The Secret of the Glass House at Danga Bay

The sun was setting over Danga Bay, turning the Johor Strait into a shimmering sheet of orange and purple. It was “lepak” time for the Trio—Haikal, the boy who could fix any broken toy; Mei Ling, who topped every math quiz; and Alwin, who never went anywhere without a sketchbook and a bag of keropok.

They were hanging out near the famous Glass House, a beautiful structure that looked like a giant diamond sitting by the water. Usually, it was a place for people to take “aesthetic” photos for social media, but today, something was different.

“Eh, look at that,” Alwin pointed, his mouth full of crackers. “Since when got that sticker on the glass?”

High up on a corner pane was a small, gold-and-black geometric pattern. It wasn’t a sticker. It was etched directly into the glass.

Mei Ling squinted. “That’s not a decoration. It’s a grid. Look, if you stand exactly here—” she pulled them to a specific floor tile “—the reflection of the streetlamp hits the etching and points to the floor.”

The light landed on a loose wooden plank near the skirting. Haikal, always ready for action, knelt down. “Don’t tell me this is like those escape rooms. My heart cannot take it, lah.”

With a soft creak, he pried the plank up. Inside wasn’t treasure or gold, but a heavy, brass cylinder.

The First Clue

Inside the cylinder was a piece of old yellow paper. It had a riddle written in neat, old-fashioned cursive:

I watch the ships but never sail, I saw the woods before the trail. Where the old pier used to stand, Touch the iron that binds the land.

“Old pier?” Alwin scratched his head. “Danga Bay is all modern now. Got malls, got theme parks. Where got old pier?”

“My Atuk,” Haikal said suddenly. “He used to be a fisherman here long before the Glass House was even a dream. He told me the old jetty was further down, near where the big trees still grow.”

They raced down the waterfront, the humid night air sticking to their shirts. They found a row of ancient, rusted iron bollards—the kind used to tie up big boats. One of them felt cold, despite the tropical heat.

Mei Ling noticed a tiny keyhole hidden under a layer of rust. “Haikal, your multi-tool!”

Haikal fished out a small screwdriver. With a bit of “adjusting” and a lot of sweat, a small compartment popped open. Inside was a tiny glass marble and a second note:

Find the place where the light plays tricks. The third window holds the bricks.

The Heart of the Glass House

“Light plays tricks… that must be the Prism Room inside the Glass House!” Mei Ling exclaimed.

They ran back. The Glass House was quiet now, the security guard, Uncle Samy, was busy scrolling through his phone at the main entrance. They slipped through the side door.

In the center of the Glass House was a room made entirely of angled mirrors. Mei Ling took the glass marble they found and placed it in a small indentation on a pedestal she noticed earlier.

“Wah, steady lah, Mei Ling!” Alwin whispered.

When the moonlight hit the marble, the light refracted, bouncing off three mirrors before hitting a specific “brick” in the wall that was actually painted wood. Haikal pushed it. A small drawer slid out.

Inside was a leather-bound diary, its cover cracked with age.

The Secret History

They huddled together under the glow of Haikal’s phone torchlight. The diary belonged to a man named Lim Boon Hock, dated 1945.

As they flipped the pages, the “modern” Danga Bay disappeared. They read about a time when this place was a thick mangrove forest and a quiet fishing village. Mr. Lim wrote about how the community—Malays, Chinese, and Indians—worked together to hide food and medicine from soldiers during the war.

“We buried the village records and the names of our ancestors beneath the roots of the Great Banyan,” the diary read. “So that when the world is bright again, the children will know they come from a place of courage.”

“The Great Banyan… that’s the huge tree near the entrance of the park!” Alwin whispered, his eyes wide. “They didn’t just leave a diary. They left a time capsule.”

The diary contained a map. The Trio realized that the Glass House was built exactly where the old village center used to be. The puzzles weren’t just games; they were “security checks” left by Mr. Lim to ensure only someone who truly cared about the place would find the truth.

The Legacy

The next morning, with the help of Uncle Samy (who turned out to be the grandson of one of the people mentioned in the diary!), they contacted the local museum.

They didn’t find gold coins, but they found something better: old photographs, coins from the 1940s, and a beautiful hand-carved sign that said “Kampung Danga.”

The Trio stood on the boardwalk, looking at the Glass House. It wasn’t just a place for selfies anymore. It was a guardian of secrets.

“Last time I thought this place was just for ‘glamour’ only,” Alwin said, munching on a fresh pack of keropok. “Now I feel like we are part of the history.”

Haikal nodded. “Better than a video game, man.”

Mei Ling smiled, looking at the diary which was now safely in a display case. “Mystery solved. But I bet there are more stories hidden in Johor. Who’s ready for the next one?”

“Wait first,” Alwin groaned. “I hungry. Let’s go find some Ramly Burger!”

And so, the protectors of Danga Bay walked off into the sunset, ready for their next adventure, but first—dinner.