Our baggage holds surprises. – Michelle Liew.
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Mr Goh moved into the old boarding house in Kong AIk road without much fanfare, quiet man that he was. The impeccably dressed accountant always had his trusty briefcase with him; though a little worn, its leather sheen never dulled, and it was always at his side, as if it contained something indispensable. He was just a stranger, a face in the crowd.
Then, strange disappearances. Mysterious coincidences—until they weren’t anymore.
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Coincidences they were, but they didn’t get past Detective MIra Chong. Her trained instincts spotted them the minute she got Mr. Goh for a quiet sit-down.
He was polite. Too polished. As if he had rehearsed every word.
“Detective,” he cautioned with a practiced look of smugness. “Some people aren’t meant to be found.”
“What do you mean?” She sat back in her chair, tilted her head, and caught his eye. He simply placed his briefcase on the table . When it snapped open, it was absolutely–
Different.
She expected documents. But instead saw–movement.
She staggered back, breath hitching.
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Inside the briefcase were….faces. Eyes blinking, mouths frozen mid-scream. Features distorted, as if pressed against glass.
“You see, Miss,” Mr. Goh murmured, smug and assured, “I don’t kill them. I collect them.”
Seasoned detective though she was, bile burned her throat. She swallowed hard, keeping the nausea down. These were the people who had vanished. Their souls—stored.
She reached for her gun. Old Man Goh sighed, eyeing her too calmly.
“Careful, Miss Chong.” His smile was too knowing. “You don’t want to be with them–too.”
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Mira pulled the trigger. The briefcase moved, though Mr. Goh remained stoic. He merely chuckled, seeing the bullet hole in it seal itself.
“It doesn’t work like that, ” he fixed her with a condescending gaze. “Didn’t you know?” You can’t kill the dead.”
He opened the case with a flick of his fingers and tilted it towards her. The faces shrieked. Mira felt a tug. Pain razed her skull. Something was pulling her very essence, dragging her towards the case.
The briefcase wasn’t Mr. Goh’s storage box. It was a doorway. And it was STARVING.
Her fingers slackened, and her gun drifted to the floor. Her vision doubled. Her body gave way. She stepped back, but it no longer listened to her.
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No.
She gritted her teeth and banged the table with all the energy she could muster. The sharp sting in her head kept her grounded, keeping her soul anchored in her body, where it was meant to be.
“You’re stronger than most women,” Mr. Goh’s eyes glimmered with faint surprise. He quickly masked it with a sinister grin, his voice dripping with both admiration and something—-dark. “But you’re too late.”
Mira returned his grin—with a diabolical snicker. “You’re not the only one who collects, you know.”
She stood tall, eyes locked on his. She reached for the torn rucksack slung across her shoulder. Inside, pairs of eyes. They flicked about constantly, searching for an exit.
Mr. Goh’s grin faltered. And he knew.
This story is entirely original. Any AI tags are coincidental. It 500 words between the quote and disclaimer.
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