Who are your favorite people to be around?

The humid Hong Kong air clung to Mei like a second skin as she hurried down the crowded platform of the Central MTR station. The rhythmic click-clack of hurried footsteps echoed around her, a familiar soundtrack to the city’s relentless pace. She was late for her shift at the 24-hour convenience store near Mong Kok, a job that barely paid the rent for her tiny apartment but it was a job nonetheless.

As the train pulled into the station, Mei squeezed through the throng of commuters, her gaze fixed on the illuminated train number. It was a late-night service, and the carriage was sparsely populated, mostly with tired office workers and students heading home. Mei found a seat near the window and sighed, the tension in her shoulders momentarily easing.

The train lurched forward, plunging into the labyrinthine tunnels beneath the city. The lights flickered momentarily, casting eerie shadows across the carriage. Mei didn’t pay much attention; power fluctuations were common on the MTR. She closed her eyes, trying to catch a few minutes of rest before her shift.

Then, she heard it. A faint click-clack, different from the rhythm of the train’s wheels. It was a slow, deliberate sound, like someone walking in high heels on a hard floor. Mei opened her eyes, but the carriage was silent, the other passengers either asleep or engrossed in their phones. The click-clack continued, growing louder, seemingly coming from the back of the carriage.

A shiver ran down Mei’s spine. She glanced towards the back, but the seats were empty. The sound persisted, echoing through the otherwise silent carriage. It was a distinct, unsettling sound, a click-clack that seemed to resonate deep within her bones.

She tried to rationalize it. Maybe it was the sound of the train, or perhaps a loose panel somewhere in the carriage. But the click-clack was too rhythmic, too deliberate, to be anything mechanical. It sounded like… footsteps.

Mei’s heart started to pound. She looked around the carriage again, her eyes scanning every seat, every corner. Nothing. The other passengers remained oblivious, lost in their own worlds. But the click-clack was getting closer, louder.

Suddenly, the train plunged into darkness. The lights had gone out completely. A collective gasp filled the carriage, followed by nervous whispers. Mei’s breath hitched in her throat. The click-clack was now right behind her.

She slowly turned her head, her eyes straining to pierce the darkness. And then she saw it. A figure standing in the shadows at the back of the carriage. It was a woman, dressed in a traditional cheongsam, her face obscured by the darkness. But Mei could hear the distinct click-clack of her high heels on the floor.

The woman didn’t move, didn’t speak. She just stood there, her presence radiating an icy chill that permeated the carriage. Mei wanted to scream, but her voice was frozen in her throat. She felt a wave of dizziness wash over her, a feeling of dread so intense it was almost physical.

Just as she thought she was going to faint, the lights flickered back on. The woman was gone. The carriage was silent, except for the nervous chatter of the other passengers. Mei stared at the spot where the woman had been standing, her heart still racing. Had she imagined it? Was it just a trick of the darkness, a figment of her tired mind?

She wanted to dismiss it, to tell herself it was nothing. But the click-clack lingered in her ears, a chilling echo that refused to fade.

When the train arrived at her stop, Mei practically ran out of the carriage, desperate to escape the oppressive atmosphere. She didn’t look back. She didn’t want to see if the woman was still there, lurking in the shadows.

From that night on, Mei never rode the late-night MTR train again. She heard stories from other commuters, whispers of a woman in a cheongsam who appeared on the late-night trains, her click-clack footsteps a harbinger of misfortune. Some said she was the spirit of a woman who had died on the MTR, her soul forever trapped in the tunnels beneath the city.

Mei didn’t know if the stories were true. But she knew what she had heard, what she had seen. And she knew that the echo of the click-clack would forever haunt her dreams, a chilling reminder of the night she encountered the ghost of the Hong Kong MTR.