Alysa sat cross-legged on the cool wooden floor, a threadbare blanket draped over her shoulders, offering little warmth against the chill that clung to the villa. The dim glow of flickering candlelight cast long, wavering shadows across the cracked walls, giving life to shapes that seemed to writhe and shift in the corners of the room. Every creak of the ancient wooden beams overhead felt ominous, each sound amplified in the oppressive silence that had settled over the place since her return. The air was heavy with the scent of incense, thick and almost suffocating, mingling with the musty odor of the villa's untouched spaces—unlived in, yet holding onto the past like a fading memory.
“Ever since you disappeared, it’s been eerily quiet at night,” Bev’s voice cut through the stillness, soft and low, as though speaking too loudly would shatter whatever fragile peace remained. Her words were cautious, edged with lingering fear. "The kapre... vanished the same night you did. Just gone, like the life was sucked out of the villa.” She paused, glancing toward the window where thin beams of moonlight slanted through the cracks in the shutters, illuminating the dust that drifted lazily in the stale air.
Alysa felt her heart constrict at the mention of the kapre’s disappearance, her thoughts tangling with unanswered questions. The supernatural had once felt like something distant, something whispered about but never fully believed in. Now, it was entwined with her reality. “And Lyka?” she asked, her voice catching, barely a breath above the silence.
Bev’s expression darkened as she shifted uncomfortably. “Ka Isong’s tried everything he knows—rituals, prayers, remedies—but the curse is just getting worse. It’s like whatever’s got a hold of her doesn’t want to let go. It’s... terrifying.” The weight of her words pressed down on them, heavy and cold like a shroud.
Alysa’s chest tightened, and a familiar chill crept up her spine. She hadn’t seen Lyka since her return, but hearing this gnawed at her, filling her with a sense of helplessness. Pushing through the tightness in her throat, she stood and crossed towards the room to Lyka’s bedside. The floorboards groaned beneath her weight, each step a reminder of the house’s age and its silent witness to too many secrets.
Lyka lay still, her small frame swathed in blankets, her skin pale as the moonlight that filtered in through the window. Her breathing was shallow, as if each breath took effort. Alysa’s fingers brushed against Lyka’s hair, the strands soft yet lifeless between her fingers. She forced herself to smile, though her heart was breaking.
Lyka’s eyes fluttered open, weak but filled with warmth as they met Alysa’s. “You’re back,” she whispered, her voice like a faint breeze, barely strong enough to carry the words. A fragile smile curved her lips.
Alysa nodded, biting back the tears that threatened to spill. “I’m back. Of course, I’m back,” she replied, her voice trembling with emotion. She leaned closer, her voice gentle but firm. “You need to get better, Lyka. We still have places to go—hills to run, sunsets to chase. We promised each other that.” Her forced smile faltered, but she pushed through, trying to cling to hope, to the possibility of tomorrow.
Lyka's smile wavered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I like that,” she whispered. “Let’s do that.”
Hazel, sitting nearby, broke the somberness with a burst of forced optimism. “And don’t forget, once you're up and about, we’ll ride bikes all day, like we used to! Through the fields, until we’re breathless,” she said, her voice bright, but her eyes betrayed the fear that lingered beneath the surface.
The room was quiet again, the only sounds the soft crackle of the candle and the distant, haunting whisper of the wind outside. The world outside felt vast and silent, but within these walls, there was an unmistakable weight pressing down on Alysa—a heaviness in her chest that she couldn’t shake.
Then, like a sudden jolt, it came.
“Run, Alysa!”
The voice rang clear in her mind—familiar, yet distant. It echoed with urgency, playful but sharp, like a memory clawing its way back. Her heart pounded violently against her ribcage. She jerked around, her breath caught in her throat, eyes scanning the room frantically.
There was no one there.
“Alysa?” Bev’s voice broke through, laced with concern. “Are you okay?”
Alysa blinked, her body still tense, as if expecting something—or someone—to emerge from the shadows. “Did you hear that?” she asked, her voice strained, still searching the room for signs of... whatever it was.
Hazel and Bev exchanged uneasy glances. “Heard what?” Hazel asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.
“That voice,” Alysa murmured, her pulse racing. The words still echoed in her mind, refusing to leave her in peace. Run, Alysa.
Bev stepped closer, her worry deepening. “We didn’t hear anything,” she said, her voice softer now, as though speaking any louder would send Alysa spiraling. “Are you sure?”
Alysa swallowed hard, forcing a smile that felt painfully out of place. “It’s nothing,” she lied, her voice tight. “Just my imagination.” But even as the words left her lips, she knew it wasn’t the truth.
The room plunged into an even more oppressive silence, as if the very walls were holding their breath, waiting. The shadows that had once danced lazily now stretched, creeping further into the corners, their edges sharper, more defined. They seemed alive, as though the villa itself had drawn a heavy, suffocating breath, wrapping everything in an air of unseen menace.
Alysa stood frozen, her fingers trembling at her sides. A gnawing unease gripped her, tightening like a vice around her chest. There was something she was missing—something just beyond the grasp of her understanding, something important. She could feel it, lingering at the edges of her consciousness, as if teasing her to remember. Her mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of the past few days, searching for clues hidden beneath the fog of her confusion.
The voice—it hadn’t been a figment of her imagination. She was certain now, the recognition settling in like a sudden, unwelcome chill. Her breath hitched, realization flooding through her.
Leandro.
His name pulsed in her mind, his voice echoing in her ears, as clear as if he were standing right beside her. The tone had been unmistakable—urgent, filled with warning. But why? Why now? And why had no one else heard it?
Her heart began to pound harder, as if urging her to move, to act. But she was rooted in place, torn between the present moment and the haunting echoes of his call. She knew Leandro had been missing, just like the kapre, ever since the night she vanished. The connection between their disappearances nagged at her, a thread she couldn’t quite unravel.
Bev’s hand lightly touched her arm, snapping her out of her trance. “Alysa... are you sure you're okay?”
Alysa forced herself to meet Bev’s gaze, but the question hung in the air, unanswered. She wasn’t okay. Not really. Something wasn’t right. The air felt too thick, too heavy, and Leandro’s voice lingered, as if trying to tell her something crucial that she couldn’t yet decipher. She swallowed hard, her throat dry.
“I—I think I just need some air,” she finally muttered, her voice strained, barely holding together.
Bev hesitated but nodded, concern still etched across her face. “We’ll be here if you need anything.”
Alysa managed a small, tight smile in return, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Her thoughts were already elsewhere—on Leandro, on the voice, on the gnawing sense that whatever had taken hold of her life was far from over. She turned toward the door, her body tense, the villa’s oppressive quiet pressing in around her.
But even as she stepped away from the dim room and into the cold hallway, Leandro’s voice echoed once more in her mind, clear and unrelenting:
“Run, Alysa.”