I Ended Up in a Strange Place After Taking the Train

There was this small local station, and even when trains were running, it was an unmanned station. Along the railway, only about 5 stations had station attendants, the rest were unmanned—that’s how rural these stations were. This railway was discontinued about 10 years ago due to low ridership. The other day I went back to my hometown and was taking a walk. I unconsciously walked toward the station I used to use as a student. Feeling nostalgic, I sat down on one of the remaining benches. On the tracks, weeds were growing haphazardly, and the rails had been removed. I was feeling nostalgic but also sad, lost in thought.

• [4] Let’s hear it
• [3] I’m curious

An abandoned rural railway. The protagonist stands at an unmanned station that was once part of daily life. A story of mysterious experiences was about to unfold.

I don’t know if anyone’s reading this, but I’ll write it down as I remember it. I got into a “Stand By Me” kind of mood and decided to get down on the tracks and walk to the next station. I thought about whether to walk toward the countryside or toward the more urban area. Even the “urban” direction just meant slightly more stores than the rural direction, you know. Since I was already in the countryside, I decided to go even more rural. I reached the next station and sat down on a bench. I thought about how there were a lot of classmates’ houses around here. I wondered if I might run into someone, but then I reminded myself that country living means cars are the default. No one would ever come to such a deserted station. As I sat on the bench enjoying the fresh air and greenery of the countryside, I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up, the sky was dark. It was only around 8 o’clock, but since there are hardly any streetlights in the countryside, it was pitch black. Having gotten used to the brightness of the city, the darkness of the countryside felt almost like staring into an abyss—that’s how dark it was. Anyway, it was too dark and scary to walk along the tracks, so I stood up, planning to at least get to a road where cars pass. Then I saw a light in the distance.

Thanks to those who are reading this. Along with the light, I could hear a sound: clank-clunk, clank-clunk. The sound was getting closer and closer. What looked like a streetcar was coming down the rail-less tracks. I started to panic slightly. Is this a dream? No, I’d woken up and checked the time on my phone. I was definitely awake. My feet froze and I couldn’t move. I took deep breaths and chanted “calm down, calm down” like a mantra. The train stopped at the station. The floor inside the train was made of wooden boards, giving it a nostalgic feel. The conductor announced, “Please watch your step as you board.” I was thinking, no, I’m not getting on, I’m definitely not getting on. But my feet, which had been frozen just a moment ago, started moving as if by themselves. Contrary to my own will, I was boarding the train.

A train appearing suddenly on a long-abandoned line. In Japanese folklore, there are tales of “bottomless swamps” and “spiriting away” where the boundary between reality and unreality becomes blurred. The protagonist was standing at exactly such a boundary.

After getting on the train, I looked around. In the dimly lit car, there was an old woman and a boy who looked about middle school age sitting in the back. A fan installed on the ceiling of the car was spinning, and for some reason, the breeze from this fan felt incredibly annoying. I figured that since it was a streetcar, it would stop at the next station, and I’d get off right away. The distance between stations isn’t that great; some stations are as little as 3 minutes apart. But 3 minutes passed, then 5, then 10, with no sign of stopping. Outside was pitch black, so I couldn’t tell where we were going. I asked the driver when the next stop would be. All he said was, “Please stay seated, it’s dangerous.” When I kept asking, he responded with an exasperated, “You got on by yourself, what are you talking about?” Seeing I wouldn’t get anywhere with him, I decided to talk to the boy. “Excuse me, which station are you getting off at?” He answered, “Izumigamori.” There is a place by that name in my hometown, but it’s not a station. Even if you got off at the nearest station, it would still be about a 15-minute walk. “Um, how much longer until we get there?” “A little more,” the boy answered. I tried to contact someone on my phone, but there was no signal. It had been easily 30 minutes since I’d boarded the train. The announcement played: “Next stop—Izumigamori—Izumigamori.” I prepared to get off, keeping an eye on the boy.

As I was getting off, the driver asked me, “Ticket?” At first I was confused, but then I remembered: at unmanned stations, there are ticket machines at each station, and the color of the ticket shows where you boarded, which the station staff checks. But even if there was a ticket machine at an abandoned station, it wouldn’t be working, so I told him I didn’t have one. Fortunately(?), the driver said, “There aren’t many passengers, so I know where you boarded from,” and told me it was 120 yen. I hurriedly paid the 120 yen.

• [14] I’m already trembling as I read this. Write faster
• [17] I’m reading, so hurry up

At unmanned stations in rural Japan, passengers often take numbered tickets upon boarding and pay the fare when disembarking. But this was supposed to be an abandoned line. And “Izumigamori”—”Spring Forest.” The mystical nature of the place name, combined with the unusually cheap fare of 120 yen, heightened the strangeness of the situation.

When I got off at the station, the starry sky was incredibly beautiful. There were lantern-like objects placed sparsely along the path, which honestly looked mystical and beautiful. I stopped the boy who had been on the train and asked if there was a phone anywhere, as my smartphone still had no signal. The boy gave me a puzzled look and said, “Phone?” I explained, “This isn’t connecting, so I’d like to use a public phone to contact someone,” but he just looked at me suspiciously. “I don’t know, but you could ask over there?” he suggested, pointing to what looked like a standing bar. I thanked him and headed in that direction. I could hear lively voices and felt somewhat relieved. As I got closer, the voices and laughter grew louder. The moment I entered the shop, those voices came to an abrupt halt, and all the customers and the shopkeeper looked at me simultaneously. After 2-3 seconds of silence, everyone resumed their lively chatter all at once. I asked the shopkeeper how to get to XX (my home address) from here. “You’re going to walk there? That’s going to take a long time,” he said. “Could you call a taxi for me then?” I asked. “Takushii?” he replied with a puzzled look. I nearly lost my mind from the strange sense of disconnect and the growing frustration of nothing working out.

• [24] I’m curious about what happens next

A world where neither “phone” nor “taxi” is understood. In traditional Japanese folktales, there are often stories of people wandering into an “otherworld” where time and space are shifted. In such places, modern conveniences don’t exist, and instead, antiquated items like lanterns are commonplace. The protagonist had stepped into such an otherworld.

Sorry for the delay. I’m writing as I remember it. The shopkeeper told me, “There’s one more train coming if you wait a bit,” but honestly, I didn’t feel like getting on a train again. By now I had developed a “whatever happens, happens” attitude, so I thanked the shopkeeper and decided to walk around on my own. As I was leaving the shop, the liveliness continued, but everyone was looking at me, which gave me chills. Thanks to the lantern-like objects and the starry sky, it wasn’t that dark. Compared to that abyss-like darkness earlier, I could actually see the scenery quite well. Due to the darkness, I couldn’t make out the details, but it felt somewhat like a town I knew. There was a mix of scenery that made me think, “Was this here before?” and “I’ve seen this before.” I tried to stay positive, thinking that since I hadn’t been back to my hometown for a long time, there might be new developments. The boy had said “Izumigamori,” so that place might be nearby. I kept walking, following only the familiar sights. Despite the strange situation I was in, the beautiful stars and pleasant breeze might have numbed my senses somewhat.

I won’t specify which prefecture this is. Strangely, I didn’t see any cars at all. Then again, even when I’m driving myself, by around 10 PM, I hardly ever pass another car—that’s how rural it is. I had reached a major road (Route XXX), and I thought that even in such a rural area with few cars, I should at least see one. As I walked along the big road, I was struck by how much more greenery there was than I remembered. After walking for about 20 minutes, I finally saw a shrine. Wait, was it always this magnificent? And it was much brighter than it should be at night, almost as if it were lit up for a festival or cherry blossom viewing. In summer, this place is cool, and when I come back to my hometown, I sometimes drive here, but the atmosphere felt more solemn than I usually sensed.

• [30] Izumigamori? Is that in Hitachi City, Ibaraki Prefecture?
• [31] It’s probably Tochigi Prefecture

Shrines are the center of Japanese faith and have traditionally been regarded as “boundaries.” They are revered as borders between this world and the otherworld, or as places where gods descend. The shrine the protagonist reached appeared different from the one he knew, exuding a more sacred atmosphere.

I decided to pay my respects at the shrine. I explored the shrine a bit. I was surprised at how magnificent it had become since I was last there. There was a huge tree I didn’t remember being there. Then I headed toward the spring. There I saw a man wearing what looked like hakama—formal traditional Japanese clothing. I greeted him with a “Good evening.” The man looked at me for a moment and asked, “Why did you come here?” Why? I could only answer, “Just because…” He seemed somewhat perplexed and told me, “You should go home soon.” I wanted to go home too, but the phones weren’t working and… I nearly broke down in tears. The man said, “Come over here,” and guided me inside the shrine. I had actually been inside this shrine before. When I was helping with an election, we all received a kind of blessing there before starting. I remembered there was an impressive mirror and various sacred objects, and I had been excited at the time.

I won’t specify the location. It felt even more solemn than I remembered. It was like dipping my feet into clean water or clearing my head—that kind of refreshing feeling. The man asked, “Can you remember why you came here?” and I told him the whole story from the beginning. I also mentioned how creepy it was when everyone in the bar stared at me. The man said, “They all know you’re not a resident of this place.” I found myself nodding along as I listened, but then suddenly realized I was agreeing too readily. Not a resident of this place… What? Is this place different from where I was before? Sure, there was something a bit off, but I thought that was just because I hadn’t been back for many years and the scenery had changed a bit. The man continued, “In this world, there are several ‘holes,’ and sometimes people accidentally fall into these holes. Where these holes lead could be to your world or to completely different places.”

• [35] Instead of saying you won’t tell the location, just admit it’s fiction? There’s no benefit to hiding the location if it’s a true story

Being told about the existence of “holes” by what appears to be a shrine priest. In Japanese folk beliefs, there’s the concept that at certain places and times, “gaps” can occur, creating passages to different worlds. This connects to traditional tales of “spiriting away” and “hidden villages.”

It felt like one of those otherworld stories you sometimes see on 2chan, but now it didn’t feel like someone else’s problem. I was told not to stay here too long. But even if told that, I didn’t know how to get back. I also said I was afraid to take the train again. The man said, “Time-wise, the trains have finished running for the day, so you can’t board one now.” Both in this world and my world, rural trains stopped running early. As we were talking, there was some commotion outside. The man said, “Stay here,” and put me inside a strange square. He placed what looked like salt or ash around me, telling me not to make a sound, to minimize my breathing if possible. When he opened the shrine door, the man from the bar and five other men I didn’t know were there. They were asking, “Didn’t a woman come here?” I immediately understood they were looking for me. But I was in the middle of the shrine room. I wanted to hide, but the man had told me not to move, speak, or even breathe much. I followed his instructions precisely.

The use of salt or ash to create a barrier is a traditional Japanese method of exorcism and purification. It creates a sacred space that protects from evil or outside gazes. Also, the fact that the protagonist is referred to as a “woman” suggests that in this otherworld, her appearance is different.

>>35 I’ll just say the terminal station was Ayukawa. Locals will understand with that. The priest claimed he hadn’t seen anyone. The bar owner and his companions were saying that a “fake” had arrived. They spoke in dialect: “Bad things will happen, I tell ya.” I was scared, not knowing how they perceived me or what would happen if they found me. The priest told them he would alert them if he found anything, and that they should purify anyone who had seen the “fake.” He was also preparing for that and told them to spread the word throughout the town. After the bar owner and his group left, the priest said: “Here, we pretend not to see the ‘fakes.’ But if they speak to us, there’s nothing we can do. If we’re asked for help, there’s often nothing we can do, and we might get possessed as a result.” I thought about how on occult forums they say to ignore ghosts or not to match their “wavelength”—was it something like that? Was I a ghost?

• [43] Do they absorb some kind of noise when they interact with beings from other worlds?

“Magaimono” (fake) refers to an imitation of the real thing, or can mean a monster or yokai. The dialect warning “yoku nee koto ga okotto komappei” translates to “bad things will happen.” For residents of the otherworld, contact with visitors from other worlds seems to be taboo.

The priest also said: “Quite a number of people can see you, which makes it troublesome.” I asked, “So there are people who can’t see someone like me who came through a hole?” The priest said that most people can’t see such visitors. Usually, such visitors disappear quickly. It’s just like the concept of ghosts in our world. Some people can see them, others can’t. Some appear blurry, while others appear clear as day, just like real people. Generally, the clearer they appear, the more malevolent or powerful they are. The longer they stay in that place, the worse it is. It’s like having spiritual sensitivity that allows you to see them is dangerous. In simple terms, that’s how it seemed to work. Anyway, I just wanted to go home, so I begged the priest to send me back, exorcism or whatever.

The priest took me to the spring and told me to purify myself there. When I asked if I should enter with my clothes on, he said, “Do as you like.” Either way, I felt embarrassed being watched, and told the priest so. From his perspective, he probably thought, “What’s a spirit doing feeling embarrassed?” I took off my clothes and told him to let me know when I could enter. It was still May. The spring is cool and refreshing in summer, but in May, it’s cold. “This is going to be cold…” I said, trembling. Looking back now, I think exorcised spirits might feel the same way—hugging themselves, teary-eyed, and trembling, saying, “Please, just stop already…” That’s what I was thinking. While I was shivering, the priest was muttering something. After I’d been in for a while and gotten used to it, fish came close and brushed against my skin, startling me.

In Shinto, purification by water (misogi) is one of the most important rituals. Natural waters like springs or waterfalls are believed to have spiritual power that can remove impurities and give strength to return to one’s original world.

After all that, I put my clothes back on and returned to the shrine. The priest told me to sit, sprinkled what seemed like sake on me, and performed what felt like a prayer. I gradually became drowsy, as if my consciousness was fading away. I wondered if I would return like this, and then realized I hadn’t thanked the priest. With my last bit of consciousness, I managed to say “Thank you!” to the priest. My mind went blank, and then I found myself at the station where I had started—not the station where I boarded the train, but the very first station. My clothes were partially wet. It was still the same pitch-black abyss, though the stars were beautiful. I called a friend and asked, “Could you come pick me up? I’m walking toward the urban-side station.” I didn’t want to wait at the station in case another train came. This is the strange experience I had when I returned to my hometown during Golden Week. If you have any questions, I’ll answer them.

• [49] How much time had passed when you returned?

>>49 It was around 10 o’clock.

• [51] So it was just a dream
• [52] So basically you had a strange dream in real life…

>>49 I accidentally posted halfway through. In the other world, it felt like I’d been there for 4-5 hours, but here, only about 2 hours had passed.

>>51 >>52 If I had been sleeping, I don’t think I would have been at the first station. I fell asleep at the station I had walked to in the rural direction.

But I know no one will believe a story like this. Even the friend who came to pick me up didn’t believe me, saying “Let’s go to the shrine right now,” so we did.

• [58] You mean the shrine from the other world? Tell us what happened in detail!
• [56] Interesting story. It’s like you wandered into a parallel world. Some things are the same, but some things that exist are missing.
• [57] Did you eat anything while you were there?

The time difference between the otherworld and the real world. This is a common motif in many folktales and stories of otherworld visits. In legends, spending one night in the otherworld could mean years have passed in reality. Luckily for the protagonist, the time difference was only about 2 hours.

>>58 It was the shrine I knew. The spring water was dark when I was there that night, but when we went during the day, it was still beautiful, and the water was delicious. This is an area where water was cut off for about a week during the earthquake, so I bet many families were helped by that spring water. I made sure to express my thanks. I don’t know if it reaches that priest, but still.

>>56 When I got back and went to the shrine, it wasn’t as grand as the other one, there was no big tree, and it was dark. It was strange. >>57 I didn’t eat anything. I just drank the spring water and the sake that the priest gave me.

• [65] I want to know if your money decreased or not

>>65 Now that you mention it, I didn’t have any change. When I treated my friend who picked me up to a family restaurant as thanks, I had to use a 5,000 yen bill because I had no change.

• [69] Was the shrine not older, but just different? Seems more like a parallel world. Was the shrine priest a completely different person?

>>69 I’ve only seen the priest or whatever you call him at that shrine once before, when I was helping with the election and we received a kind of blessing. But the man I met was definitely younger than the one I remembered from that time.

• [72] You’re a woman but you use “ore” as your first-person pronoun, which makes this confusing

>>72 If I say “watashi,” people complain about annoying female self-promotion. So demanding.

• [75] What kind of train was it?

>>75 A single-car streetcar. If I were to compare it to something in Tokyo, it was like the Toden—a compact, old-fashioned train.

• [78] I wonder what kind of otherworld it was. Different common sense, or a different time period…
• [80] So you were a woman
• [81] There are so many different worlds out there…
• [85] I love these interdimensional stories. Would be terrifying if it happened to me though. I wonder why they didn’t understand “phone” and “taxi.”
• [71] It’s mysterious, but somehow doesn’t feel that scary. I like this feeling.

This mysterious experience has a mystical atmosphere rather than a terrifying one. For Japanese people, the otherworld is not necessarily frightening, but sometimes beautiful and nostalgic. What the protagonist brought back was not fear, but a gentle sense of wonder and gratitude.