed her.
It was a Thursday night and I had missed my usual train because drinks after work ran late. I boarded at 11:18 p.m.
The carriage was maybe a quarter full. Two students sharing headphones, a man asleep against the window, a couple arguing quietly, me.
At the first station after mine, I looked out the window and saw a woman standing beneath the platform clock.
She wore a yellow raincoat.
Not bright modern yellow. Mustard yellow, almost brown under the lights.
She was probably in her thirties. Dark hair cut to her shoulders. No bag. No phone in her hand.
She wasn't looking at the train.
She was looking at me.
Directly through the window.
I glanced away because eye contact with strangers on public transport is basically illegal in London.
The doors closed.
We left.
At the next station, about seven minutes later, I looked out again.
The same woman was standing beneath the station sign.
Yellow coat.
Same posture.
Looking at me.
I remember feeling confused before I felt scared.
Maybe she had boarded another carriage and walked through the train.
Except I had watched her remain on the previous platform as we pulled away.
Maybe there were two women wearing similar coats.
That's what I settled on.
I texted my boyfriend:
Either I'm tired or I just saw the same woman at 2 stations lol
He sent a ghost emoji.
Very helpful.
At the third station I did not want to look.
I looked anyway.
She was there.
This time closer to the edge.
The train stopped with my window almost exactly opposite her.
She smiled.
I moved seats.
Not dramatically. I picked up my bag and walked farther down the carriage.
The doors closed.
As we pulled away, I looked back.
The woman was still standing there.
But she was no longer looking at the window where I had been sitting.
Her head had turned.
She was following me with her eyes through the moving carriage.
The same woman at three train stations appeared before the train
I called my boyfriend.
He could hear I was actually nervous and stopped joking.
He told me to stay near other passengers and get off at my normal stop. He would meet me outside.
I agreed.
The train entered a longer stretch without stations.
I watched my reflection in the dark window.
After a minute I realized another reflection was behind mine.
Yellow coat.
I spun around.
The aisle was empty.
A man two rows down looked at me like I was insane.
I turned back to the glass.
Only my reflection.
The train announcement chimed.
"The next station is—"
The speaker crackled.
Then a woman's voice said my name.
"Sara."
Not over the whole carriage.
It seemed to come from the speaker directly above me.
I stood up.
The normal announcement resumed.
The students with headphones didn't react.
Nobody else seemed to hear it.
My boyfriend was still on the phone.
"What happened?"
I asked if he had heard my name.
He said no.
The train slowed for the next station.
Before the platform came into view, I saw her.
Not waiting on the platform.
Walking beside the tracks.
Same yellow coat.
Moving in the same direction as the train.
We passed her.
She turned her head as we went by.
Then, maybe twenty seconds later, we entered the station.
She was already there.
Standing near the exit.
I screamed.
Actually screamed.
The sleeping man woke up.
The doors opened.
The woman raised one hand and beckoned to me.
I moved toward the opposite side of the carriage.
Then she pointed behind me.
I turned.
At the far end of the carriage, another woman in a yellow coat stood behind the connecting door.
Same face.
Same hair.
Inside the train.
I ran through the carriage toward a group of passengers.
By the time I looked back, the connecting door was empty.
The woman on the platform was gone too.
I got off one stop early because I couldn't stay on that train.
I went straight to the ticket office, which was still staffed, and asked if I could wait near them.
I probably sounded unwell.
One employee asked if someone was harassing me.
I said yes because it was easier than explaining.
My boyfriend drove over to get me.
While I waited, I stood with my back to the ticket office wall.
No one in a yellow coat appeared.
I started calming down.
Then the employee beside me frowned at one of the CCTV monitors.
"Is that her?" he asked.
On the screen was the platform I'd just left.
The woman stood at the far end.
Yellow coat.
Facing the camera.
I nodded.
The employee picked up a radio.
Before he spoke, the monitor changed.
Different camera.
The woman was now at the station entrance.
Then another camera.
She was on the footbridge.
Another.
Bottom of the stairs.
Each image was live.
She was appearing in locations that should have taken minutes to walk between.
The employee stopped touching the controls.
The cameras changed by themselves.
Platform.
Bridge.
Entrance.
Concourse.
Then the final feed switched to the ticket office camera.
I could see myself standing beside the employee.
Behind us was the glass door.
The woman in the yellow coat stood on the other side.
I turned.
Nobody there.
On the monitor, she was still standing behind me.
She leaned close to the camera.
Her lips moved.
The employee whispered, "What is she saying?"
I knew.
She was saying:
Not this one.
Then she looked directly at my reflection on the screen.
And smiled.
My boyfriend arrived two minutes later.
The employee refused to talk about it after that. He claimed the CCTV had glitched.
I changed my commute for several months.
Eventually I started taking trains again.
I have never seen her in person since.
But sometimes, when a train passes a platform without stopping, I see a flash of mustard yellow near the edge.
Last Friday my boyfriend sent me a photo from his commute.
He thought someone on the platform looked like me.
The woman in the photo does look like me.
Same hair.
Same coat I wore that day.
Except I was at home when he took it.
And standing behind the woman who looks like me is the woman in yellow.
One hand on her shoulder.
Pointing toward the train.
DarkRecord editorial note: This is an original fictional submission-style horror story. The named submitter and events are fictional.
