“Alice and the Train in the Fog” - Alice, the porcelain doll, stood on the tracks, clutching a small hammer in her pale hands. Behind her, an old steam train emerged from the mist, its iron wheels silent, as if holding their breath. A faint hiss of steam curled around her feet, mingling with the damp scent of rusted rails.
No one knew how long she had been waiting there. Some said the train arrived only at midnight, carrying the whispers of passengers who were never meant to return. Alice’s glassy eyes reflected the dim glow of a lantern, calm and unblinking. She gripped the hammer tighter, as if guarding something only she could see.
And when the whistle finally pierced the silence, deep and mournful, it sounded less like a warning — and more like a summons.
