Episode 1 – The Unlocked Door

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.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***