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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.

He switched on his flashlight, the beam slicing through the shadows. “Can you hear me?” he called, his voice barely above a whisper, echoing into the night. “Are you okay?”

There was no response, only the flickering of his light across her body, motionless and unnervingly still.

He took a step closer, his pulse quickening. “Oh my— What happened to you, miss?” He rushed to her side, reaching out to help her up.

His fingers brushed her skin, cold and clammy. His eyes fell on her face, her brown eyes wide open but empty, the sclera the only thing visible. His breath caught in his throat. A chill ran down his spine as he stumbled back, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he fumbled for his phone.

“911, what’s your emergency?” the operator’s voice crackled through the phone.

“There’s a… a young lady,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, “I found her lying on the ground. She needs help. I don’t know what happened. She’s… she’s not breathing. But her eyes… there’s something wrong. Something’s not right.”

“Calm down, sir. Can you tell me your location?”

“At Barangay Manggahan,” he replied, his voice barely audible as he cast a horrified glance at the woman before him. “I—I think she’s dead. But I don’t know what’s happened to her… Why is she like this?”

He glanced around desperately, searching for any clue, any sign of what had happened. His flashlight beam fell on her chest—his stomach churned. There, amidst the blood soaking into the earth, was something gleaming. A shard of metal? No.

Her heart.

It was gone.

The panic in his chest exploded into a nauseating ache. “Oh god. Her heart… it’s missing.”

Minutes stretched into eternity as he fought to steady his breath. Who would do this?

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ONE MONTH LATER, Gabriella Santos, a restaurant waitress, had just clocked out, the coldness of the evening pressing on her shoulders. Stepping out into the gloominess of the Friday night, she felt the city’s pulse—a hum that matched her own. The clock chimed seven, and she moved toward the bus stop, arms burdened with bags—a small cake, a 1.5-litre bottle of soda, and three bottles of beer nestled tightly in a plastic carrier.

The bus arrived, its doors swinging open with a mechanical groan, releasing a flood of tired commuters. Their voices mingled in a low murmur, laughter and chatter filling the air. The upbeat melody from a nearby radio added to the noise, an addition to the uneasy feeling crawling up her spine.

She stopped for a moment, glancing at the crowd, then at the alley that led home—a shortcut she’d taken countless times before. She hesitated, watching the bus, its passengers already shifting in their seats, each one looking more exhausted than the last. Don’t ruin this night, she thought, turning toward the alley. She didn’t want to be crowded in with strangers, not now.

The alley was familiar and the walls towered above her like silent sentinels. But tonight, there was something different about it. The air felt thicker, heavier. “Just get through it, just a few more steps...” she reassured herself, clutching the bags tighter.

A flicker of white—a cat, its fur gleaming unnaturally bright against the shadows, darted across her path. She froze, her heart skipping a beat.

“What the--?” Gabriella whispered, scanning the alley. The cat had stopped just a few feet away, its sapphire eyes fixed on hers with an unsettling intensity.

Her breath caught in her throat. “It’s just a cat. Just a homeless white cat,” she repeated to herself, though it did little to steady her nerves. The cat took a slow step toward her, and her pulse quickened.

“What? Do you need something to eat?” Gabriella asked with a nervous chuckle, but the words felt hollow in the air. The cat’s gaze didn’t waver, its silence unnerving her.

It meowed in response, the sound oddly deep and hollow, like an echo from somewhere far away.

“Go away now, little Kitty. You are giving me chills,” Gabriella muttered, half to herself. She didn’t know why, but she felt compelled to follow it.

The cat turned and trotted off. It glanced back, as if waiting for her to follow. Something in its eyes urged her on.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming.” Gabriella hesitated for a moment, then walked after it.

Her pace quickened, but so did the unease gnawing at her insides. She pulled the bags closer, as if their weight could ground her in this reality. She wasn’t sure why she was starting to feel so on edge. “It’s just a cat, Gab! Shut it!” she murmured to herself, her gaze shifting towards the creature.

Her words stumbled as she started to speak aloud, her voice shaking. “At least you don’t judge me like—”

The numbness hit her like a sudden wave, freezing her lips mid-sentence. She blinked, confused, her body stiffening. The weight of her bags seemed to double, pulling her down as her vision blurred.

She stumbled, her legs buckling beneath her. “What’s happening...?” Gabriella gasped, her chest tightening as though her lungs were made of stone. She barely managed to steady herself against the alley wall, but her legs betrayed her, and she collapsed to the ground, her bags spilling out onto the damp pavement.

A sharp pain—like fire—shot through her chest. She gasped, her vision spinning as blood began to pool around her. Her heart raced, but her body was going cold, numb.

“No... no, no, no...” she whimpered, but her voice was a fragile whisper, barely reaching her own ears. Her body refused to respond, and all she could hear was the distant hiss of the cat, echoing through the alley.

As her body slumped, she could hear people rushing toward her, voices rising in alarm. “Someone help her! Someone call for an ambulance!”

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ANOTHER MONTH had passed, Yolanda Estefan, a company janitor, was still at work, her shift dragging well into the evening hours. Around six o’clock, she tucked stray strands of her dark brown hair behind her ears, her brow furrowing in concentration as she mopped up the muddy footprints left behind by the departing workers.

The rhythmic swish of her mop against the floor was the only sound, but it felt unnatural, almost too loud in the eerie silence. Yolanda paused, wiping sweat from her brow, her heart pounding slightly faster. There was something about the storm tonight that didn’t sit right. The raindrops fell like needles against the windows, and the occasional flash of lightning illuminated the dark hallway in sharp, jagged bursts.

“That’s enough for the day, Manang. You can head home now,” one of her bosses called out. She approached, her shoulder bag slung over her arm, glancing at the rain-soaked world outside. “The storm’s only getting worse, and I can see you’re ready to go. It’s dangerous out there.”

“I’ll finish this, ma’am. I’ll head home after,” she replied, a flicker of determination flashing in her eyes despite the growing fatigue.

Her boss gave her a warm, if tired, smile. “Alright, but be careful. I wouldn’t want you out there in this weather.” She paused, glancing back toward the window, as if sensing the same ominous feeling Yolanda couldn’t shake. “Goodbye, Manang. See you tomorrow.”

Yolanda nodded, watching her boss step out into the storm, her black umbrella serving as her shield against the relentless rain. The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence of the hallway deepened.

The building seemed to exhale with the sound of the wind howling outside. Yolanda returned to her mop, the sound of her movements breaking through the heavy stillness. The rain was louder now, louder than it had been just moments ago, as though something—someone—was out there, waiting.

She wiped the sweat from her brow again, but the strange tightness in her chest wasn’t from the heat. It felt... wrong. The air was thick, suffocating, and it pressed against her lungs as if something unseen was creeping closer. She could almost hear something moving out there, just beyond the walls of the building.

A distant sound. A tap, tap, tap.

Yolanda stilled, her heart racing. The sound of something against the windows. Was it just the rain? Or was someone... watching?

“Snap out of it. You need to work hard for your children,” she muttered under her breath.

But the sound was still there, a tap, tap, tap... like fingers drumming on the glass.

She paused, glancing toward the windows at the far end of the hallway. The flickering light of the fluorescent bulbs overhead cast long shadows, and the view outside was nothing but a blurred sheet of rain. Yet, there was a shape—a dark figure—against the wall, barely visible through the mist and water.

Her pulse quickened.

“No. It couldn’t be,” she whispered. The storm was playing tricks on her. It had to be.

But the tapping came again, louder this time, more insistent, followed by a soft thud against the window. Her breath hitched in her throat. It was too much—too unnatural. She turned her attention back to her task, pretending she hadn’t heard anything.

But it came again.

A soft scrape, as if nails were dragging slowly down the windowpane.

Then, she felt it—a sudden, searing pain in her chest, like a sharp needle pushing through her ribs. She gasped, her hand clutching her shirt. Sweat ran down her face as she stumbled back, dropping the mop with a clatter.

“Oh God,” she whispered hoarsely, her legs trembling beneath her as she staggered toward the bathroom. Her chest burned, and the air itself felt thick, suffocating.

She reached the bathroom door and yanked it open, her breathing erratic. But before she could even get to the sink, the pain intensified. It was as though her chest was being torn apart from the inside out.

“No… not now…” she gasped, sinking to her knees, her vision swimming. “I need this!”

She leaned over, her stomach convulsing violently. There was nothing but pain, blinding, unrelenting. Her body was betraying her. She vomited onto the cold tiles, but it felt like nothing could bring relief.

As she bent over, her legs giving way beneath her, a shiver crawled up her spine. She swore she heard something—a whisper? A voice?

She froze.

She wasn’t alone.

A flash of lightning illuminated the bathroom just as she collapsed, her vision darkening, her body crumpling onto the cold floor. For a fleeting moment, her hand brushed the tiles, and she thought she saw something—something moving in the shadows. But it was too late. She could no longer keep her eyes open.

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THE ROOM was thick with tension as the press conference continued. The chief’s calm exterior contrasted with the chaos building around the case. The murder of Yolanda Estefan was the tipping point, the thread that finally pulled together the disturbing pattern of deaths. "Gabriella Santos, Carmela dela Cruz, and now Yolanda, three seemingly unrelated women, their hearts torn from their chests, their lives taken in a chillingly similar fashion. The city of Nueva Aurora had never seen a case like this, and the pressure was mounting on the police force to find answers," he begun.

Detective Inspector Ferrer’s nerves were starting to show. The constant barrage of questions felt like too much. He was already questioning the direction of the investigation, trying to make sense of everything. Could there really be a connection between these deaths? The reporters, with their wild theories about mythical creatures and supernatural forces, weren’t making things easier.

“Do you believe this could be linked to a mythological being?” a reporter asked again, eyes wide with anticipation.

The detective stiffened, irritated but trying to maintain professionalism. “We’re focusing on the facts, not folklore,” he said, trying to cut through the nonsense. “We’re looking for a rational explanation.”

“But what about the aswang?” the reporter persisted, unwilling to back down.

Ferrer shot him a sharp look, but before he could respond, another voice chimed in.

“It could explain the circumstances surrounding the first victim,” another reporter said, her tone insistent. “A beast, maybe—a creature that eats hearts.”

Ferrer’s patience was wearing thin. “We can’t just—” he began, but the flood of questions kept coming.

“And as reported, the first victim was three months pregnant when she died which makes her a likely target!” the reported added.

“What about the connection between the three victims?” someone asked, leaning forward, eager to get an answer.

He tried to keep his composure. “There’s no definitive link yet, but we’re looking into it,” he said, forcing the words out with as much conviction as he could muster. But inside, doubt was creeping in. The case didn’t make sense. How could three unrelated women be killed in such a similar manner without there being something more?

Then the lights flickered.

A low murmur swept through the room as the lights dimmed. Ferrer paused, his fingers drumming against the edge of the podium. His mind was elsewhere now. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

“What just happened?” a reporter muttered, looking around, his confusion clear.

Before Ferrer could react, another sound caught his attention. His phone buzzed. He glanced down, his eyes narrowing at the message that had just appeared. A simple smiley emoji from a contact named L.A.V.

It was strange. A strange, playful little icon in the middle of a terrifying investigation. He could almost feel that there was something more to it, something unsettling. He pushed the thought away and forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

“One more question,” Cruz, his partner, interjected, pulling Ferrer from his thoughts.

A new voice from the crowd asked, “Do you think this is the work of a serial killer?”

The question hit too close to home. Ferrer’s mind spun with the possibilities. Could it be a serial killer? The pattern was there—three women, their hearts missing. But then, what did that mean? Was someone from the outside playing some twisted game? Or was it something even darker?

“Nueva Aurora is a peaceful city,” Ferrer began. “I don’t believe—”

But he was cut off by a reporter, one whose eyes gleamed with excitement.

“There must be someone from distant lands,” he said, his voice rising. “Someone playing games, or maybe it’s in their blood—maybe murder runs through their veins!”

The words hung in the air like smoke, a bitter taste lingering in Ferrer’s mouth. Was it possible? Could there be a deeper connection, something they weren’t seeing?

“We’re doing our best,” Ferrer said. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

A final question cut through the haze of uncertainty. “What should people do to protect themselves?”

Ferrer looked up, his eyes meeting Detective Sergeant Cruz’s. “Keep an eye on your women and children,” he said. “Make sure they don’t walk alone, especially at night. The streets are dangerous now.”

The room fell silent, the reporters scribbling furiously in their notebooks. Ferrer turned away from the podium, his mind already racing ahead.

“Is that all for today?” Cruz asked as they walked away from the crowd. She could see that Ferrer wasn’t fully present, his mind clearly elsewhere.

“I’ll ask for her help again,” Ferrer muttered, his eyes glued to his phone once more. Another smiley emoji. It seemed innocent, but the hairs on the back of his neck prickled again. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something important hidden behind that symbol. Something he wasn’t seeing.

“Her? Why?” Cruz asked, her skepticism clear.

Ferrer’s resolve hardened. “Maybe it’ll help,” he replied, the certainty in his voice now. “Maybe her perspective will give us the edge we need.”

Cruz shot him a questioning glance. “I still don’t understand why you trust her, but if you think she can help…” She trailed off, clearly unconvinced.

“I have a feeling she will,” Ferrer said. “And if we don’t consult her now, we might regret it later.”

As they walked out of the press conference room, the shadows of the evening outside seemed to grow darker. Something was coming—something more terrifying than they could possibly imagine.

And they were running out of time to stop it.