Darto’s house was empty.
Since his body had been found by the river, no one dared live there anymore. His wife and their two children had gone to stay with her family in the neighboring village for the time being.
The house stood alone at the edge of the village.
Its door was closed.
Its windows were dark.
The front yard was covered in dry leaves that no one ever swept away.
People had started calling it the empty house.
But to Andi, the house held something no one had found yet.
That afternoon, while most of the villagers were at work, Andi came by secretly.
He made sure no one saw him before opening the side door, which turned out to be unlocked.
As soon as he stepped inside, the smell of a long-closed house greeted him.
The smell of damp wood.
The smell of clothes.
And a faint aroma of coffee.
Andi stopped.
Nothing had changed.
The clothes still hung where they were.
The shoes were still by the door.
Even the coffee cup was still on the table.
The coffee had dried up, leaving a brownish stain at the bottom of the ceramic cup.
As if Darto had only stepped out for a moment and would be back soon.
Andi stood in the middle of the living room.
The silence in the house felt strange.
Not like a house that had been abandoned.
More like a house waiting for its owner to come home.
He walked toward the bedroom.
Darto’s bed was still unmade.
A jacket hung behind the door.
On the small table lay a knife, a lighter, and several pieces of rope.
Andi opened a drawer.
Nothing.
He opened the second drawer.
A few old papers.
Then he noticed the wall.
Andi stopped.
There was a symbol on it.
A circle with three lines resembling tongues of flame.
The symbol had been drawn over and over.
Dozens of times.
Some were small.
Some were large.
Some had been drawn in charcoal.
Others looked as if they’d been scratched in with a sharp object.
Some had even been carved so deeply that the wood had splintered away.
Andi moved closer.
He touched one of them.
Cold.
Suddenly, he remembered the palm of Darto’s hand.
The same symbol.
Andi pulled his hand away.
“Why did you draw this?”
There was no answer.
He began searching more carefully.
Under the bed was a small wooden box.
Inside were several of Darto’s belongings.
A family photo.
An old letter.
And a notebook.
Andi picked it up.
Its cover had faded with age.
He opened to the first page.
Notes about work.
Amounts of wood.
Buyers’ names.
Debts.
Ordinary things.
But as he got closer to the last page, Darto’s handwriting changed.
His sentences grew short.
Disjointed.
Some were only one or two words long.
The light again.
By the river.
A voice from underground.
Andi turned the page.
Don’t follow the fire.
The next page.
It knows my name.
Andi swallowed hard.
Then he reached the last page.
There was only one sentence.
The fire didn’t come from the forest.
Andi fell silent.
He read it again.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The fire didn’t come from the forest.
The sentence sent his thoughts spinning.
If the fire didn’t come from the forest, where did it come from?
Andi opened the previous page.
There was no answer.
He checked the back of the notebook.
Then he found something.
A page had been torn out.
The ragged edge was still visible.
Andi ran a finger along the edge of the paper.
Only a few words remained.
It came from below.
Andi froze.
From below?
Underground?
Beneath the river?
Or something hidden beneath Repo Hutan?
He slipped the notebook into his jacket.
Before leaving, Andi looked at the wall again.
The symbols suddenly seemed different.
Not like drawings made by someone who was afraid.
More like warning signs.
Maybe Darto hadn’t been worshipping something.
Maybe he’d been trying to warn someone.
Andi left the house.
But before he closed the door, he heard a sound from inside the bedroom.
Knock.
He stopped.
Turned around.
There was nothing there.
Knock.
This time, it came from the wall.
Andi stared at the house.
Then he left without looking back.
That night, Andi opened Surya’s book.
He waited until Uncle Wirya was asleep.
The oil lamp burned dimly on the table.
The book lay open to the last page he’d read.
Andi turned a few pages.
Surya’s handwriting was getting harder to read.
Many passages had been deliberately crossed out.
Some pages even looked as if they’d been torn before.
Then he found the same symbol.
A circle.
Three lines like flames.
But this time, there was a longer line of writing beneath the symbol.
Andi read slowly.
Never let it see your blood.
Andi frowned.
Why blood?
He read the next sentence.
Blood is the way home.
Andi held his breath.
The next page.
If it smells your blood, it will know you.
Andi quickly closed the book.
But his curiosity soon compelled him to open it again.
Beneath the writing was a map-like drawing.
A line for the river.
Several trees.
And a large circle in the middle of the forest.
Beside the circle was the word:
SOURCE.
Andi realized something.
The river where Darto’s body had been found was right near that spot.
Then he remembered Darto’s words.
It came from below.
Andi stood up.
If the notes were right, maybe the source of the fire wasn’t in the middle of the forest.
Maybe something was underground.
Something that had been buried for decades.
Something Surya and four others had found in 1987.
Andi was just about to put the book away when he heard a sound outside.
Crack.
He turned toward the window.
Darkness.
Then an orange dot appeared in the distance.
Fire.
Andi stared at it.
The fire wasn’t moving toward the house.
Nor was it going into the forest.
Instead, it slowly descended.
Lower and lower.
Until it finally disappeared beneath the ground.
Andi stood frozen.
Now he knew.
Darto was right.
The fire didn’t come from the forest.
It came from below.
And something beneath Repo Hutan had just awakened.