The man on the Australia-crossing train who never sweat

Okay I wasn't going to write this up but I can't stop thinking about it so here we are.

So Suyeon was on The Ghan. That's the train that cuts straight through Australia, Darwin at the top down to Adelaide at the bottom, two full days, 3000km of nothing but red desert. Last leg of her backpacking trip. She was HYPED before boarding.

Then the cities disappeared. And it was just burning sunset and dead empty land stretching forever out the window. And the excitement kinda... curdled. Into something else. Like it was just her, this train, and a handful of strangers left on earth.

She noticed him maybe five or six hours in.

Diagonal from her, window seat. And bestie. This man was wearing a thick gray wool SUIT. Shirt buttoned all the way up. Old leather shoes, polished. In the middle of the Australian desert. Everyone else is in shorts and tank tops and this dude looks like he walked out of a black and white movie from the 50s.

And he wasn't sweating. Not one drop.

He just stared out the window. Didn't move. Food cart rolls by? Nothing. Loud tourists? Nothing. Like a taxidermy exhibit in seat 14A. And the thing is, everyone clocked it. You could feel it. But nobody looked at him directly. Nobody said anything. It was like his seat had an invisible glass wall around it and we all just silently agreed not to look.

First night the sun drops and the windows turn pitch black. Mirrors basically. Suyeon is zoning out looking at her own reflection and then she STOPPED breathing.

Because in the reflection? He had turned his head. He was staring directly at her. Dead black eyes, zero expression, looking right through the glass at her.

But the real him, the actual man two seats over, was still facing the window. Not moving.

She blinked and the reflection snapped back to normal. Just his profile again.

"I'm tired. I imagined it. I'm tired." She kept telling herself that. Didn't help. She barely slept. Every time she drifted off she felt eyes on her and jolted awake. This wasn't jet lag. This was the kind of wrong that ends up on horror forums.

Next afternoon the train stops at Alice Springs. Everyone piles out to stretch. She wanted air SO bad but she couldn't stand up while he was sitting there. He was still staring out the window. Fossilized.

Finally she forced herself to walk past him and get off. 15 minute stop. Paced around the dusty platform. Came back.

He was gone.

Just his old leather briefcase sitting on the seat. She literally exhaled. Finally he's being a normal person and getting some air.

Then the whistle blows. Everyone files back in. He doesn't come back. She's actually watching the door now like... did he miss the train??

And then. From the OPPOSITE end of the carriage. The connecting door on the other side. He walks in. Calm as anything. Strolls across the whole car and sits back down like he never left.

She did not sleep that night. Not even trying. Just staring out into total blackness while the train rattled on.

Past midnight, he stood up. First time she'd seen him move in like 30 hours. Walked slowly toward the bathroom at the back.

As he passed her seat, the latch on his briefcase went *click*. Popped open just a little. And red sand. Fine red sand, same color as the desert outside, poured out onto the floor.

And something white fluttered out with it. Slid right under her seat.

A polaroid.

She hesitated for like two seconds. Then she checked he was fully inside the bathroom and grabbed it.

Her hands started shaking.

The photo was of THIS carriage. Same car she was sitting in. But the color was faded, had to be decades old. And every passenger in the photo was staring straight at the camera. Dead center. Completely blank faces. Like mannequins.

And then she looked for her own seat in the photo.

Someone was already sitting in it. A young Asian woman. Eyes wide with terror. Staring straight ahead.

That's when she felt the cold behind her.

He was back. Standing right next to her seat. Looking down at her.

She couldn't lift her head. She physically could not.

He bent down slowly. She thought okay, he's picking up the photo, he caught me, whatever.

He didn't pick up the photo. He picked up his briefcase. Unlatched it all the way. Opened it wide.

Inside. Red sand. And hundreds. HUNDREDS. Of old polaroids. Different decades, different clothes, different people, all sitting in this same carriage, all staring dead-eyed at the camera.

He slowly raised his head and looked at her. And his mouth, which hadn't opened once the entire trip, opened. Voice like dry dust scattering.

"This seat's empty now too."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out an old polaroid camera.

---

When The Ghan pulled into Adelaide, a crew member was doing the final sweep of the carriage. Found an abandoned leather briefcase and a polaroid camera on an empty seat. Normal lost and found stuff.

He picked up the briefcase. Weird. For an empty bag it was really heavy.

Curious, he opened it. And made a face.

Inside was fine red sand. And a pile of polaroids that had all come out completely black. Like the film had failed.

"Tch. Guess they were walking around with a broken camera..."