Mira stepped off the ferry onto the pristine dock of Forest City, her suitcase wheels clicking against the polished concrete. The gleaming skyscrapers before her matched the brochure images perfectly built as a means of housing 700,000, but something was amiss. The air hung heavy with silence.
The ferry slipped away with little fanfare making its return journey to Singapore. The tiny populous nation would have been visible across the bay on a clear day, but today hung heavy with fog making the silence of this place and the foreboding sense of dread that much heavier. She’d been the only passenger to disembark with nothing to greet her but the few birds chirping somewhere in the distance.
She followed her map from the dock along the pristine sidewalks that looked like they’d never been walked on. Not a single car passed on the four lane road separated down the center by a generous median. Yet the landscaping was perfectly trimmed leaving evidence that someone or something had been present in the not too distant past.
As she approached her condo building, unease crept up her spine. Much like everywhere else in Forest City she’d experienced so far, no bustling crowds, no construction noise—just emptiness. The lobby's automatic doors slid open with a hiss, revealing a reception desk that was covered in a fine layer of dust. The appearance of life ended with the landscaping.
Heart pounding, Mira took the elevator to her floor. The hallway stretched before her, a sea of identical doors. She found her unit and hesitated before inserting the key. Inside, everything was immaculate, untouched. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, she saw countless other towers but as the sun faded from the horizon, only the empty streets below became illuminated. The towers were dark and lifeless.
As night fell quickly, Mira paced her condo debating her next move and realizing coming here might have been a mistake. How soon could she make it back to Singapore? Would she survive the night if she dared to turn out the lights shining from the only illuminated window in a city of shadows? A soft tapping sound from the balcony made her freeze. Slowly, she approached the glass door and peered out.
There, bathed in moonlight, stood rows upon rows of people. Silent. Motionless. All facing her building. Their eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light.
As Mira's scream caught in her throat, she noticed something impossible—only their faces could be seen as if none of them actually possessed a body below the chin. And among them, in the front row, she saw a face she recognized from old family photos.
Her great-grandmother, who had disappeared in Malaysia decades ago, smiled and beckoned.
“Cut, cut cut. Mira! There should be no noise coming from you when you scream.” She rolled her eyes before turning around and feigning appreciation for the great director himself. A few years ago she would have given anything to work with him but now, she just wished he'd disappear.
He approached her as the lights came on and placed his arms on her shoulders forcing her to look him in the eye.
“Mira, my dear.” As if that made things better. “I hand-picked you for this role because I know you’re perfect for it. I need you to remember all the pointers I’ve given you over these last few weeks so we can wrap this up and be done with this place. The locals are starting to get a bit -- how shall I put it, antsy.”
“They’re not the only ones.”
“Hmm?”
She didn’t mean to say that out loud. Besides, he rarely wanted to hear what she had to say.
“Nothing. I’d like to wrap it up too Kenneth.” The sooner the better.
“That’s my girl.” As he swatted her on the bum with his rolled up script.
Barf. But she didn’t actually. She smiled, took a deep breath and said she could take it from the scream.
She knew the pressure he was feeling to finish the production. The Forest City development that continued to sit empty had been a stark reminder of worsening political tensions in the region. It was also why, thanks to Kenneth Grandin’s so-called masterful mind, he’d wanted to do a suspense film on site guaranteeing a bit of a windfall for the Johor government after receiving a nice lump sum in production fees plus an uptick in tourism once the movie was released of people wanting to come and see the empty city for themselves.
But the film would never be finished. Once the lights were lowered and Mira, once again, tried to get the "scream of no sound" right for the fifth take in a row, Kenneth Grandin stepped out into the hallway of Tower 7 and was never seen or heard from again. Mira got her wish. And no director was dumb or brave enough to pick up where he’d left off.
And the uptick in tourism did come. People wanting to see the place where Kenneth Grandin's film failed; where he disappeared without a trace. So, one could say, Johor and the masterminds of this empty city got exactly what they wanted too.