Per 
The clock struck 11:57pm.
Almost midnight.
A couple of leaves fell into the station, darted and turned by the wind. The tannoys announced recent changes of services, strikes and repair works to vacant platforms. The leaves twirled and jumped onto the tracks and slept peacefully on the cold rails. The departure board showed only one train. The 12pm westbound was on time. The trundle of the train presented itself as you surveyed your surroundings. The derelict station matched the bleak backdrop it was situated in. Large dull, grey, skyscrapers loomed over casting a shadow upon the ageing pile of tracks and stone. It was safe to say the station was not in good condition. The train neared. As the wheels screamed it de-accelerated into the station. The leaves rested on the rails in time for the train to crush them with its cold, screeching, steel wheels. You neared the platform edge to board. It was almost empty. Odd for this time of day. 'Almost empty' as a man was in perhaps the fifth carriage along. As the train stopped you came face to face with him. You edged closer to the doors. He was obviously going to exit so you left room for him. Hang on.
His face was in the palm of his hands and there was water dripping of them. He was crying. You could see it now. His sobbing pierced your ears. Then he screamed. Oh God he screamed. Like an arrow whistling into your ears, piercing skin, flesh and into the veins running through your brain.
The trains doors did not open.
He just stood there sobbing pitifully. The train lingered longer than it should. A few seconds later he looked up at you. His bloodshot eyes stared deep into your heart. Then he screamed again, this time with vocal resonance; "Please," he cried, "Please…" his sobbing prevailed and you could no longer hear him over the train throttling up, then departing.
The clock struck 11:57pm.
Almost midnight.
A familiar trundle approached once again. The leaves danced, fell and rested before again becoming a Pâté of green, oozing, substance. Screaming to a halt were two people now. The man and a woman, maybe his wife. This time he was banging on the door. You could make out his voice, coarse from unimaginable terror. "Please!" he sobbed,"Open the-" a pause for breath and a longer pause for the cough from the tears inhaled. "Please, open the door!" the train departed quicker this time.
The clock struck 11:57pm.
Almost midnight.
The leaves looked merry this time. Their misery was soon to end. The train screeched to a halt. The couple was gone, and in their place half a dozen children. This one hit closer to home. Their smiles replaced by ferocious shrieks of discomfort. Only one attempted to claw the door open, his hands callus from slowly scratching paint off the closed doors. The wailing did not cease as the train eased off the platform. Their screams lingered longer than the others.
The clock struck 11:57pm.
Almost midnight.
Why were you here? Why are you here? You have never been to this train station before. This place is not fit for trains, or let alone people. The roof sagged and the flagstones you were standing on are cracked. The train approached. There was no-one in it this time. The windows were instead covered in a dark red paste. Some glimpses of white in there as well. It screeched to a halt and you approached the train doors. It was moving. It was liquid. It was blood. You touched the glass, providing a thin viewing window into the tonnes and tonnes of blendered human mass weighing down the carriage. You gagged at this thought. Then the train doors opened. The blood poured out. The world went red. You succumbed to the blood. All gasps for air were fruitless.
The clock struck 11:57pm.
Almost midnight.
You encountered a man much older than you. More numbed by the pain. "Ah," he coughed in one of the calmer points of your experience, "the blood train. Get's old…" he coughs again, "after the first couple hundred times." You left him to wheeze into the smoggy air.
The clock struck 11:57pm.
Almost midnight.
The train approached the station and you started slowing down and then sobbing. There was only one person on the platform. A blank faced man. You sobbed into your hands as the train screeched to a halt. Then you screamed. Like an arrow. Piercing his ears.
The clock struck 12am.
Midnight.
The A-line, New York.