PILOT
Liza’s POV
Rain slashed the earth like a thousand needles, the storm roaring above as if the sky itself was unravelling. My boots pounded against the pavement, water splashing with every frantic step. I clutched my sling bag over my head, shielding myself from the downpour that had come out of nowhere. I hadn’t planned to be caught in a storm.
All I wanted was a cup of coffee.
My machine had sputtered its last breath this morning, so I’d thrown on a coat and decided to walk to the café down the block. The place wasn’t far enough to justify driving. And besides, the sky had looked fine-just a few clouds lazing over a warm, golden evening. But by the time I was halfway there, the clouds had multiplied. Thickened. Darkened.
Then the sky broke open.
I fastened my pace, avoiding puddles as I walked down the uneven sidewalk, and took shelter under a rusty bus stop to save myself from getting entirely soaked. I checked my purse to see if everything inside was alright and to my good luck, everything was dry and fine. I took my phone out of my jeans pocket and checked the time. It flashed half past four.
The thunder cracked again, and I flinched.
The bus stop’s roof creaked ominously above me. If this thing flew off, I’d probably end up on the evening news as “tragically ironic English teacher crushed by shelter.”
Then came the cherry on top.
Muddy water splashed up and smacked me full in the chest by a speeding car. I gasped, arms spread, eyes wide. Before I could even catch another breath, another car followed and did the same like a sequel nobody asked for.
I could’ve yelled at them. But what if they got angry? What if they turned back? The thought alone made my stomach twist. So, I said nothing. Just stood there, like I always do.
Lightning split the sky with a jagged flash, followed by a roar of thunder that shook the ground.
I rubbed my arms in an attempt to send some warmth to my trembling body. The wind had picked up, making every drop feel like a sharp needle against my skin. I looked around, hoping to find someone but there was not a single soul. My heartbeat quickened. If someone tried to grab me now, no one would hear my screams over the storm.
No, Liza. Think positive.
I hugged my arms tighter around myself, forcing slow, shallow breaths to calm the rising panic. That’s when I noticed an old stool tucked beside the faded advertisement-half hidden, half forgotten. I shuffled over and sank onto it, grateful for the brief relief. But then, just as quickly as it had appeared, that relief was gone.
The stool snapped under my weight with a sickening crack, sending me tumbling backward, hard onto the cold, wet concrete. Pain exploded in my back, and I groaned in pure irritation.
“God, why always me?” I said to the storm.
I stood up very grudgingly, cursing the universe for always being mean to me but as I turned around my eyes fell upon a book nestled behind the bus advertisement, catching the faint light filtering through the rain. The book seemed to defy the very elements, its sleek grey and silver cover gleaming under the dim light that barely pierced through the downpour.
Compelled by an irresistible force, I reached for it, my hand trembling slightly as I lifted it from its resting place. The cover felt cool, almost otherworldly, in my grasp. Not a single drop of rain marred its surface-it was untouched, impossibly dry, and perfectly preserved as if the storm had never dared to lay a finger on it.
I inspected it closely. The title, “Arcane Flame,” adorned the cover, yet there was no author or publishing information to be found. No ISBN, no blurb-nothing to hint at its contents. I flipped the pages and realized, it was a story. A novel.
For some reason, I couldn’t help but wish to keep it.
Without another thought, I tucked it carefully into my purse and smiled. I felt a strange sense of satisfaction as if the universe had aligned just right to bring this book into my hands.
Eventually, the rain softened to a steady drizzle, no longer deafening, just persistent. I stepped out from the shelter, pulling my damp hoodie tighter, and made my way back to school to get the car.
Home greeted me the way it always did-with silence and stillness, like a room holding its breath. I dropped my bag on the table and headed straight to the bathroom for a hot shower.
Rain has a way of clinging to you, soaking not just your clothes but your skin and mood. My damp clothes clung stubbornly to my body, and it took nearly ten minutes to peel them off. Another ten minutes under steaming water before the chill finally began to leave my bones.
When I stepped out of the shower, the storm had picked up again. Rain lashed the windows, and thunder rolled through the hallway like a distant growl in a horror film.
I slipped into comfy silk clothes and my flip-flops, wrapped a shawl around my shoulders, and padded out into the kitchen-cold, hungry, and still shivering.
My hands were trembling slightly as I filled a pot with water, salted it, and dropped the chicken wings in to boil. The hiss of the stove and the clatter of utensils filled the silence. Next, I set some water to boil for herbal tea. No way I was letting this turn into a full-blown cold.
I checked the time on my phone-6:30.
Time runs fast
When my dinner was ready, I impatiently settled onto the sofa and sliced a bite and shoved it in my mouth. As soon as the juicy chicken met my taste buds, I moaned in delight. Its simple pleasure was enough to momentarily overshadow the day’s frustrations.
I opened Netflix on my TV and queued up an episode of “The Big Bang Theory,” my perennial favourite. Despite having seen every episode, the show never failed to entertain.
Midway through the episode, a nagging realization tugged at my consciousness. I still had a mountain of test papers from last week’s exams awaiting my attention. Though every cell of my being yearned for the solace of sleep, I couldn’t afford to neglect them any longer.
Finishing my meal, I went to my bedroom, settled into my desk and began the arduous task of grading papers. The clock ticked past eleven by the time I finally completed the last one, a yawn escaping my lips. I methodically organized the papers, tucking them away in a drawer before allowing myself the luxury of finally surrendering to sleep’s embrace.
But then, the sound of water droplets dancing echoed through the house, drawing my attention away from the stack of papers. Following the sound, I discovered a troubling sight-a leak in the roof.
My eyes widened, “Oh my god!”
Water pooled on the floor, inching its way toward my furniture, its path illuminated by the dim light filtering through the rain-soaked windows.
I hastily rearranging the furniture to protect it from the encroaching water. Then, I located the source of the leak and positioned a basket beneath it to catch the relentless drip. Armed with a mop, I set about cleaning the sodden floor, the rhythmic drip of water a disconcerting backdrop to my efforts.
Knowing full well that the relentless sound of water dripping nearby would keep me wide awake if I stayed, I went downstairs to sleep. Even though I have twenty rooms in this house, I’ve never used them. I never needed to. This place, a grand and imposing estate, was gifted to me by my grandmother on my 16th birthday.
It’s an enormous mansion, almost too big for someone like me, complete with a personal garden and a swimming pool large enough to host a party for the entire town. None of my neighbours can boast of anything close to this. From my windows, I get the best view in town-an unbroken panorama that stretches far beyond the town limits.
This house has stood here since the first war, its walls holding secrets and stories I may never uncover. If I ever decided to sell it, I could easily fetch billions. But it’s not just a house-it’s a legacy, a gift from the only person who truly loved me. No matter how much I might want to sometimes, I could never bring myself to part with it. It’s not just the money; it’s the connection to my past, to her, that makes it impossible to let go.
I lay down on my couch, hoping to drift off to sleep, but couldn’t. Restless, I sat up and glanced around the room, my gaze eventually landing on my purse. A flicker of recollection stirred within me-the novel I’d found earlier was still tucked inside.
How about I read a book?
I retrieved it, flipped open the pages and began to read, instantly drawn into the world it revealed. The story begins with a wealthy man, Adrian Scott, burdened by his father’s towering expectations, yet determined to rebel, to disappoint with his unconventional choices. It wasn’t what I expected, but something was captivating about it, something that resonated with me in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
I kept reading, lost in the unfolding plot. Adrian’s life seemed so vivid, especially his favourite car-a sleek white Porsche, with the unique number plate “0000,” that always captured my attention.
Then, she appeared: the female lead. There was something about her-her quiet beauty, the way she moved through the world with grace-that drew Adrian in. And, oddly, I felt a sharp pang of jealousy. It wasn’t just about her; it was the kind of love they shared. The kind I longed for, yet thought was unattainable in my own life.
Adrian, though, didn’t seem fully invested in her at first. He was unsure, distant, almost like he didn’t believe in her love for him. But despite his hesitation, he was set on marrying her. He thought she was the only one who truly understood him-the one who could see past his flaws and quiet demons.
In their love, I saw what I’d always hoped for-someone who didn’t need perfection, but instead, saw you for who you truly were, and still chose to love you. Something about that love felt real, the kind that could survive despite everything else. I couldn’t help but wish for a love like that.
I turned the next page and the lights went out. It distracted me but didn’t surprise me. Power outages are a very common occurrence during heavy rain in this place.
I stood up, turned on my phone’s torch and looked for the candles in the kitchen. After I found one, I lit it and placed it on my table. The only place which had some light was my couch, the rest of the house was covered in dark shadow. If someone else was here, he’d have run out but because I’ve lived here for years, this house doesn’t scare me at all. However, I do sometimes end up thinking of getting murdered and no one getting to know about it because of my antisocial nature. I have no one who’d care about me if I go missing. One day, I’ll die and nobody will even shed a tear for me. But the big question is, who’d kill me?
Well, when the thief finds nothing here but dirt and spider webs, he definitely would.
I shook my head, trying to clear my mind, and headed to the kitchen to get something to eat. I grabbed an apple and sliced it into pieces, the simple act grounding me in reality. Returning to the couch, I settled back down, putting the plate on the table next to me as I continued to read.
As I delved deeper into the story, the protagonist’s character became increasingly complex, almost unsettling. One moment, he was charming and playful, the kind of person who could light up a room with just a smile. But in the blink of an eye, his mood would shift-he’d turn cold, rude, and arrogant, pushing everyone away. At times, he seemed so full of life, as if nothing could bring him down. But then, without warning, darkness would seep into his words, revealing a desperate need for light, for something-anything-that could pull him out of the shadows.
“I have to read more to understand him better,” I muttered to myself, flipping eagerly to the next page. Outside, the weather raged on, thunder reverberating through the house while lightning illuminated the hallway in jagged flashes. Yet, it didn’t bother me at all. It’s not new to me. I’ve seen worse weather here.
I reached for another slice of apple without tearing my eyes away from the book-but instead of the fruit, my fingers grazed the blade of the knife. A sharp sting shot through me. I hissed and jerked my hand back. Blood welled up on my fingertip, a thin crimson line smearing the edge of the page.
Oh shit!
I scoffed at the sight of blood-tiny crimson droplets speckled across the candle and the table. Annoyed, I rushed to the kitchen, wrapped a bandage around my finger, and grabbed a cloth to clean up the mess. But before I could, my attention was drawn back to the book. It was gleaming, the moonlight coming through the window casting a pale glow over it.
A strange unease settled over me as I noticed something off-the cover page now bore cryptic sentences, symbols that didn’t resemble any language I recognized. My brow furrowed in confusion and curiosity, a strange mix of intrigue and unease pulling me back into the book’s enigmatic grip.
I picked it in my hand, bringing it closer to the candle light. The words on the page were dark, almost ominous: It couldn’t understand what language it was but for some reason, I was able to read it.
“À tout ce qui est noir, je demande le pouvoir de faire revivre ce qui n’existe pas.”
The moment the words left my lips, an eerie silence fell over the room, heavy and suffocating. I swallowed hard, my instincts screaming at me to put the book down and step away.
But before I could act, a sudden gust of wind roared through the room, snuffing out the candle and knocking me off my feet. Every window in the house flew open, the curtains whipping violently in the stormy wind that had seemingly come from nowhere.
“Okay, that’s new,” I murmured, my heart pounding as I tried to make sense of this.
The room fell silent just as quickly as the chaos began. My hands trembled as I placed the book on the table and hurried to close all the windows, locking them securely one by one. The air still felt charged, as if the house itself was holding its breath. Once I was certain everything was secure, I grabbed a match and struck it against the side of the box, the flame hissing to life. Just as I leaned toward the candle, the room blinked awake with light. The power was back. I let out a shaky sigh and blew out the match, its smoky trail curling like a whisper toward the ceiling.
That’s when I glanced at the wall clock.
3:12 a.m.
My stomach twisted. “Oh my God, I need to sleep.”
I turned, ready to collapse onto the sofa-but stopped mid-stride.
Clang.
The sound came from the kitchen. Sharp. Metallic.
I froze.
Another sound-quieter this time. Like the slow drag of something across the counter.
My breath hitched. Every nerve in my body tensed. The cold air that rushed past me felt wrong, like it had no business being indoors. My mind raced-maybe the wind knocked something over... maybe a rat... maybe...
I grabbed the baseball bat that I keep beside the couch for moments like this, “Who’s there?” I called out with courage.
Silence.
My throat tightened as I forced myself to take small, cautious steps toward the kitchen, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.
“I know karate!” I shouted, my voice wavering as I raised the bat, mentally preparing myself for whatever horror might be lurking. Though, deep down, I knew I wouldn’t last a minute against anything truly threatening. My grip on the bat tightened as I finally stepped into the kitchen, expecting the worst.
Instead, a mouse darted across the floor, scurrying away from a toppled box of chips. Relief flooded through me, and I let out a shaky breath, lowering the bat. I set it on the counter and quickly picked up the chips box, returning it to the cupboard. My heart began to steady, the tension easing from my muscles.
“You scared the shit out of me little mouse,” I turned around only to froze on my spot, my blood running cold. A man stood there, watching me with calm, steady... green eyes.
I gulped, every hair on my body rose.
“Who are you?” he asked gently, the calmness in his voice only amplifying my terror.
Taking a deep breath, I screamed at the top of my lungs.
“Stop screaming,” he exclaimed, covering his ears.
Ignoring his plea, I screamed even louder and bolted. Fear propelled me as I leapt onto the four-foot kitchen counter in one fluid motion. I never knew I could jump that high-apparently, the fear of death can make you do anything.
He pursued me relentlessly as I dashed through the house, my mind racing with panic. I had never experienced anything like this before, I didn’t know what to do to handle this situation.
He grabbed my arm and yanked me to him, “You need to stop running and listen to me,” He growled, his jaw clenched.
I screamed again and pushed him away with all my strength, freeing myself. Panicked, I raced upstairs, my breath ragged, when suddenly, I felt a sharp tug on my leg. My eyes widened and heart stopped. Before I could take another breath, he had pulled me down hard. A rush of dread flooding my senses as he hovered over me, caging me between his hand. In that terrifying moment, I could almost see my life flash before my eyes, imagining all the horrific ways he might use to end it. But even as fear tightened its grip, a fierce determination burned within me-I wasn’t going down without a fight.
I screamed, cried, the sound raw and desperate, as I hit him with all my strength. My hands flailed wildly, pushing and clawing at him, trying to drive him away. Every instinct screamed at me to fight, to do whatever it took to protect myself. In the chaos, my movements were frantic, driven by sheer terror.
“You need to stop hitting me, woman!”
Desperation twisted my words into a frantic plea. “You’re in the wrong place, sir. I have nothing to give you. I’m broke. Really. You’ll regret killing me. I’m broke. I’m very poor. Please, just leave me alone! I’ll move out, I swear, I’ll never come back to this town. Just leave me!”
His confusion was palpable as he looked at me, brows furrowed. “What? I’m not here to kill you or rob you. You’ve summoned me. Now, it’s your responsibility to send me back!”
I stared at him, my mind reeling, trying to comprehend his words. Summoned him? What was he talking about? I couldn’t even form a response, just blinking at him in stunned silence.
“I’m Adrian Scott,” he said, his voice firm. “And I want you to send me back.”
Unable to make sense of the situation, I acted purely on instinct. My hand groped frantically in the darkness until it grasped something solid. Without a second thought, I swung it with all my might and hit him on his head. The impact was immediate-a dull thud as the intruder crumpled to the ground, knocked out cold. My chest heaving as I stared at my hand in disbelief. The object I had used as a weapon was nothing more than a sandal-an utterly bizarre choice, but it had been enough to protect myself in the chaos of the moment.
“Psycho,” I breathed out.
