[EVA]
Inside the bus, I instantly noticed how few passengers there were.
Even though the signboard promised this was the only trip heading toward Setio Luna until noon — no more buses afterward — the seats remained mostly empty. A chill crawled up my back.
It was as if no one ever wanted to travel to that place after dark.
Precisely at eight in the morning, the driver started the engine — even though we were barely half full. That alone felt wrong. In the city, a bus would not leave until every seat was occupied.
But here…
People seemed to be in a hurry to flee the road instead of fill it.
Still, having space around me felt comforting. For once, I wasn't squeezed into a suffocating crowd.
I leaned my forehead against the cool window and watched the city shrink behind us.
Soon, the buildings thinned, replaced by wide fields and towering mountains. The farther north we traveled, the more the landscape transformed.
Nature grew wild — too wild — the kind untouched by concrete or civilization. Giant trees lined the road like watchful sentries, their branches thick enough to eclipse the sun.
Beautiful.
Peaceful.
But with an undercurrent of… scary.
Air so fresh it stung my lungs — the kind that only exists in places forgotten by the world.
With the motion of the bus rocking me gently and the wind brushing my face through the cracked window, sleep finally claimed me.
But sleeping was a mistake.
Because my dreams were never merciful.
I was back in that old backyard — the one I could barely remember. Children ran around me, four small figures with laughter ringing like bells… yet their faces were always blurred by a strange haze, as if wrapped in smoke.
This time, the scenery shifted.
We were at the river — surrounded by towering rocks and the deep roar of waterfalls. The place was stunning… idyllic even. But the dream itself trembled wrong.
The four children huddled over something, their backs turned to me. I felt dread crawl up my throat.
"You shouldn't eat that," I told them. My voice sounded younger — higher. "It's not cooked."
They ignored me.
"Hey," I insisted, taking a step forward. "We should cook it first!"
Slowly — painfully slowly — one child turned toward me.
He smiled.
Blood coated his teeth.
"You should eat too, Eva," he said sweetly, holding something toward me. "It's so delicious… and so fresh."
His small hand uncurled.
A heart.
Still beating.
Still wet and warm and alive.
I screamed.
"Miss!"
I jolted upright, breath tearing out from my lungs. My vision spun wildly before the world fell back into place.
The bus had stopped.
The driver leaned toward me with concern etched into his face.
"Are you alright, miss?"
"I… W-where…?"
My tongue felt thick, my throat raw. I glanced outside — sunlight glared down on a small waiting shed beside what looked like… a rural elementary school.
"We're here," the driver said. "Setio Luna."
Already?
I hadn't expected time to move while I was trapped in nightmare.
I gathered my bag — my hands still trembling — and stepped off the bus.
The heat struck me immediately. Dry. Heavy. Unwelcome.
When I turned around, the bus driver hurried back inside and sped off like the road behind him was haunted. He didn't even wait to see if I needed help.
I checked the time on my phone.
Almost one in the afternoon.
No wonder my stomach twisted painfully — I hadn't eaten since yesterday. My limbs shook with hunger and fear alike.
I turned in slow circles.
Where were the people?
No tricycles.
No buses.
No houses except a few distant silhouettes.
No sound.
Only wind and silence — oppressive and unnatural.
What kind of place is this…?
I walked forward, guided only by desperation, and finally spotted a small eatery tucked beside a cluster of trees. Relief flooded me. Food meant people. People meant safety.
Or so I believed.
Inside, two men sat hunched over their plates. Behind the counter, an elderly couple worked — or so I assumed. The moment I stepped in…
Everything froze.
The men stopped eating — forks falling against plates with a dull clink — and stared at me. Their eyes widened too much. Their gazes felt sharp enough to peel skin.
I quickly lowered my head and pretended not to notice.
Maybe they weren't used to outsiders, I told myself.
Maybe a tourist was rare here.
"Hija," the old woman croaked, stepping closer.
Her presence struck me like icy fingers on my spine.
Her back was hunched as though carrying invisible chains. Wrinkled skin sagged around her face. Her eyes — cloudy and white — seemed to look through me rather than at me. Long strands of wiry gray hair flowed messily behind her. And when she smiled…
It was too wide.
Too eager.
Teeth rotting. A foul smell coming from within.
"Are you new here?"
"Yes," I managed, forcing a shaky smile. "I'm new here. Visiting my grandmother."
Her smile stretched impossibly further — cracks deepening around her lips.
"Ohh… how wonderful. You must be hungry. What would you like, hija?"
I hid behind the menu. Paper shield for a trembling heart.
"Uhm… C-can I get your… speciality?"
The old woman laughed — a scraping sound that felt wrong. My skin prickled as chills crawled through me.
"Our specialty… is dinuguan. You must try it."
My heart skipped.
But hunger demanded surrender.
"O-okay. I'll have that."
She shuffled away, leaving behind the ghost of her foul odor — like rotting fish mixed with rusting metal.
I wasn't alone.
Yet this silence felt more lifeless than solitude.
The two men continued staring — until something like realization struck them — and they hurried to finish their meals, casting quick glances between each other before exiting the eatery.
The old man behind the counter watched them go, lips pressed thin. Then he followed into a back door without a word.
Suddenly, it was silent again.
Fear slithered inside my chest.
Before panic could take root, the woman returned, placing a bowl of thick dark glistening stew before me.
"Eat it while it's hot."
The soup was a deep crimson — so red it nearly gleamed black. Bits of meat and intestines floated in its blood-rich broth. The metallic scent tangled with something fishy — yet disturbingly enticing.