The factory was a beast of iron and smoke during the day—noisy, bustling, filled with workers shouting over the grind of machines. But at night, it turned into something else entirely. Silent. Cold. Empty. Or so it should have been.
It was Reyzal's first night working security at the Berkat Steel Processing Plant, located at the edge of an old industrial estate in Selangor. The area was infamous for two things: its rusting, outdated buildings—and the rumors of people vanishing without a trace. But to Reyzal, it was just a job. A paycheck.
"Just patrol once every hour. Log your rounds in the security book. If anything unusual happens, radio it in. That's it."
That was what Pak Salleh, the old supervisor, had told him. "But whatever happens, don't go near the old furnace room. It's been sealed for a reason."
Reyzal had laughed at that part. "Why? Haunted?"
Pak Salleh's wrinkled face didn't crack a smile. He just looked at him, eyes serious and cold. "Just follow orders, boy."
That was two hours ago. Now Reyzal sat alone in the security booth, surrounded by monitors showing dim hallways and silent workshops. The flickering fluorescent lights overhead buzzed like insects. He sipped lukewarm coffee from a dented thermos, staring blankly at the screen that showed the rear corridor.
A shape moved.
He sat up. "What the...?"
He rewound the footage. It was quick—barely visible—but something white and blurry had passed by camera 9, near the locker room. A mistake? Glitch? He switched the screen to live view. Nothing there. Just stillness.
He chuckled nervously. "Relax, Reyzal. Probably dust or a moth."
At 1:00 AM, he began his first patrol. The metal halls echoed with each step of his boots. The entire place smelled of oil and iron, mixed with something else—something old. The deeper he went into the factory, the more it felt like the walls were listening. Watching.
His flashlight passed over machinery long since cooled. Conveyor belts still and unmoving. A rat skittered past, making him jump.
He checked the workshop area, punched in on the timeclock, and made his way toward the locker room—the same place he saw the movement earlier. The air here felt heavier. Colder.
As he opened the locker room door, the sound of something falling made him freeze. A metallic clang echoed from inside.
"Hello?" he called out, stepping in slowly.
Rows of grey lockers lined the walls, some dented and rusting. One of the doors creaked slowly, like it had been nudged. He walked toward it, sweat forming on his neck despite the cold. He reached out and opened it.
Empty.
Just an old, folded uniform inside and a nametag: "Roslan".
Suddenly, the lights above flickered and buzzed violently. Then—they went out.
Complete darkness.
His heart pounded. He flicked on his flashlight and swung it around. The beam caught a smudge on the mirror above the sink. He walked closer, raising the light.
Words were scrawled in something red:
"Don't trust what you see."
He stumbled back, dropping the flashlight. It clattered to the ground, spinning wildly until its beam caught something in the corner—
A pale face, peering from behind the locker door.
Reyzal screamed.
When he blinked, it was gone.
His flashlight steadied. The room was empty again.
He ran.
Back to the security booth, lungs burning. He slammed the door shut and locked it, breathing hard.
The radios crackled.
"Reyzal... Reyzal... can you hear me?"
It was Pak Salleh's voice.
Reyzal fumbled to grab the radio. "Yes! I'm here!"
A pause.
"I told you not to go near the locker room, didn't I?"
The voice didn't sound normal. It sounded... off. Slower. Echoing.
Reyzal's hands trembled. "What's going on here?! I saw something! There was... someone in there!"
Static.
Then laughter. Not from Pak Salleh—but a woman's laugh, soft and cruel.
The monitors flickered. Camera 4—showing the corridor near the old furnace room—lit up. The sealed door was open.
Reyzal stared at it.
"That's not possible…"