3 Scary TRUE Train Horror Stories

[Music] Hopefully, I don't dox myself by writing this, but I'm a graffiti artist—or, as some might see it, a delinquent. I'm fine with either title. The point is, I like to spray paint, and I'm decent with a can in my hand.

The tagging community is atrocious; people are unfriendly, and there's no respect between artists. Because of this, I've adopted a much more inconspicuous routine. I like tagging up quieter spots where my art likely won't be seen by other artists or the general public.

Old train lines are usually a good bet since the train cars are endless, and new trains get decommissioned and left to rot on them all the time. My friend Lucas likes to come with me when I tag up, even though he's not big into the whole thing himself. I welcome the company.

Some people don't understand the importance of a good friend, and I think that's sad. Most of my other friends don't seem to respect my time or interests as much as he seems to. Lucas and I found ourselves smoking on some nameless set of old tracks I found earlier that day on Google Maps.

I'm not a big stoner myself, but he smokes a lot of weed, so I often indulge to match his vibe. It wasn't that late—maybe a little past 10 p. m.

We finished a joint and talked as we walked alongside the old rusty freight train. Oddly enough, there wasn't a single tag on the entire train; it must have been recently moved here. I thought, excitedly, that I'd get first dibs on such a good surface.

I tossed Lucas a can for him to mess around with, and I started doing my own thing. About five minutes later, I finished my first tag. I admired it for a bit before moving to the next car, then the next.

About 15 minutes and two paint cans later, I had three decent tags up adjacent to one another, and I was pretty proud of myself for how they looked in combination with each other. Sorry in advance if this offends anyone, but I tend to discard my empty cans whenever they go dry, so I flung them back the way we had come, enjoying the satisfying clattering sound a ball bearing makes when bouncing around the inside of an empty can. I then caught up with Lucas, who had seemingly rolled and lit another joint, neglecting the paint I had given him.

For context, the reason I'm not a big stoner is because I started getting unbearable anxiety highs much more frequently—maybe 90% of the time. In hindsight, smoking two joints with Lucas was a borderline detrimental decision. After all, we were doing something illegal, which was already pretty anxiety-inducing.

I smoked the second joint anyway, confident that I'd be okay. As soon as the final sparks floated off the joint, that's when we heard it: a muffled clang from somewhere behind us rang out into the night. The two of us froze and stared into the darkness.

I could feel droplets of sweat forming around my neck as adrenaline began coursing through me. I couldn't tell if the sound had come from outside of the train or from inside one of the cars. It was hard to tell which option was worse.

We waited for a full minute in silence, and nothing. That's when I whipped out my phone and recorded this video: “Bro, what the [ __ ] was this? No way, bro, you [ __ ] heard that?

I heard that [ __ ], what the [ __ ] boy [ __ ]! " As the video shows, whoever made that noise picked up one of my empty paint cans and threw it at us before chasing and shouting at us. You can't really see the paint can in the video, but I swear to you that's what the first sound was.

As we frantically made our escape, whoever was behind us yelled, “You better not trip, boy! ” A few seconds later, an actual gunshot sounded off behind us, almost causing Lucas to trip and fall. It startled me so much that my finger slipped off the record button on Snapchat, and the video cut out.

We bolted down the tracks until they intersected a main road and didn't stop running until we were a safe distance away. I don't think I've ever been more terrified in my entire life. It didn't help that I was stoned out of my mind; my hands were literally shaking—so were Lucas's.

We found our way back to the car and drove home in silence. What was I supposed to do—call the police? I was literally breaking the law; that wasn't an option.

The story doesn't end there, though. I actually went back to those tracks a few weeks later, but this time during the day and equipped with my trusty Glock 17. To my surprise, the train was still there.

Despite that, there was a pretty glaring difference this time around: the three spots where my tags had previously been were now ugly blotches of red paint. Someone had deliberately covered my work. Quietly, I kept investigating and eventually came to a train car with its door wide open.

I took a look inside, and it was bizarre. The train car was completely empty except for a chair in the direct center and what looked like ropes and chains scattered about. Some of the ropes were wrapped around the legs of the chair, and others were just lying on the floor.

The weirdest part was the smell, though. The whole car smelled like bleach. If you closed your eyes, you would have guessed you were in a cleaning supply closet.

I can't overstate the smell, though; it literally smelled like the whole train car had been doused in bleach. I went to take a picture of the scene when I thought I heard a metal clang somewhere. Further down the train, I could have imagined it, but I wasn't taking any chances.

That was enough for me; I was out of there as quickly as I had come. I've told so many people this story, and none of them could rationalize that psycho's actions in a way that makes sense. I doubt a homeless person would be able to get their hands on a gun, but I can't fathom why someone other than a homeless person would respond so aggressively.

And why they decided to cover up my tags is another mystery. I think the most disturbing aspect of this whole thing was the chair in the middle of the train car. I really want to go back to those tracks just to take a picture of what I saw, but I haven't worked up the courage to.

I have no idea if whoever was there that night was really shooting to kill us or just trying to scare us, but sometimes late at night, when it's just me and my thoughts, I can still hear that shot ringing in my ears. As I write this, it's early July; this story took place at the beginning of summer. I usually try to hang around my college town or travel to Europe in the summer as a way to avoid going home, but that wasn't a possibility this time around.

I found myself reluctantly returning home at the beginning of the summer. I just had to make it through one week, and then I'd be on a plane to Germany. I didn't really feel like seeing any of my old friends, but I wasn't too keen on staying home either, so I found myself waking up early and spending my entire days hiking, watching movies, or even just driving around aimlessly.

It was my last day home; I was getting bored of the stuff I had been doing and wanted to do something a little more exciting. My friends and I used to train hop, one of the many unruly activities that I had since cut out of my life. I decided, "What the hell?

" and drove to a secluded set of tracks I knew about. Freight trains always passed through here, so I knew there would be many options. The tracks were surrounded by trees and various flora, part of the reason I had chosen them.

The last thing I needed was to be caught for doing an illegal activity after having been clean for so many years. I parked my car and made my way over to the tracks. Let me describe the layout so it's easy to understand: this specific set of tracks ran through the trees for a while before entering a tunnel.

There was a very small clearing on the other side of the tunnel and then a massive bridge over the water. My friends and I used to ride the train all the way across the bridge, but since it was just me, I would have no way of getting back to my car unless I felt like walking 10 miles. So I decided that I'd hop on the train, take it through the tunnel, hop off, and get a peaceful walk back to my car.

I walked along the tracks and waited for a train to pass. It was probably 2 or 3 in the afternoon. Finally, after about 10 minutes of walking, I started to feel the familiar vibration in the rails.

I quickly ran to the side and tried my best to stay out of sight. Usually, as far as I know, freight train conductors didn't care enough to report people walking along the tracks, but I didn't want to take any chances. The train passed, and I waited for a good number of cars to go by before emerging from my hiding spot.

I picked a car that looked easily attainable and began jogging alongside the train like I had done a hundred times before. Once I was confident enough, I grabbed hold of the ladder and swung myself up. It was pretty easy; the train wasn't traveling very quickly as my part of the train was about to enter the tunnel.

I saw a strange flash of light from up ahead. I assumed it was a spark from the train or something, but truth be told, I had never seen anything like it before. I hoped there wasn't an errant wire or something dangerous in the tunnel, but it was too late to hop off.

The train started picking up speed. Since the tunnel was perfectly straight, I closed my eyes as the adrenaline rush started coming on. Just then, I felt a hand reach out from the darkness and literally grab my leg.

I lost my footing and nearly slipped, but my hands were firmly gripping the train. I screamed and kicked, but the train sped by before I could make contact with anything. Before I could even comprehend what just happened, I felt another hand slap against my leg.

I screamed again before scrambling up the ladder, hopefully out of reach. My heart was racing—what the hell just happened? The train exited the tunnel, and I hopped off without thinking.

I waited for the train to completely pass and watched it chug over the bridge. I remember pacing back and forth in the little clearing, thinking about what just happened. Like, were there really people in the tunnel, and what could they possibly be doing there?

Why the hell would they try to drag me down? All these thoughts and more were racing through my mind when a stark realization struck me in the face: the only way back to my car was through the tunnel. There was absolutely no chance in hell I was walking back through that tunnel with those people in there, especially since they'd be able to see my silhouette and I'd be walking through darkness.

I sat. On the ground for what felt like forever, there was no other option. I couldn't walk across the bridge without risking my life; a train could come along at any second, and the bridge was too long.

I considered calling someone to come rescue me, but I wasn't even sure if they'd be able to do anything. Police weren't an option; I was breaking the law just being here. I had no choice.

I picked up a rock and started making my way through the tunnel. There were two people in there, which I knew for a fact, but there could have been more; I had no idea. I got about halfway to the point where I felt the second set of hands when I heard something.

A faint click was coming from somewhere in the tunnel. It sounded like a human clicking their tongue, but it could have been made by a machine. It was honestly hard to tell.

I froze and thought to myself that continuing to walk this tunnel was a death sentence. I felt a rush of confidence and pulled out my phone. "You better stay back or I'll shoot," I threatened, my words echoing off the tunnel walls.

There was a moment of silence; the clicking stopped as quickly as it had begun. I was obviously bluffing about having a gun, but I figured it was better to bluff than just walk in silence. I then pulled up a video on YouTube of gunshot sound effects, turned up my phone's volume, and played it.

It was honestly louder than I was expecting, and with the echo of the tunnel, I prayed to God that whoever was in there bought it. Without waiting another second, I sprinted full speed into the darkness, bracing myself for a fight. I didn't stop running until I had reached the other side.

By some miracle, no one tried to grab me. After making it out of the tunnel, I looked back. There was another flash from deep in the tunnel; this time, though, it subsided long enough for me to clearly see two silhouettes standing on the tracks, facing me.

That was it for me. I turned to leave, but as I was jogging away, the nastiest screech I've ever heard emanated from the tunnel. It sounded barbaric—definitely human but far from normal.

I don't plan on ever train hopping again. [Music] The New York City subway system is a scary place. I've been an MTA worker for seven years, and nothing really surprises me anymore.

When friends and family ask if I have any stories, though, there is one that stands out among the rest—one that I can't explain. This happened to me about two years into the job, but I remember it like it was yesterday. I was pretty acclimated to everything at that point, and things had become routine.

I was stationed in Brooklyn at the time, and I was doing some routine maintenance in High Street Station. There wasn't a soul on the platform; it was actually kind of eerie. You're used to these subway stations overflowing with people, so seeing them empty and almost deserted looking was a strange adjustment to make.

I hadn't seen a person on the platform in hours, and it was dead silent except for the buzz of the lights and the occasional passing train. Out of nowhere, I heard a clang from somewhere down the track. It startled me so badly that I dropped my mop in shock.

The sound wasn't something I was used to hearing. The best way I could describe it to you is that sound that a rock would make if it had been dropped on a metal rail. I stopped what I was doing and looked into the tunnel, listening for other noises.

After a while, I concluded that whatever I heard had either been caused by an animal or a falling piece of cement; after all, these stations were pretty old. I went back to work, not thinking too much about the sound. About ten minutes later, the same sound shook me from my concentration, only this time it was probably about twice as loud.

This time, I actually became a little concerned—dare I say scared. Was it really possible that two chunks of the ceiling had fallen in the span of ten minutes? I put down my supplies and walked over to the tunnel entrance, trying to be quiet.

I peered into the darkness and couldn't really see anything. I debated whether or not it was a good idea to call out into the tunnel and ultimately decided against it. I still figured it was nothing, but after the initial fear had worn off, I was more confused than anything.

I kept trying to think of things that could make it sound like that, not once but twice. It was especially bizarre since the second sound was louder. I tried to keep my mind off the sounds and went back to work, finding a good rhythm again.

I was almost done with my work on this platform and was pleased that I'd get to leave this weird station soon. As I was wrapping things up, I heard something that gave me the chills—a child's voice called out for help from inside the tunnel, and he sounded like he was in distress. I instantly stopped what I was doing and made my way over to the edge of the platform.

I hesitated for a few seconds before deciding that a child in anguish wasn't something my moral conscience would allow me to ignore. I walked down the steps leading onto the tracks and waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I shouted into the tunnel, asking that kid if he was okay—no response.

That’s weird, I thought, starting to feel nervous about this encounter. Just then, the kid's voice rang out again, repeating his. .

. "Call for help! " I yelled back, asking him if he could hear me.

He responded, "Yes," and I asked where specifically he was. There was a brief moment of silence before he just said, "In front of you, just keep walking. " I really didn't want to, but I couldn't just leave some helpless kid all alone on those tracks.

It was dangerous. I began walking forward when something dawned on me. I yelled into the darkness one more time, this time asking the kid what was wrong.

An uncomfortable pause again before the kid responded, "Just keep walking. " I didn't like that; this whole thing was off. My eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, and I was able to slightly make out what was in front of me.

There actually was what looked like the shadow of a kid just up the tracks, but there was something else that almost made me scream in fear: another shadow, this one much taller, obviously an adult. My blood ran cold, and I stopped in place. This wasn't happening to me.

As slowly as I could, I turned around and made my way back to the platform. Luckily, I wasn't chased on the way back. The kid shouted, "Wait!

Where are you going? " once I reached the platform, but I wasn't sticking around another second. I made my way up the stairs and called the police as soon as I got cell service.

I told them everything, and police were swarming the platform in a matter of minutes. I waited to see what they turned up. After about 20 minutes of searching, they did find something chilling: there was a single kid's shoe just lying in the tunnel, which the police hypothesized could have signified a struggle.

After hours more of searching and scouring every available database for missing children, we were told we'd receive a call if anything ever came up. It was concluded that whoever had been down there had hidden somewhere in the tunnels. I have no idea what to think of this experience.

This is the best theory I can come up with: some psycho kidnapped a child and forced him to yell for help in an attempt to lure some unsuspecting Good Samaritan into a trap. Or hell, maybe it's their own kid whom they're raising to also be a psycho. I can't think of any other reasonable explanation besides this one, but if I'm right, I can only imagine what that kid must be going through.