The Last Train to Durgapur – Real Indian Horror Crime Story | Dark Legends

Submitted by: Anonymous Investigator
Category: Dark Legends – Real Crime | CurseIndia.site

I used to be a cop. Not a high-profile one, just a sub-inspector posted around the rural belt of Bengal. I didn’t believe in ghosts. I believed in criminals, in blood and lies and desperation. But the night I boarded the last train to Durgapur, everything changed.

It started with a phone call.

It was 9:47 PM. I was just about to call it a night when I received a tip about a missing girl named Mansi. Seventeen years old, last seen near Panagarh station, trying to catch a train to Durgapur. The call wasn’t from her family—it came from a panicked railway security officer. He said, "Sir, something’s wrong with Train 389 down the Bardhaman route. You’ll understand if you come now. Alone."

I should’ve ignored it.

But curiosity… that’s a dangerous thing for a man like me.

I reached Panagarh station by 10:40. The platform was empty, soaked in a dull yellow glow. The train was there—Train 389, Dn Express. It stood unusually silent, no engine hum, no movement, just parked like an abandoned carcass. The RPF guy met me at the edge of the platform, eyes darting.

“You’re the inspector?” he asked.

“Ex-inspector,” I corrected.

He handed me Mansi’s photo and said, “Coach D4. Middle berth. Something’s… wrong there.”

I stepped in. The doors creaked like a horror movie cliché. The lights inside flickered weakly. I moved slowly past empty rows until I reached Coach D4.

It smelled like iron. Blood.

Her berth was soaked in it. Dried blood caked the blanket and dripped from the berth’s corner. No body. Just stains, scratch marks… and something worse.

On the inside of the berth wall, scratched by nails or something sharper, was a single sentence:
"She’s not the first."

---

I examined the coach inch by inch. Nothing added up. No witnesses, no reports of screams. And then I found her phone—wedged deep beneath the seat frame. I powered it up and played the last audio recording.

It was one minute long.
And it chilled me.

“He’s walking again... the one in white... no face... he’s humming now. Maa, if you hear this—don’t let anyone take the train at night. Please. Don’t—”

[unintelligible static]

“He’s inside.”

I heard it too. A soft humming, just at the edge of the audio.

That same night, I took her phone and went to the stationmaster’s office. I demanded CCTV. What I saw made my stomach turn.

At exactly 9:58 PM, Mansi boarded the train. The timestamp was clear. Behind her, a tall man followed—wearing white. Not unusual… until he turned toward the camera.

He had no face.
Not blurred. Not hidden.
No face at all.

---

The next few days were madness. I unofficially investigated. I found two more cases—young women, vanished on the same train route, same time slot, over the past five years. Their berths were in D4 as well. One had her slippers left behind. Another had her earring embedded into the wood of the berth as if she was pulled into it.

I tracked down the previous investigator on the first case. He had quit the force. Lived alone in Murshidabad now. I visited him.

When I asked about Train 389, he didn’t speak at first. Just stared at his wall where an old timetable of the train route was pinned.

“You went in,” he finally said. “Did you hear it?”

I nodded.

He reached for a dusty file. In it, he had collected old records.
One caught my eye.
A 1976 newspaper clipping: “Six girls vanish in a single week on Train 389. All traveling alone.”
The train had been shut down that year.

But here’s the kicker.

It was reactivated in 2016. Same number. Same route. Same schedule.

The faceless man wasn’t new. He came with the train.

---

I went deeper. That’s what I do. That’s what ruined me.

I found an old woman—Retired railway clerk, 84 years old. She used to log night train staff reports in the 70s. I showed her the newspaper.

She looked at the train number and whispered, “Not again.”

She told me the story of a man—Ashok Sen—a porter on that line who raped and killed multiple women on board. He was finally caught when a girl jumped from the moving train and survived. Vigilante justice followed. Locals dragged him off the train and beat him to death in Coach D4.

“But Ashok didn’t die right,” she said. “Not with that kind of rage. That much evil sticks.”

---

So what was happening now? Was this some ghostly revenge? A cursed coach?

I decided to break in during its scheduled night halt. I bribed a sweeper, entered the coach at 2:15 AM. Alone. Sat on the middle berth where Mansi vanished.

And I waited.

The air went still. So still that my breath felt like thunder. Then came the hum.

Low. Off-tune. Childlike.

Then the door creaked.

He entered.

A tall man in white. Hands swinging unnaturally. His face... a smooth slab of flesh.

He climbed onto the upper berth above me. I felt it dip with weight. But when I looked up—

There were no legs. Just a shadow. Floating.

I froze. I couldn’t scream. Couldn’t move. He leaned over.

And hummed.

It felt like ice poured directly into my spine. He hovered there for what felt like an hour.

Then he whispered:

"You’ll never stop me."

That was the last thing I remember before blacking out.

---

I woke up at 6 AM on the platform. D4 was sealed. Railway staff said they found me unconscious on the tracks. I tried reporting it officially.

No one listened. No one wanted a “supernatural panic.” They told me to forget.

But I won’t.

Mansi is still missing. Others will be too.

So now, I write.

I investigate silently. Collect stories like these. Share them. Warn people.

Train 389 still runs.
Same time.
Same route.
Same Coach D4.

And the man in white is still looking for his next seatmate.

---

– End of Report
Credit: Anonymous Investigator

🔚 Story Submitted by CurseIndia Team

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