The following night, Andi heard his father’s voice. “Andi...” His eyes flew open. The room was dark. Only moonlight slipped through a gap in the curtains, casting a pale line across the floor. Andi didn’t move. He held his breath. “Andi...” The voice came from outside. His heart pounded. He knew that voice. There was no way he could mistake it. The deep, gentle voice that used to call him when he was little. The voice he always heard from the yard whenever his father came home from work. But his father had been dead for years. Andi swallowed. “Andi...” This time, it was clearer. Closer. As if someone were standing right outside the window. Andi got out of bed. His feet touched the cold floor. He stood there for a moment, trying to convince himself it was all just a dream. But the voice came again. “Come here.” Andi opened his bedroom door. The living room was empty. The oil lamp on the table was almost out. The shadows of the chairs and table stretched across the walls. Uncle Wirya wasn’t there. No one was. Andi walked slowly. “Come here, Andi.” The voice came from the back door. His hands began to sweat. He knew what Uncle Wirya had told him. Never answer. But that was his father’s voice. How could he ignore it? Andi stepped toward the door. One step. Two steps. Three steps. The closer he got, the clearer the voice became. “Dad’s here.” Andi stopped. His chest tightened. He hadn’t heard those words in years. A childhood memory surfaced all at once. He saw himself sitting on the porch with his father. It was pouring rain. His father had ruffled his hair and told him there was nothing to be afraid of as long as they were together. Andi almost cried. “Dad?” His hand was almost on the doorknob. Suddenly, someone grabbed his shoulder. Andi jumped. Uncle Wirya stood behind him. “Don’t.” “That’s Dad’s voice.” “No.” “But I heard him!” “That’s exactly why you mustn’t go outside.” Andi stared at his uncle. “Uncle, do you know whose voice that is?” Uncle Wirya didn’t answer. From outside came Andi’s father’s voice once more. “Wirya...” Uncle Wirya went pale. The voice changed. Now it wasn’t calling Andi. It was calling him. “Wirya...” Uncle Wirya took a step back. Andi saw his uncle’s hands begin to tremble. “Why is it calling you?” Uncle Wirya didn’t answer. “Wirya...” This time, the voice sounded closer. As if the person calling stood right behind the door. Uncle Wirya quickly covered Andi’s mouth. “Don’t answer.” Andi nodded. They stood in silence. Outside, the forest remained dark. But the voice didn’t stop. “Wirya...” Then another voice came. “Andi...” Then a third. Fainter. “Surya...” Andi looked at Uncle Wirya. The old man’s expression changed. As if that name had opened a door to memories he’d spent years trying to bury. The voices kept coming from the forest. Sometimes they sounded like Andi’s father. Sometimes like an old man. Sometimes like a woman Andi didn’t recognize. Each one called a different name. But always in the same tone. Urging them to come outside. To come closer. To answer. They stood like that for almost an hour. Andi’s legs began to ache. Uncle Wirya didn’t move at all. His hand still covered Andi’s mouth. Then the voice stopped. Just like that. No explanation. No footsteps. Not even the rustle of leaves. The forest fell silent again. Uncle Wirya didn’t let go until dawn. Morning light slowly filtered through the gap in the curtains. Andi asked at once, “Have you heard that voice before, Uncle?” Uncle Wirya nodded. “The night your father died.” Andi fell silent. “What happened that night?” Uncle Wirya walked to the window. He opened the curtain a little. “Don’t make me tell you.” “But I have to know.” “You’re not ready.” “If I don’t know, how can I face any of this?” Uncle Wirya gazed at the forest. “Because what’s out there isn’t something you can face with courage.” Andi stood beside him. “Then how?” Uncle Wirya looked at him. “By not remembering.” Andi frowned. “What do you mean?” “It feeds on names, memories, and fear.” Andi fell silent. “What is it?” Uncle Wirya shook his head. “Don’t ask.” “Why?” “Because the more you know, the more it knows about you.” Andi looked at the forest. Between the trees, he saw something. A small light. Orange. The fire appeared for a moment behind a tree trunk. Then it went out. Andi blinked. There was nothing there. But on the ground near the back door were three black marks. Like footprints. Andi stared at them. “Uncle...” Uncle Wirya looked down. His expression changed at once. He quickly grabbed a cloth and covered the marks. “Don’t look.” “Why?” “Because if you stare at the tracks for too long...” Uncle Wirya stopped. “What?” The old man looked at Andi. “Sometimes, the tracks turn around and come looking for whoever saw them.” Andi felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Morning had come. But for the first time, he realized the night wasn’t truly over. Something from the forest had found its way into their home. And now it knew exactly whose voice would most easily make Andi open the door.