LILYPIE: NIGHT IN THE CITY

I’m Lilypie. Twenty-four years old. I work the night shift in the heart of Kuala Lumpur, manning the counter at a 24-hour convenience store. The pay isn’t much, but it’s enough to cover the rent for my tiny studio apartment on the twelfth floor. It’s the kind of place where you walk in and everything is right there in front of you — a queen-sized bed tucked in the corner, a small kitchenette built into the wall, and a bathroom behind a door of frosted glass. Simple and straightforward. Exactly what I need, since I’m too tired to deal with anything complicated after getting home at 3 in the morning.

That night, a fine rain was falling. The streets were empty and quiet, the streetlights flickering as though they were struggling just to stay lit. I walked fast, keys clutched tight in my hand. When I finally got home, I locked the door twice — a habit I’d picked up a week earlier after hearing stories about snatch thefts happening right in the building’s elevator.

As soon as I stepped inside, I tossed my bag aside, my body heavy with exhaustion. The air carried the faint smell of cheap soap and unwashed bedsheets; I hadn’t changed them in three days. I was about to take off my work uniform, damp with sweat, when suddenly the room turned icy cold.

It felt as if someone had cranked up the air conditioner to its highest setting, yet my AC unit had been broken for two whole months.

Slowly, the back door creaked open.

I spun around.

A man stood in the doorway, his body hunched over, clothes torn and ragged, dried blood staining his arms. His eyes burned a deep, vivid red — not the red of rage, but the weary, bloodshot look of someone who hadn’t slept in weeks. Under his skin, thick green veins bulged and pulsed, moving slowly as if they had a life of their own.

He reminded me of Logan from X-Men, the way he looked right before his claws emerged. Or like those vampires in the old horror movies my mother used to watch.

I froze, my feet feeling as though they had been set in concrete. I wanted to scream, but no sound would come out.

He stepped inside. One step. Then another. Every movement seemed agonising, as if every inch he moved brought searing pain. His brow was furrowed, teeth clenched so tight I could hear them grinding together.

My instincts finally kicked in. If I just stood there waiting, I was done for.

My hand reached for the baseball bat kept under my bed — a birthday gift from a friend the year before. I swung it with all my strength, aiming straight for his head.

But I missed.

His hand moved faster than anything I had ever seen. He caught the bat before it could even graze his face. The thick, sturdy oak wood snapped clean in two like a dry twig. The sharp crack echoed loudly through the silent room.

I stumbled backward until I fell onto the bed, my heart pounding so hard it felt ready to burst out of my chest.

“Help… someone, please…” My voice cracked and came out barely a whisper.

He raised his hand, fingers ending in long, black, jagged nails. Was he about to tear me apart?

Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps thundered from outside — many of them. It sounded like ten men running up the stairs all at once. My front door was forced open with a loud crash.

A group of men rushed in, all dressed in black, their faces serious and cold. The one leading them stepped forward and bowed deeply, bending his body at a ninety-degree angle.

“Protect the Boss,” he commanded, short and sharp, his tone as disciplined and firm as a soldier’s.

I looked back at the injured man. He didn’t move an inch, but his eyes were fixed on me, studying every little detail as though he was memorising my face.

Then… everything went quiet.

When I opened my eyes again, the whole group had vanished into thin air. It was just me, the broken pieces of my bat, and the faint metallic scent lingering in the air. The back door was shut tight, as if it had never been opened at all.

I sat huddled on the floor for over an hour, too terrified to move or make a sound.

The next morning, I asked the security guard about it, but he said he hadn’t seen anyone strange coming or going. When I asked about the CCTV, he told me the cameras near the elevator had been broken for days. It felt like something straight out of a cliché horror story.

But one thing kept echoing in my mind — a name I had heard one of the men whisper before they all disappeared: Henry Gurney. It was a name I recognised; one I had seen in business magazines and on the Forbes list. A wealthy and well-known figure in the city. Yet, here he was, appearing in my small apartment like a creature out of a nightmare.

I didn’t sleep a wink that night. Instead, I packed a small bag with only the essentials and messaged my boss.

“Sir, is it possible for me to stay in the workers’ dormitory for two weeks? I don’t feel safe going back home right now.”

He replied five minutes later. “Come over anytime. Room 4 is empty and available.”

I thought I had finally found safety — a new place, a fresh start, away from whatever horror had visited me.

But I was wrong.

On the third night staying at the dorm, I fell into a deep, heavy sleep right after getting off work, completely drained and exhausted. In the darkness, I suddenly felt warm breath against my face, accompanied by a strange scent — a mix of rain and rusted iron.

I opened my eyes slightly.

There he was. Sitting right beside my bed. Henry Gurney.

But this time, he didn’t look sick or in pain. He was calm, composed, yet his eyes still held that wild, predatory look, like a beast waiting for the right moment to strike.

He leaned closer, strands of dark hair falling over his face.

“Finally… you’re quiet,” he said, his voice low and deep, vibrating in the air.

I tried to scream, but my voice was stuck in my throat. Before I could react, he lifted me up as easily as if I weighed no more than a ten-kilogram sack of rice.

“Put me down! Let go of me!” I struggled and kicked, trying to break free, but his grip was unbreakable.

He didn’t answer a single word. Instead, he leaped straight forward.

The bedroom window shattered into pieces. Cold night wind hit my face hard as we soared into the open air.

We were flying.

I squeezed my eyes shut tight, whispering the only thing that came to my mind:

“If I die tonight… may God have mercy on my soul and save me.”

Suddenly, the feeling of falling disappeared. It felt as though strong arms were wrapped tight around my waist, holding me securely. The rushing wind slowed down and stopped.

I opened my eyes again.

We were standing on the rooftop of a thirty-storey building, high above the city lights. I was still held safely in his arms. In the moonlight, his face looked half human, half something else entirely — his canine teeth were slightly longer and sharper than normal. Yet when he smiled, it was surprisingly gentle and charming.

He set me down slowly and carefully onto the concrete roof.

“Enjoying the view yet?” he asked, his gaze fixed toward the bright moon, not even looking at me.

I was still trembling uncontrollably. “You… you can speak Malay?”

He turned to look at me properly for the first time.

“English is so boring,” he replied, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Besides… you look absolutely beautiful when you’re scared.”

I wanted to get angry, to shout and demand an explanation, but then I noticed something incredible. The deep wounds on his arms and body were closing up and healing right before my eyes. A soft, pale blue glow shimmered from beneath his skin, weaving over the injuries until they vanished completely.

Somehow, the darkness of the night didn’t feel quite so dark and terrifying anymore.

It was as though a faint, warm light had started to shine through the shadows.

And deep down, I knew — my life would never be the same again.

LILYPIE: NIGHT IN THE CITY

The wind up on the rooftop was biting cold, tangling my hair and whipping it across my face. I stayed seated, my legs trembling uncontrollably, terrified that even the slightest movement might make me lose my balance and fall.

Henry stood still as a statue, completely unfazed by the strong gale. His gaze was fixed far into the distance, toward the sparkling lights of the KLCC towers shining below.

“Where exactly are you taking me?” I asked, my voice trembling and breaking midway.

“Somewhere safe,” he replied briefly. Then, before I could say anything more, he lifted me up into his arms once again.

I tried to scream, but my throat was dry and tight, and no sound came out. In the blink of an eye, we were soaring across the rooftops, leaping from one building to another just like scenes from an action movie. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs, feeling as though it was about to burst out of my chest any second.

Eventually, we landed on a hill located just outside Kuala Lumpur. The place was shrouded in darkness and silence, the only sound being the rhythmic chirping of crickets echoing through the trees. Standing before me was an old house — a two-storey wooden building, its paint peeling and faded from years of weather and time, yet a faint blue glow seeped out through the windows. The air carried a distinct scent — a mix of burning timber and damp rain, filling my nose with every breath I took.

Henry pushed the heavy wooden door open. It let out a long, loud creak, echoing deep inside the quiet house.

Stepping inside felt like stepping into another era entirely. The wooden floorboards were polished and shiny, reflecting the dim light; old dusty chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and the walls were covered in intricate, strange carvings and designs. I spotted a mounted deer head on one wall, alongside symbols and markings I had never seen or heard of before. Right in the middle of the living hall stood a massive fireplace, where blue flames burned steadily — they gave off no heat, yet strangely, the sight of them brought a sense of calm and comfort.

Henry tossed me gently onto a thick black velvet mattress placed in the corner of the room.

“Hey!” I exclaimed, feeling slightly offended by his casual manner.

He let out a short, low laugh. Though his voice was deep and heavy, there was a hint of amusement hidden within it.

“You look absolutely lovely here, in this House of the Wild Cat,” he said, chuckling softly.

I looked around carefully, observing every corner. This place was nothing like the creepy, terrifying home of a vampire I had always imagined. There were no coffins, no traces of blood smeared across the walls. Instead, I saw rows of shelves filled with ancient books, a worn-out piano sitting quietly in one corner, and framed black-and-white photographs of people I did not recognise.

“Who are you, really?” I asked quietly, pulling my knees close to my chest as if seeking some form of protection.

He sat down on a wooden chair far away from me, spinning and twirling a small sharp knife between his fingers with effortless skill. The wounds on his arms were still visible, but they looked much better and less severe than before.

“Henry Gurney,” he answered simply. “A name known widely and respected. People see me as a wealthy CEO and successful businessman. What no one knows is… I actually died two hundred years ago.”

My mouth fell open in shock. “Two hundred years? You’re definitely lying, right?”

A mocking, crooked smile appeared on his face. “Do you really think any ordinary human could snap a thick oak baseball bat in half with nothing but bare hands?”

I fell silent, realising he had a point — something like that was simply impossible for any normal person.

“Are you tired of living as a monster?” I asked him again, my voice softer now.

He stared deeply into the blue flames for a long moment, lost in thought. “No… I’m tired of pretending to be human.”

Silence filled the room after that. The only sound was the soft crackling of wood burning in the fireplace. I noticed fresh drops of blood trickling slowly from the cuts on his arm again. Oddly enough, instead of fear, I felt a wave of pity and sympathy wash over me.

Without thinking twice, I stood up and walked over to the shelves to find a clean piece of cloth. I sat down right in front of him, and carefully reached out to take his hand in mine.

He flinched and pulled back slightly, surprised. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Cleaning the blood off,” I replied plainly, beginning to wipe the wounds gently. His skin was freezing cold, as cold as ice beneath my fingertips.

He looked straight at me then — really looked at me, with his full attention. Not the way a predator stares at its prey, but like someone studying and analysing something rare and puzzling.

“Aren’t you afraid I might bite you?” he asked, his tone curious.

I shrugged my shoulders, continuing to tend to his injuries. “If you wanted to bite or hurt me, you would have done it a long time ago. Honestly… I’m just tired of running away and being afraid.”

He let out a genuine, soft laugh this time — no mockery, no coldness, just pure amusement. The sound echoed gently, somehow making the dark, heavy atmosphere feel much lighter and warmer.

Slowly, the blue light glowing throughout the house began to shift and change, turning softer and warmer. It felt as though tiny golden-yellow bulbs had lit up, blending beautifully with the blue flames, filling the room with a soothing glow.

Henry slowly pulled his hand away from my grasp. “You really are a foolish girl.”

“Well, you’re foolish too,” I fired back instantly. “Bringing a total stranger into your house, and you didn't even bother asking for my name first.”

“Lilypie,” he said, saying my name as if he had known it for ages.

My eyes widened in surprise. “Have you been spying on me this whole time?”

A faint smile curved his lips. “That night in your apartment, you screamed your own name while crying out for help. Don't you remember?”

I wanted to snap back and scold him, yet I felt too exhausted and drained to argue. My body and mind were completely worn out.

He stood up and walked toward the kitchen. Moments later, he returned carrying a glass of water and placed it gently in front of me.

“Drink this. You look pale and weak,” he said calmly.

I took the glass and drank. The water was cool, crisp, and refreshing — tasting as pure and fresh as spring water flowing from deep within the mountains.

“You’ll stay here tonight,” he stated firmly. “My men are patrolling and guarding every corner outside. If you try to run away, you will run straight into them before you even get past the gate.”

I looked at him carefully. “You aren't going to kill me?”

He tilted his head slightly, looking almost playful. “Not yet, at least.”

Logically, his answer should have terrified me and sent shivers down my spine. But strangely, for some unknown reason, I felt safe here — a strange, confusing kind of safety I had never felt anywhere else.

I lay down upon the soft velvet mattress. My eyes were heavy and burning, desperately needing rest. Before drifting completely off to sleep, I heard him whisper softly, his voice barely audible:

“Rest well, Lilypie. Tomorrow night… your true story finally begins.”

I closed my eyes and let sleep take over. For the first time in days, there were no nightmares, no terrifying visions, no fears haunting my mind.

There was only a gentle warmth spreading through my chest, just like that faint glowing light breaking through the thick darkness of the night.

LILYPIE: NIGHT IN THE CITY

I woke up to the scent of burning wood.

My eyes felt incredibly heavy. The room was still dim, lit only by the faint blue glow coming from the fireplace. The black velvet mattress was so soft and comfortable, it made me want to stay in bed forever. But my stomach was grumbling with hunger.

Henry was no longer sitting in the chair where I had last seen him the night before. The house was quiet — too quiet.

I sat up and hugged the pillow close. “Henry?”

There was no answer.

I walked slowly toward the kitchen. The space reminded me of my late grandmother’s house: built mostly of wood, with copper utensils, and filled with the rich, strong aroma of brewed coffee. On the table sat toasted bread and a glass of water. Next to it was a small note. His handwriting was messy and difficult to read, but I managed to make out the words:

“Do not go outside. Front door is locked. – H”

Just ‘H’. He really has a cute way of leaving signs.

I stood there eating the warm, crispy bread. It felt as though my stomach had only just realised I hadn’t eaten properly for two whole days. While I chewed, I heard footsteps coming from upstairs — slow, careful, and measured.

I looked up.

Henry was walking down the stairs. He had changed his clothes; dressed entirely in black again, but this time neat and well-fitted. His hair was damp, as if he had just bathed. The wounds and scars that covered his arms were gone completely; his skin was smooth and flawless, as if he had never been injured at all.

“You’re up early,” he said, his voice deep and husky, still carrying the roughness of early morning.

“You disappear in the middle of the night. Couldn't you at least say goodbye or hello?” I replied, continuing to eat.

He stopped right in front of me. The scent clinging to him was a mix of woody soap and fresh rain.

“I had to make sure the surrounding area is safe. My group… they are quite paranoid about threats.”

“The group of men who call you their boss?”

He nodded, his eyes lingering on my face. “You slept soundly. I honestly thought you’d spend the whole night screaming and crying in fear.”

“I am tired of being afraid,” I answered honestly. “If you really wanted to kill me, you would have done it already yesterday.”

A faint smile touched his lips — this time, without the sharp fangs showing.

“Good. I’ve grown weary of dealing with humans who only know how to whine and beg.”

I put the remaining bread down on the table. “So, what exactly is your plan now that you brought me here? Am I supposed to become your dinner? Or just another decoration for this big house?”

Henry walked toward the large window in the living room and pulled the heavy curtains slightly aside. Thin streams of morning light drifted in, illuminating tiny specks of dust floating gently through the air.

“I am here to keep you safe,” he said simply.

I fell silent, taken aback.

“Keep me safe? But why?”

“Because last night, when I carried you through the sky, you said something,” he spoke softly, his tone turning serious. “You whispered, ‘If I die tonight… may God alone save me.’”

My chest felt tight and heavy. I remembered those words clearly — I had spoken them when I had completely given up hope and thought my end had come.

“I heard those exact same words a hundred years ago,” he continued, his voice dropping lower. “Spoken by someone who, just like me, was terrified of the darkness and the life we lead. Right after saying it, they reached out and held my hand, and told me, ‘We are not alone in this, Henry.’”

His voice cracked near the end of the sentence. He quickly pressed his lips together, turned away, and stared out the window to hide his emotions.

I understood then. There had been someone important to him once, long ago.

“You miss them, don't you?” I asked gently.

He didn’t answer, but his shoulders slumped slightly, revealing the sadness he tried hard to conceal.

I walked closer and stood beside him. Through the window, I could see the thick, dense forest surrounding the house — cold, lush green, and peaceful in its silence.

“I never knew that person. But if they meant so much to you, I’m sure they must have been a wonderful soul.”

Henry turned to look at me, gazing intently for a long time. The sharp, dangerous glint in his red eyes seemed to soften a little.

“You talk too much, Lilypie.”

“And you keep too many things locked inside, Henry Gurney.”

He let out a short laugh. “Don’t call me by my full name. It sounds as if you are reading out a court charge.”

For the first time since that terrifying night in my apartment, I managed a small smile.

“So what happens now? Am I your prisoner?”

“Guest,” he corrected me firmly. “Prisoners don’t get served warm toast and water.”

Then his expression grew serious again.

“But listen carefully, Lilypie. The world I belong to is dark, dirty, and cruel. There are forces and creatures hunting me down constantly. If they ever find you with me, you will be in grave danger — you will become a target too.”

I nodded slowly. I had already sensed that danger the very first night I met him.

“Then teach me how to protect myself,” I said firmly.

He looked at me in pure surprise. “Have you lost your mind?”

“You said you are tired of pretending and living like a human,” I replied, my voice steady even though my hands felt cold and trembling. “Well, I am tired of being a weak victim who gets attacked and scared all the time. If I am destined to die one day, let it be while I fight and stand my ground — not while I am crying and begging for mercy.”

Henry stayed quiet for a long while. Even the blue flames burning in the fireplace flickered gently, as if they too were listening closely to our conversation.

Eventually, he stretched out his hand toward me.

“Tomorrow night, we begin. Basic training. But if you scream, cry, or give up easily… I’ll throw you straight out of this house.”

I reached out and took his hand. It was cold, yet somehow, it didn’t feel frightening or dangerous anymore.

“Deal. But after every training session, you have to cook me a proper meal. This toast is nowhere near enough to fill my stomach.”

He shook his head, but a genuine smile spread across his face.

“You really are something else.”

That night, for the first time in ages, I slept peacefully, without needing to lock any doors — even in my dreams.

Darkness was still all around, but at the far end of the room, there was a soft, glowing light. That light was Henry himself.

And for the first time, I no longer felt the urge or need to run away from it.