Andi did not move.
His body was rigid in the doorway. His breath caught in his throat, while his eyes remained fixed on something standing far away among the trees.
The floating fire was still drifting slowly.
Its light was orange, moving up and down as if it were breathing. Nothing was making it burn. There was no wood, oil, or wick.
Something stood behind it.
At first, Andi thought it was just a tree trunk.
But then the trunk moved.
Very slowly.
Andi held his breath.
It was almost as tall as the young trees around the forest entrance. Its body was black, but not black like clothing or the night.
Darker.
As if the light around it were being swallowed by its body.
Andi could not see a face.
There were no eyes.
No nose.
No mouth.
Only a large head without any clear shape.
The figure stood slightly hunched, as if watching the house from a distance. There was no sound of breathing. No sound of footsteps.
Yet Andi knew something was watching him.
He wanted to close the door.
But his body could not move.
Then the figure raised its hand.
Andi stepped back.
The hand was long.
Far too long.
Its fingers dangled like dead branches. Some of them even seemed close to touching the ground despite its arm being raised.
Andi felt his throat go dry.
The fire drifted closer to him.
The orange light floated in front of the black figure, as if it were serving as eyes for something that had none.
Then a voice could be heard.
Not a voice from the forest.
Not the sound of wind.
It was more like a whisper made by many people speaking at once.
Andi could not understand the words.
The figure took a step.
One step.
The ground beneath it made no sound.
A second step.
The trees around it seemed to shift away.
Andi blinked.
Everything vanished.
There was only the forest.
Dark.
Silent.
The fire had disappeared.
The black figure was nowhere to be seen.
Andi was still standing there, frozen, when he heard footsteps behind him.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
He turned around quickly.
Uncle Wirya stood on the porch.
His face looked older than it had a few hours earlier. His hair was disheveled, his jacket damp with dew, and his left hand held a trembling flashlight.
“What did you see?”
Andi pointed toward the forest.
“That…”
Uncle Wirya did not look in the direction Andi was pointing.
Instead, he hurried toward the door.
“We’re going inside.”
“But, Uncle—”
“Inside!”
Andi obeyed.
Uncle Wirya immediately shut the door and locked it. Then he fastened the wooden bar that had hardly ever been used.
Andi stared at him in confusion.
“You know?”
Uncle Wirya said nothing.
“You saw the shadow?” he asked at last.
Andi looked at him.
“You know?”
Uncle Wirya locked the door again.
“Starting tonight, don’t open any door.”
“Who was that?”
“Not important.”
“It was in the forest!”
“That’s exactly why.”
Andi grew even more confused.
“Who is it?”
Uncle Wirya stared at the floor.
For a long time.
Then he said,
“Don’t call it anything.”
“Why?”
“Because something without a name must not be given one.”
Andi fell silent.
He did not understand what his uncle meant.
“Then what do we call it?”
Uncle Wirya shook his head.
“Don’t.”
“But, Uncle…”
“If you name something that should never be called, sometimes it will hear you.”
Andi felt cold creep from his back to the nape of his neck.
“Was that what took Darto?”
Uncle Wirya did not answer.
That answer was enough.
Andi stared at his uncle’s face.
“You’ve seen it before?”
Uncle Wirya sighed.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“A long time ago.”
“Where?”
Uncle Wirya looked at the window covered by curtains.
“In the same place.”
Andi followed his gaze.
“Repo Hutan?”
Uncle Wirya nodded.
“How many people have gone missing?”
Uncle Wirya fell silent.
The question made the atmosphere even heavier.
“I don’t know.”
Andi knew his uncle was lying.
Uncle Wirya knew something.
Something that had been deliberately hidden from the entire village all this time.
That night, Uncle Wirya sat in the chair beside the door until morning.
His hand gripped an old knife.
The knife looked different from his other belongings. Its handle was black and covered in scratches, while its blade was stained with brownish marks that could not be cleaned off.
Andi watched him from his room.
“Uncle.”
“Hm?”
“What’s that knife for?”
Uncle Wirya looked at the object in his hand.
“For protection.”
“Against what?”
The old man did not answer.
Andi lay down, but he did not sleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the black figure among the trees again.
The hand that was far too long.
Fingers like branches.
And the orange fire floating in front of it.
Near dawn, Andi heard his uncle talking to himself.
His voice was very quiet.
“Don’t come back…”
Andi opened his eyes.
Uncle Wirya was still sitting in his chair.
“Not this time…”
Then the old man lowered his head.
Andi watched him in silence.
For the first time, he saw genuine fear on his uncle’s face.
Not fear of something that might come.
But fear of something that had come before.
Something people had believed was gone for years.
Yet that night, Andi began to understand one thing.
Darto might not have been the first person to disappear.
And the fire might not have been looking for someone new.
Maybe…
it was finishing something it had started many years ago.