The Jinn Series

The humid Malaysian air clung to me, a stark contrast to Melbourne's dry chill. Our week and a half vacation had just begun, and after the long flight, the hotel room felt like a sanctuary. My family, all six of us – Mum, Dad, my two older brothers, my younger sister, and I – were finally settled. The plan was simple: relax, explore, and enjoy the break from university and high school. I drifted off to sleep, anticipating a typical, meticulously planned family holiday.

But the next day, Dad, the most predictable man I knew, proposed something unthinkable: instead of visiting Putrajaya, we should 'see where the car takes us.' To my surprise, everyone agreed, albeit reluctantly. A strange knot formed in my stomach. I opted out, choosing the hotel's free Wi-Fi over a spontaneous wilderness adventure. I tried to shake off the uneasy feeling, telling myself it was just Dad's mid-life crisis.

Hours later, as night fell, the knot tightened. They were still not back. By 9:20 PM, a wave of panic washed over me. Then, the beep of the key card. They walked in, or rather, wobbled, as if re-learning how to move. And the smell. It hit me like a physical blow – rotting flesh and sulfur. A foul, pervasive stench that clung to them. I tried to rationalize it, the long drive, the enclosed space. But deep down, I knew this was more than just exhaustion. Something was terribly wrong.