Winner (October 2025) "The Ticket Master"

She shut the washroom door behind her and wiped her wet hands on a piece of toilet roll. At last, she paused to take in her surroundings. There were benches on either side of the platform with a track running straight between them. A neon board on the wall to her left caught her eye. A picture of the train station.

“The Liminal: Welcome to the Great In-Between,” she whispered as if tasting her words.

She walked toward a bench. A young man dressed in dark clothes sat at the far end, bent over with elbows on knees and hands clasped. Nia took out her laptop; she was in the middle of a manuscript. She had one hour until the train arrived, enough to write three pages at most.

The waiting area was almost empty, just the guard at the entrance and the young man. Nia valued the quiet, knowing the platform would soon fill with bustling passengers.

She was only halfway through her first page when a commotion broke out at the front entrance. Looking up, she saw a short, plump woman arguing with the guard. She dragged three heavy suitcases and was sweating from the effort.

“What do you mean I can’t travel with all my bags?” she snapped. “This isn’t an airport; it’s a train station, for heaven’s sake!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the female guard replied calmly, as though used to this. “You can only travel with one suitcase. The other two will be delivered to you at a later time.”

The plump woman clutched her chest in shock. “A later time? When will that be? All these suitcases are equally important. I can’t choose or leave any behind. What a nasty thought. I want to speak to whoever is in charge!”

The guard folded her arms. “Okay. He’ll be here shortly. You can wait outside on the platform; there are benches. But your luggage stays here at the reception.”

The woman smirked, snatched her carry-on, and stomped toward the benches, sitting behind Nia.

“I can’t believe this,” she muttered. “I’m never using their services again.”

“Sorry,” Nia said shyly, then turned back to her work.

Soon a young man in a uniform with a cape approached.

“Hello. I’m the Ticket Master,” he said with easy cheer. “May I see your identification cards before processing your tickets?”

Nia reached for her wallet. The young man seated beside her already had his ID at hand. Without looking up, he stretched it toward the Ticket Master.

“Ah, Mr. Jonas,” the man said warmly. He wrung a contraption strapped to his neck, and a small blue ticket popped out. “Ticket for one. Welcome on board.” He handed back the ticket and ID. Jonas glanced at it briefly and resumed his pose.

“Sir,” came the plump woman’s voice from behind, “I have a query…”

“No worries, ma’am. I’ll be right with you.”

Nia noticed the Ticket Master always wore a smile. It wasn’t creepy; just warm, as if he truly loved his job. He approached Nia, and she handed over her ID.

“Miss Nia,” he said matter-of-factly. “Ticket for one.” He produced her ticket the same way. “Welcome to the Liminal.”

Nia looked at her ticket: Seat Number 1. She slid it with her ID into her wallet. Thirty minutes left to board; she closed her laptop, no last-minute hustle needed.

“Sir,” began the woman again, “my issue is with my luggage. They’re all very important. I can’t leave without any of them.”

“Okay, ma’am,” the kind man replied. “But first, your ID, please.”

Nia heard her rummaging in her bag.

“Miss Salome…”

“Call me Sally, please.”

“Okay, Sally. Wait for me at the customer service desk. I’ll be right with you. Don’t worry; a solution will be found very soon.”

“Thank you so much, kind sir.”

Sally quickly rushed to a glassed room. The female guard offered her a seat. She declined at first but eventually sat down.

“Customers,” the Ticket Master whistled good-naturedly, shaking his head, “I’m grateful for you all, but sometimes y’all are hard to deal with.” He leaned against a pole.

“So, Jonas, why are you traveling today? Do you want to head back and maybe choose a different date?”

Nia thought that was a strange thing to ask. Maybe they knew each other.

“I’m never coming back,” Jonas said at last, his voice cracked and low. “There’s nothing for me back there.”

“You’re sure? You still have…” the Ticket Master checked the clock on the wall, “…twenty minutes before the train arrives.”

The young man shook his head. “No, I’m sure. Too many painful memories.”

The Ticket Master turned to Nia. “What about you, Nia? Going on vacation? When are you planning to get back?”

Nia cleared her throat. “Well, I haven’t really thought about it. I just want change, even if slight. I’m going to visit family.”

“Ah, nothing as good as going back to your roots,” the Ticket Master said, sliding onto the bench between them. He turned back to Jonas, his tone shifting, “Mr. Jonas, why are you really here?”

Pause.

Jonas rubbed his nose. “I did something bad. Terrible, actually. I can’t go back.”

“What did you do?”

He swallowed hard. “Two people are in the hospital because of me. Both critical. And a child is dead. I killed a child. How do I live with that?”

The ticket master leaned forward. “What led to this?”

Jonas scratched his head, avoiding their eyes. “I was out drinking. Bachelor party. Mike was getting married in two days. I was the best man. Wanted to make it a night he’d never forget. The strippers were late. So I offered to go get them. I’d only had a few drinks, so I grabbed the keys.”

He exhaled, voice faltering.

“Halfway there, Mike called. I reached for my phone, but it slipped onto the passenger seat. I leaned over to grab it… and that’s when I heard a loud bang. Glass shattered everywhere. I survived. Somehow. I opened the door and saw I’d hit a public van.”

Nia gasped, hand pressed to her lips. Jonas pushed on.

“There was chaos as people rushed to help. I stood frozen. Some passengers staggered out. I prayed for a miracle; until they pulled out a little girl. She couldn’t have been older than five or six. Her neck was bent at a terrible angle. I could barely look.”

He rocked back and forth on the bench.

“The crowd turned on me, furious. So I ran all the way home.”

Silence pressed between them. Jonas’ voice cracked.

“I tried to avoid the news but it found me. Two severely injured, one child dead. Driver at large. That driver was me. The car was Mike’s, registered to his name. My guilt ate me alive. I thought one bullet to the head would end it.” He gave a hollow laugh. “Guess not. That’s why I am here.”

The Ticket Master folded one leg over the other, eyes thoughtful. Nia’s confusion deepened. She whispered,

“I… was in an accident too.” Her voice trembled.

“A van. Late night. I’d been at my sister’s but got an interview invite and rushed back. Booked whatever ride was available. I sat by the window. Behind me, a mother with three children. They were loud; she kept scolding them. I tuned them out with music. Must’ve dozed off, because the next thing I knew, a violent jot threw me from my seat. Pain split through my chest. Then nothing.”

She looked at them, searching for a response. Silence.

The Ticket Master’s voice was low, “Jonas just cleared your fog.”

“What do you mean?” Nia asked.

Jonas lifted his head, eyes hollow, “I am the one who rammed into your van. I am sorry.”

Nia stood up perplexed.

“The women in critical condition?” The Ticket Master added gently, “You are one of them!”

Her face twisted. “Are?”

The Ticket Master turned to her. “So is Sally. She was the one sitting behind you.”

Nia’s face tightened. “So the dead child is…”

The Ticket Master shook his head.

“And what am I doing here? Am I dead?” she blurted.

His smile was warm, though tinged with sadness. “No. Not yet.”

“Then what is this place?”

“You’re in the Great In-Between. Barely alive, but not gone either. Your spirit is still fighting.”

Nia’s mouth fell open. She scanned the room. The walls were dull, grey. The light was too bright, too sharp. It felt like a movie set. The rooms were empty, transparent. Her eyes caught Sally, who sat crestfallen.

“I can’t stay here. I need to go back. There’s too much waiting for me,” Nia blurted. “I promised my niece I’d be at her graduation. I have no hatred for this man…” she gestured at Jonas, “…but I need to return. I have school, studies, a career ahead. This can’t be it. My dad will be crushed.”

She slumped back into her seat. The Ticket Master stood, hands in pockets, gazing into space.

“Nia, this isn’t prison. The same way you walked in, you can walk right out.”

Her eyes snapped open. “I can leave?” She stared at the doorway, then back at him.

“Yes. The same way you walked in.”

Her gaze drifted to Sally. Her luggage stacked against the wall. Only one suitcase bore a tag, the mid-sized one. At last Nia understood. Sally had a choice; take the train with the tagged suitcase, or return with the others.

“Don’t worry about Sally,” the Ticket Master said, reading her thoughts. “I’ll speak with her. Ten minutes left before boarding. Jonas has made his choice. He’s riding the train.”

Jonas finally lifted his head. His face was expressionless. Not angry, not fearful; simply resigned.

Nia grabbed her backpack and stepped toward the swinging doors.

“Nia, dearest,” the Master called. “Do you have something of mine?”

She froze. Then remembered. From her wallet, she pulled out the small blue ticket and handed it to him.

“Wise choice,” he said, crushing it in his fist. “Now go. Live your life.”

The Ticket Master turned his attention to Sally and walked into the booth. Jonas lifted his head, watching. He couldn’t hear a thing, the room was soundproof, but he saw the big NO form on Sally’s lips. She clutched the Ticket Master’s arms, then collapsed against his chest, sobbing. Her back rose and fell with the rhythm of grief.

The Ticket Master bent close, speaking to her in low tones, his hands gentle on her shoulders. Whatever he said seemed to soothe her, though she shook her head with each word, refusing to accept. In a few moments she had moved through all five stages of grief; denial, anger, bargaining, despair, and finally, a fragile kind of acceptance.

Jonas let out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the bench. He closed his eyes. Even through his lids, the bright light pressed in, relentless, but he didn’t care anymore. The train would arrive in five minutes.

A shadow fell over him. He opened his eyes. Sally stood before him, the tagged suitcase in her hand. She looked at him, then toward the tracks where the train would come. Setting the suitcase down gently, she spoke in a low, trembling voice.

“For five and a half years I carried her,” Sally said. “Through sickness, tantrums, and happy moments. She was always full of life; always moving, always laughing. I wish I could see her off myself, but I can’t.”

She bit her lower lip, holding back tears. Jonas stared at the floor.

“Please,” she whispered, “make sure she arrives safe. Okay?”

Jonas looked up, meeting her eyes for the first time. “I’ll make sure of that,” he said. “I promise.”

In the distance, a long screech split the air, followed by the low, mournful horn. The train had come.

Sally rested her hand on the suitcase one last time, her touch lingering like a mother’s final blessing. Then she stepped back.

The train ground to a stop in front of them. Through its massive windows they saw people already inside; some sitting alone, others in pairs. Luggage of all shapes and sizes filled the aisles. Murmured conversations drifted out, a soft hum of voices.

Jonas stood. He bent to lift the suitcase and was surprised by its weight, so heavy he had to use both hands. How had Sally managed to carry three?

He stepped across the threshold into the train. A stewardess in crisp uniform greeted him with a nod, and he found a seat. The suitcase sat between his legs, his hands still gripping the handle. The doors closed with a hiss. Slowly, the train began to move.

Sally raised her hand in a small, trembling wave. The train was long; coach after coach sliding past her, filled with passengers. She realized then: there were other stations. Other stops.

In some cars, people stood holding the rail above them. In others, children pressed their faces to the glass. She watched every carriage pass, until at last the final coach vanished into the distance.

Silence returned. Sally turned back to the swinging doors. Her shoulders were lighter now, though her heart still ached.

It was time to go home.

About the Author

Yvonne Aore (she/her) is a Kenyan writer whose work explores emotional trauma, mythic symbolism, and speculative realism rooted in African experience. Her stories blend realism with the surreal, often confronting taboo, silence, and spiritual reckoning. She is currently based in Nairobi, Kenya, and her work has appeared in Brittle Paper.