The Ghost Train

I’ll admit, I side-eyed the seven-minute runtime at first. *How much depth can you cram into a coffee break?* Turns out, a lot—if you’ve got the right storyteller. *The Ghost Train* works because it’s not trying to be a novel; it’s a campfire tale with a pulse, and Oliver Wyman sells every second of it. His Bren is all scraped-knee bravado, her voice a mix of *I dare you* and *please don’t leave me too*. The real standout? How Wyman modulates the folklore bits—when the older kids spin the legend of the Nevermore, his tone dips into something almost reverent, like he’s channeling a ghost himself. The sound design (that train whistle! the way the audio *narrows* in the tunnel) is subtly immersive, though I wished the mix played with silence more; a beat or two of dead air could’ve made the finale hit even harder. My one critique is the pacing in the climax. The train’s arrival feels *slightly* rushed—like Korpon trusted the legend’s weight to carry the moment without quite earning the payoff. Still, the story’s strength is its refusal to over-explain. Bren’s choice at the end isn’t about conquering fear; it’s about choosing which kind of haunted she can live with. For fans of *Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark* or Kelly Link’s eerie brevity, this is a gem. Just don’t blame me if you start eyeing subway tunnels differently.