Chapter 543

The humid Singaporean air sat heavy on Jun's shoulders as he pedaled his bicycle, the chain clicking a steady beat against the silence of the approaching dusk. Fireflies began to blink into existence, their lights tiny sparks against the deepening blue of the sky. He was late, and the others would already be at the end of Old Upper Thomson Road.

"Faster, Jun!" Ben, already there, shouted up through his phone "Faster, Jun!" "Ben had the best connection. Probably standing right in line of the cell tower, not afraid of a little brain scramble," He joked in is mind

He gripped the handlebars tighter, pushing harder. The road narrowed, swallowed by a green tunnel of vegetation. Banyan trees, their aerial roots dangling like grasping fingers, pressed close. The air cooled, carrying a damp, earthy scent that tickled his nose, completely different from the exhaust-filled streets of his village.

The Pavilion. That was what everyone called it. No one knew who built it or when. It just stood there, at the very end of the old road, swallowed by the jungle. Some said it was a leftover from the British colonial days, a place for weary travelers to rest. Others claimed it was older, much older, built on a burial ground. And everyone agreed on one thing: it was haunted.

Jun didn't believe in ghosts. Spirits, hantu – whatever you wanted to call them. They were stories, old wives' tales meant to keep kids from wandering too far. But…there was something about this place, this overgrown road, this looming darkness. He'd heard it, so he thought. Whispering right over his shoulder, so faint and…cold

He could see the pavilion now, a grey shape rising out of the encroaching jungle. It wasn't grand or imposing, just a simple, octagonal structure with a pointed roof and open sides, supported by eight thick columns. Weather-beaten and decaying, it seemed to sigh under the weight of years and neglect.

His friends were already there, their bicycles scattered on the overgrown grass. Ben, always the loudmouth, was waving his phone around, trying to get a signal. Maya, quiet and observant, stood near the edge of the road, looking at something in the trees. And Chloe, Ben's cousin, sat on one of the pavilion's steps, scrolling, her hair, the exact opposite of Maya.

"About time, Jun!" Ben grinned, slapping him on the back. "Thought the pontianak got you."

Jun rolled his eyes. The pontianak, a female vampire spirit. Another story. "Traffic," he lied, propping his bike against a crumbling stone wall. "Besides you need to calm down. You guys need to treat your data better."

"No signal out here," Maya said, her voice soft, barely audible above the growing chorus of cicadas. "Completely dead." She pointed up at his phone

Chloe didn't look up. "My phones not bad. Ben's just a cheap skate. Like get with it," she scoffed.

The pavilion loomed. It wasn't a threatening structure, not overtly. It was the atmosphere that pressed down, the unnatural stillness. Even the cicadas seemed quieter here, their chirping muffled, hesitant. The light had nearly faded.

"So," Ben began, rubbing his hands together with false enthusiasm, "who's going in first?"

No one spoke. The bravado seemed to have evaporated.

"We should…we should at least have a light," Maya finally said, her eyes darting around the encroaching darkness.

Ben rummaged in his backpack, pulling out a small torch. The beam, weak and yellow, did little to dispel the gloom. He flicked his Zippo, sending a much brighter, flickering illumination.

They approached the pavilion cautiously, the crunch of their feet on the dry leaves and twigs abnormally loud. Jun felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, a sense of being watched.

Stepping inside felt like stepping into another world. The temperature dropped further, and the air smelled strongly of damp earth and something else…something faintly sweet and metallic, like old blood. The roof was full of holes, the remnants of the stars visible through the gaps.

Chloe, suddenly bolder, walked to the center of the pavilion. "Hello?" she called out, her voice echoing unnaturally. "Anyone home?"

Silence. Then, a soft rustling from the far side of the structure.

Ben shone his torch. Nothing. Just the shadows of the trees swaying in the breeze. "Probably just a rat," he said, but his voice shook slightly.

They huddled together, the single torch beam creating a small pool of light in the overwhelming darkness. Jun could hear Maya's shallow breathing. He was breathing faster, too.

Another sound. This time, closer. A dragging sound, like something heavy being pulled across the stone floor.

"What…what is that?" Chloe whispered, clutching Ben's arm.

The dragging sound continued, moving slowly around the perimeter of the pavilion. It was coming closer. Jun felt a cold dread seeping into his bones.

The air pressure. The feeling a child. A baby. Or maybe just smaller. But more then one...no.. two, they would agree on later. Or did. The crushing reality felt too odd.

Then, a whisper. Faint, barely audible, seeming to come from all directions at once. A woman's voice.

"Tinggalkan…" (Leave…)

Ben spun around, shining the torch wildly. Nothing. "Who said that?" he demanded, his voice cracking.

The dragging sound stopped. The whispering ceased. A tense silence filled the pavilion.

Then, from directly behind Jun, a cold breath on his neck. He froze, his blood turning to ice.

"Tinggalkan…" the voice whispered again, this time directly into his ear. It was followed by a low, guttural growl.

Jun whirled around.

Standing there, shrouded in shadow, were two figures. Small, emaciated, their skin grey and decaying. Their eyes, wide and black, seemed to absorb the light, reflecting nothing. One had long, tangled hair, obscuring most of its face. The other was bald, its scalp covered in weeping sores. They were children, but ancient, their features twisted into masks of malice.

The air stank of decay, of something unspeakably foul.

Ben screamed, dropping the torch. It clattered on the stone floor and went out, plunging them into complete darkness.

Chaos erupted. Chloe shrieked, scrambling backwards. Jun felt a sharp, searing pain in his arm as one of the figures lunged at him, its claws tearing through his shirt.

He cried out, stumbling back, falling heavily. He could hear Ben and Chloe yelling, thrashing around in the darkness. Then, a sickening crunch, followed by a gurgled scream that was abruptly cut short.

Maya's scream still pierced his ears as Jun scrambled to his feet, his arm throbbing. He had to get out, had to escape.

He ran blindly, crashing into the stone columns, stumbling over something soft and yielding. He didn't stop to look, didn't dare.

He burst out of the pavilion, into the relative light of the night sky. He ran, not looking back, his lungs burning, his heart hammering against his ribs.

He didn't stop running until he reached the village, the familiar sights and sounds a lifeline in the overwhelming terror. He collapsed on the steps of his house, gasping for breath, his body shaking uncontrollably.

He looked at his arm. Deep, bloody gashes ran from his shoulder to his elbow, oozing blood and a foul-smelling fluid. He stared up at the lights in his small family home.

He could not see well but through his shock and confusion his mother's small form could not be missed

Jun stood in front of his parents, head facing his mother and body in full display to show his torn shirt and deep slashes and bruises, his mothers immediate panic, visible and present, and his father stern stare. Jun looks to see the small phone slip from her hands and crash on the tile. He could only catch fragments of the words being directed at his father. "Go...Thomson..find.."

Days later, Jun sat alone in his room. He hadn't slept properly since that night. The wounds on his arm were healing, slowly, but the scars would remain, both physical and mental.

The police had gone to the pavilion. They'd found Ben and Chloe's bodies. Torn apart. Animal attack, they'd said, shaking their heads, baffled by the ferocity. Wild dogs, maybe. Or something else.

They found Maya too. Alive, but…catatonic. She wouldn't speak, wouldn't react. She just stared, her eyes wide and empty, mirroring the horror he had seen in the eyes of those…things.

Jun knew the truth. It wasn't animals. It was something far more sinister, something that lived in the shadows, in the darkness at the end of the old road.

He stared out the window, at the fading light. He could no longer see the simple, comforting reality of his home. It was just… there.

One of the village elders, an old woman who claimed to know the "old ways," had come to see him. She'd examined his wounds, her eyes full of a knowing sadness. She'd muttered prayers, lit incense, and left him with a small, carved amulet, a protective charm.

"Wear this," she'd said, her voice raspy with age. "It will keep the spirits away. "From the evil ones."

Jun clutched the amulet. It offered no comfort. He knew they wouldn't be kept away. They were part of him now.

The change had begun. Subtle at first. A coldness in his extremities, a constant feeling of being watched. An aversion to light.

Then, the hunger. A craving he couldn't explain, a need for something…raw, something forbidden. He found himself staring at the stray dogs in the village, his mouth watering, a disturbing growl rumbling in his chest.

He started avoiding people, staying in his room, curtains drawn. He couldn't stand the way they smelled. So…alive.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, creeping shadows across his room, he looked in the mirror.

His reflection stared back at him, but it was no longer his. His skin had a greyish tinge. His eyes were darkening, becoming wider, hollower. His fingernails had thickened, growing longer, sharper.

He opened his mouth, and a low, guttural growl escaped, a sound that was not human. He felt a shift, a transformation taking place within him, a descent into something monstrous.

His heart sank, knowing exactly where he was supposed to go.

As night descended, Jun, no longer the boy he once was, walked towards the Old Upper Thomson Road, drawn by an irresistible force, a primal instinct.

He was going home. To the pavilion. To the others like him, the lost children of the darkness, trapped forever at the end of the road. To where his hunger and need for living meat would take its course, knowing full well the pavilion would be a final meeting place before full corruption.