The Missing Link

001. Secrets of the Dark

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THE SUN hung low in the west, casting a golden hue over the dimming streets of Nueva Aurora in the Philippines. Shadows stretched across the pavement as birds swooped through the sky. A breeze stirred the trees, rustling their leaves, whispering secrets to those who dared listen.

It was past five in the afternoon, and Carmela dela Cruz, a third-year college student, hurried her steps as she made her way home after a long day at school. The fading golden rays of the sun brushed her brown skin, while a light breeze caught her black ponytail, sending a few loose strands dancing across her face. But something wasn’t right.

Her heart pounded erratically in her chest, each beat quickening as her eyes darted back and forth. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. “No… not now…” she whispered, pressing her hands to her ears, willing herself to ignore it.

But the tension around her seemed to thicken, heavy and stifling, as if the very air were watching her. Her coffee-brown eyes scanned the open fields to her left, the vast plains of lush rice paddies stretching far into the horizon. Nothing moved. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—or something—was watching.

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. It’s just the stress from school. Just nerves, she told herself. But that voice in the back of her mind was growing louder, insistent. You’re being followed.

With each step, the weight on her chest grew heavier, an invisible hand gripping her ribs tighter. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing at attention. “No one is here. I’m just being paranoid,” she murmured.

But then, as if to confirm her darkest fears, she heard a faint rustling behind her. Her breath hitched. She whirled around, heart racing, only to find nothing but the empty road stretching back into the distance.

“Get it together, Carmela,” she muttered under her breath, trying to steady her shaking hands.

She lifted her phone to capture the sunset’s brilliance, but her fingers trembled too much. The device slipped from her grasp, spinning across the rough road before cracking with a sharp snap.

A cold wave of panic surged through her. She froze. Hot, salty tears blurred her vision. “No. Not now. Not like this,” she whispered, catching his breath. She reached for the fallen phone, but the world around her swayed.

Her knees buckled, and her body crumpled to the ground, motionless beside the fractured glass. She could taste bile rising in her throat, her stomach lurching in time with her erratic pulse. It’s happening. It’s really happening.

Her fingers fumbled in her pocket, searching for something, anything to hold onto. But they refused to obey. Panic swelled, and nausea overtook her. She doubled over, vomiting onto the pavement, the bile mingling with her sweat-soaked blouse.

The pain was unbearable, a sharp, jagged stab in her chest, as though her very soul were being pulled from her body. “I can’t… I can’t breathe...” she gasped, barely able to speak, her vision fading in and out.

The world around her blurred into a sickly swirl of colour, and through the haze, she saw the lock screen of her phone flash before her eyes—the image of her mother smiling back at her, frozen in time. Her last thought as the last ray of sunlight faded was a desperate whisper, “I didn’t deserve this…”

Seconds later, the screeching sound of a motorcycle engine broke the stillness. The rider rounded the bend, his attention immediately drawn to the unusual shape on the road. With a flick of his wrist, he cut the engine, his surroundings falling into an eerie silence.