Chapter 9 — Three People Disappear
After Darto, three more people disappeared. One by one. Without a trace. Without a sound. Without a body.
The first was named Maman. He was a farmer who lived at the edge of the village, not far from the road leading to Repo Hutan. Maman was known as a man who was rarely afraid of anything. He often said that stories about floating fire were nothing but tales meant to scare children.
Three days after Darto’s death, Maman went to his fields before sunrise. He never came back. His family waited until evening. When night fell, several villagers went to search the fields. They found Maman’s hoe lying on the ground. No body. No blood. No signs of a struggle. There was only a thin black line on the trunk of a tree near his fields. The line formed a circle with three branches. The same symbol.
The villagers began to grow afraid. But before they could understand what had happened, a second person disappeared. His name was Sutris. He was a young man who hauled produce from the fields. Sutris disappeared while walking home along a narrow road on the edge of Repo Hutan. A villager saw him at around six in the evening. Sutris was still alive. He even stopped to say hello. “Getting late, Ris. Head home.” Sutris just laughed. “In a minute.”
That was the last time anyone saw him. The next morning, Sutris’s sandals were found in the middle of the road. The two sandals were neatly arranged. Too neatly for someone who had vanished without warning. There was a patch of wet earth nearby. As if something heavy had stood there.
The third was Jaya. He disappeared on Friday night. Unlike Maman and Sutris, Jaya hadn’t gone into the forest. He was at home. His wife was cooking when the oil lamp suddenly went out. When she lit it again, Jaya was gone. The door was still locked from the inside. The windows were closed. There was no way anyone could have gotten out without being noticed. But Jaya was still gone.
All that remained was a black stain on the living room floor. And on the wall near the door, someone had written something in what looked like charcoal. I HEAR IT.
From then on, the village that had once been lively began to change. Doors were shut before sunset. Children were forbidden from playing outside. People stopped sitting on their porches at night. No one dared gather firewood from Repo Hutan anymore. Even the call to prayer and the livestock bells that had once been part of village life now sounded like the only signs that people still lived there.
Every night, the houses’ lights came on earlier. Any sound from the forest woke the villagers. Some families began leaving to stay with relatives in other villages. But some remained. They had nowhere else to go.
Andi watched all these changes. He began writing down the victims’ names. In a small notebook he always kept beneath his pillow, he wrote: Darto. Maman. Sutris. Jaya.
He added the dates they had disappeared. The last places where they’d been seen. And the strange things found after they vanished.
Then Andi wrote one big question in the middle of the page. What did they have in common?
He began searching for answers. Darto had seen the fire. Maman had seen it too. Sutris had once told a friend he’d seen an orange glow at the edge of the forest. As for Jaya, according to his wife, in the days before he disappeared he often woke in the middle of the night because he heard someone calling his name.
They all had one thing in common. They had seen the fire.
Andi stared at his notes. Then he added another name. Father.
He fell silent. His father had seen the fire too. In 1987. The year everything began.
Andi’s hands began to grow cold. What if the victims hadn’t been chosen at random? What if something connected them? And what if the next person had already been chosen?
When Andi told Uncle Wirya about it, his uncle only said, “Don’t look for a pattern.” Andi looked at him. “Why?” “Because if you find the pattern, you’ll become part of it.” “How?” Uncle Wirya didn’t answer. Andi stepped closer. “Did Darto die because he saw the fire?” “Don’t.” “Maman too?” “Stop.” “Sutris?” Uncle Wirya gave him a sharp look. “That’s enough, Andi.” Andi clenched his fists. “Am I going to die too?”
Uncle Wirya didn’t answer. His silence was more frightening than any answer could have been.
Andi stared at his uncle’s face. For a few seconds, he hoped Uncle Wirya would deny it. Say it was all just a coincidence. Say he was safe. But Uncle Wirya only bowed his head.
Andi understood. The answer might be yes.
That night, Andi made a decision. He would find out for himself.
He waited until Uncle Wirya was asleep. Then he opened his notebook. He wrote down everything he knew.
1987 — forest fire. Surya — found a black stone. Fire — appeared without fuel. Shadow — had no face. Darto — died after seeing the fire. Maman — disappeared. Sutris — disappeared. Jaya — disappeared.
Beneath it all, he wrote one question. What happened to the five men in 1987?
Andi remembered the photo in the attic. Five men stood at the edge of the forest. But Surya’s notes said only four people came out. Which meant one person had never come home.
Andi took the photo out again. He studied the five faces. Uncle Wirya. His father. Surya. And two other men he didn’t recognize.
Then he noticed the black shadow behind them.
Andi suddenly realized something. The shadow wasn’t standing behind the five men. It was standing among them. As if it were part of the group.
Andi turned the photo over. On the back, it said: First day. The five of us went in. Last day. Only four of us came back.
Beneath the writing was a sentence he hadn’t noticed before. The fifth man didn’t disappear.
Andi held his breath. The next sentence was written in much darker ink. He became the Fire Keeper.
Andi’s hands trembled. From outside the room came the sound of a branch snapping. Crack.
He turned toward the window. There was no wind.
Then a voice whispered from the other side of the glass. “Andi...”
He froze. The voice sounded very close. Then it changed. This time, it was his father’s voice. “Don’t look for me.”
Andi stared at the window, holding his breath. And for the first time, he began to wonder: If his father was really dead... who had just spoken to him?