The Midnight Shuttle

Chapter 8 : The Last Guardian

The scream ended as abruptly as it had begun, and then silence followed—not the ordinary silence of an empty house, but a hollow silence, as though the world outside the wardrobe had ceased to exist.

Inside the darkness, nine-year-old Alya remained frozen. She couldn't remember the last time she had breathed. Every muscle in her body ached from staying perfectly still, yet she didn't dare move.

Her grandmother's final words echoed over and over inside her mind.

Don't look back.

She waited.

One minute, then another.

The rain had returned, tapping softly against the roof as water dripped steadily from the eaves outside. Somewhere inside the house, something creaked.

Old wood. Nothing more. Or at least... that's what she desperately wanted to believe.

"Grandma...?"

Her voice was barely louder than a breath.

No answer came.

She waited again.

This time... long enough for the incense to fade, long enough for the air inside the wardrobe to grow cold.

Then—

Four knocks.

Tok.

Tok.

Tok.

Tok.

Alya's body tensed instantly.

She listened.

"It's me."

Her grandmother's voice was weak. Very weak.

"You can come out now."

Alya didn't move immediately.

She remembered the order.

Four knocks first. Then her name. Then the voice.

Exactly as promised.

Slowly... very slowly... she reached for the wardrobe handle.

Her trembling fingers wrapped around the cold brass knob.

She closed her eyes, took one careful breath, and pulled the wardrobe door open.

The wardrobe doors opened with a long, mournful creak.

Alya stepped out slowly, her bare feet touching the cold wooden floor as she looked around the bedroom. For a moment, she couldn't understand what she was seeing.

The room no longer looked like home.

The wardrobe behind her was the only piece of furniture left standing.

The bed had been split down the middle, its wooden frame reduced to splintered boards scattered across the floor. One window had shattered inward, leaving broken glass glittering beneath the occasional flash of lightning. The family altar had been knocked onto its side, while sticks of incense still smoldered weakly among the debris.

The air smelled of rain, burnt wood, and something else—something metallic.

Alya took another careful step.

"Grandma?" Only silence answered as her small voice trembled and she called again, "Grandma..." but still nothing.

She moved toward the bedroom door, weaving carefully through the broken furniture. The hallway beyond was darker than she remembered, lit only by the pale flashes of lightning filtering through cracked windows.

Every room she passed looked as though a storm had torn through it.

Family photographs lay scattered across the floor.

Several picture frames had been shattered beyond repair.

The wallpaper had been ripped open in long, uneven strips, exposing the old wooden walls beneath.

It looked less like a house... and more like a battlefield.

Alya swallowed hard. Her grandmother had told her to run, but instead... she kept searching.

"Grandma..."

The word came out smaller this time, almost afraid of the answer.

As she reached the foot of the staircase, she noticed something resting on the floor—her silver ring, the one her grandmother had made her wear every single day. It should have been on her finger.

Yet somehow...

It was lying there, untouched, beside a small cloth pouch embroidered with faded golden thread.

Alya frowned.

She was certain she hadn't taken it off.

Slowly, she knelt and picked up the ring.

The metal felt strangely warm against her palm.

Inside the pouch, she found a folded piece of yellowed paper.

On the outside, written in her grandmother's familiar handwriting, were only six words.

For Alya. Open when I am gone.

The pouch remained in Alya's trembling hands. She wanted to open it—she almost did—but something deep inside told her it could wait.

"Grandma..." Her voice echoed softly through the ruined house.

Still no answer.

She slipped the folded letter back into the pouch and carefully tucked both it and the silver ring into the pocket of her pajamas before continuing down the hallway.

Every step felt unnaturally loud.

Broken glass crunched beneath her feet.

Rainwater dripped steadily from the damaged ceiling, forming small puddles across the wooden floor.

The deeper she walked into the house...

The colder the air became.

At the end of the hallway, the front door hung crooked on a single hinge, as though something impossibly powerful had forced its way inside. Splintered wood lay scattered across the entrance, and deep gouges marked the walls beside it—not made by knives, not by axes, but something that had clawed them.

Alya's breathing grew shallow. She had never seen marks like those before. They were far too long, far too deep.

Slowly...

She stepped into the living room.

Everything had been destroyed. The family altar had collapsed completely, tables and chairs lay overturned, and the large grandfather clock that had stood in the corner for as long as she could remember now rested in pieces across the floor.

Then...

She saw her.

Nenek Lastri lay near the shattered entrance, one hand still wrapped tightly around a string of prayer beads. Her clothes were stained with blood, and countless small cuts covered her arms. Her breathing was faint—so faint that Alya almost thought she had arrived too late.

"Grandma!"

She ran across the room and dropped to her knees beside her.

The old woman slowly opened her eyes. A weak smile touched her lips.

"You came..."

she whispered.

"I told you..."

"...to run."

Tears spilled down Alya's cheeks as she gently took her grandmother's hand. It felt cold, much colder than it should have.

"I'm sorry," Alya whispered, her voice breaking. "I should've come out. I should've helped you."

Nenek Lastri gave the faintest shake of her head.

"No." Even speaking seemed to cost her strength. "If you had..." She struggled to catch her breath. "...we both would have died."

Alya lowered her head, unable to stop crying. "I was scared."

"I know."

"I heard you calling me. So many times."

A shadow of sadness crossed the old woman's face. "That wasn't me."

"I know."

"It knows the voices we love."

The words sent a chill through Alya's body as Nenek Lastri slowly lifted her trembling hand and brushed a tear from the little girl's cheek.

"You remembered the signal."

Alya nodded.

"You told me... four knocks first."

A tired smile appeared on the old woman's lips.

"Good. Never forget that."

She coughed violently, crimson staining the corner of her mouth before she forced herself to continue.

"It doesn't only imitate voices. It imitates trust. It waits... until you lower your guard."

The rain fell harder outside.

For a few moments, only the sound of water striking the broken roof filled the room.

Then Nenek Lastri looked into Alya's eyes.

"There isn't much time."

Her voice had grown weaker now.

"The letter. The ring. They were always meant for you."

Alya's fingers instinctively touched the pocket of her pajamas.

"You knew this would happen?"

The old woman didn't answer immediately. She simply looked toward the shattered doorway where the darkness beyond seemed unnaturally still, then she smiled.

"I've known... for many years." Alya stared at her grandmother, unable to understand. "What do you mean?" Nenek Lastri closed her eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. "It stopped hunting me a long time ago." Her gaze returned to Alya. "It has been waiting... for the last child."

Alya's tears fell freely as she whispered, "I don't understand."

"You don't have to," Nenek Lastri replied, her voice now little more than a whisper. "You only have to remember."

Her trembling hand slowly reached for the pocket of Alya's pajamas. "The letter," she said softly. "Read it... after I'm gone."

Alya shook her head desperately. "No. I'll read it with you."

A faint smile touched the old woman's lips.

"I won't be here."

Those words broke something inside the little girl.

She buried her face against her grandmother's shoulder.

"No..."

"Please don't leave me."

For a long moment, Nenek Lastri said nothing.

She simply rested a trembling hand on Alya's head, gently stroking her hair the way she had done since Alya was a baby.

"When your parents come home... tell them none of this was their fault," Nenek Lastri whispered, and Alya nodded through her tears.

"And tell your father..." the old woman paused, struggling to draw another breath, "...that I kept my promise."

Alya frowned. "What promise?"

Nenek Lastri looked toward the rain-soaked doorway. "The promise... to protect the last child."

A weak cough escaped her lips as, with the last of her strength, she closed Alya's fingers around the silver ring.

"Wear it. Always. No matter what happens... never take it off."

The rain outside grew heavier, and Nenek Lastri's breathing became slower, more uneven.

She looked at Alya one final time. There was no fear left in her eyes—only love, only peace.

Very softly, she whispered her final words.

"You were never chosen..." A slow breath escaped her lips. "...to be hunted."

Another, barely audible.

"You were chosen..." Her fingers loosened around Alya's hand. "...to protect."

Silence.

The prayer beads slipped from her hand and scattered across the wooden floor.

Nenek Lastri never breathed again.

For a long time...

Alya remained beside her grandmother without moving.

She didn't know how many hours had passed.

The rain continued to fall beyond the shattered doorway, washing away the blood that had reached the wooden porch, while the wind carried the fading scent of incense through what was left of the house.

The storm was over.

But the silence it left behind felt far heavier.

Very carefully, Alya picked up the prayer beads that had slipped from Nenek Lastri's hand.

The string had broken.

Small wooden beads lay scattered across the floor, disappearing into the cracks between the old floorboards.

She gathered them one by one.

As though, somehow...

Putting them back together might also bring her grandmother back.

It didn't.

When she finished, Alya slipped the beads into the same cloth pouch that held the unopened letter.

Then she looked down at the silver ring resting in her palm.

For a brief moment...

She remembered her grandmother's final words.

Wear it. Always.

With trembling fingers, she slid the ring back onto her hand. It fit perfectly, as though it had always belonged there.

Outside, the first faint glow of dawn began to break through the clouds, and the longest night of Alya's life had finally come to an end.

Slowly, she rose to her feet. The little girl who had hidden inside a wardrobe no longer existed; somewhere between the first knock on the door and the first light of morning, she had left her childhood behind.

...

The interview room fell silent, no one spoke as Aditia stared quietly at the silver ring on Alya's hand, and now he finally understood why she had never taken it off. Dirga lowered his eyes, letting out a slow breath.

"So everything started that night."

Alya nodded.

"No," her voice was calm. "It started long before I was born."

She rested one hand over the unopened cloth pouch she still carried in her bag.

"And everything I needed to know... is inside that letter."