That sentence left Raka speechless.
“I’ve been here before.”
The voice from room number five sounded exactly like his own.
Jatmiko immediately pulled Raka away from the door.
“Don’t listen.”
“But that’s my voice.”
“I know.”
“How is that possible?”
Jatmiko didn’t answer.
He took a key from his pocket and locked room five from the outside. Then he slipped the key back into his pocket.
“From now on, don’t leave your room until morning.”
“Why?”
“Because nights in Karangwening don’t always pass like nights anywhere else.”
Raka eyed him suspiciously.
“You know something about 3:17.”
Jatmiko fell silent.
“The village clock stopped at that time,” Raka continued. “I saw it last night. And now the photos I found are always connected to that time too.”
Jatmiko looked at the wall clock.
Its hands showed 10:48 p.m.
“If you hear something after three…”
He stopped.
“Don’t answer.”
“Why?”
“Because something might call your name.”
Jatmiko left before Raka could ask anything else.
Raka returned to his room.
He sat on the edge of the bed and opened his laptop.
He moved every photo related to Karangwening into a single folder.
There were twenty-seven photos.
Raka examined them one by one.
Almost all of them had one thing in common.
The date recorded on them was **July 17, 1996**.
But one photo made him stop.
It showed the village road at night.
There was no Rania.
No villagers.
Only the clock tower.
Raka zoomed in on the image.
A child in a red jacket stood beneath the tower.
He zoomed in again.
The child’s face was blurred.
Raka examined the back of the photo.
There was no writing.
But when he turned the photo over several times, a faint scratch appeared in the bottom corner.
He grabbed a flashlight.
Under the light, words emerged, almost invisible.
**3:17 — DON’T LET THEM WAKE UP.**
Raka swallowed hard.
Who were “they”?
He looked at his watch.
11:57 p.m.
Time moved slowly.
1:12 a.m.
Raka still hadn’t slept.
The rain began falling again.
The sound of water pounding on the inn’s roof was like thousands of fingers knocking all at once.
He tried reading Rania’s notebook.
Several pages contained notes about the village.
**The villagers never mention the seventeen names.**
**The clock tower isn’t just a marker of time.**
**House number 17 appears when someone remembers that night.**
Raka stopped reading.
Then he turned to the next page.
**I found a door beneath the church.**
The next page contained only one sentence.
**They know Raka.**
Raka froze.
He read the sentence over and over.
How was that possible?
Rania had written it before Raka arrived.
He closed the notebook.
Suddenly, footsteps sounded outside his room.
One.
Two.
Three.
They stopped.
Then came a knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Raka didn’t move.
“Raka…”
Rania’s voice.
He bit his lip.
“Raka, open the door.”
Raka stared at the door.
“Rania?”
“Open the door.”
“Where are you?”
Silence.
Then Rania’s voice changed.
“Behind you.”
Raka spun around.
There was no one there.
His heart pounded.
A soft laugh came from outside the door.
Then footsteps moved away.
Raka looked at his watch.
2:59 a.m.
He stood up.
For some reason, his body felt as if it were waiting for something.
3:10.
The sound of the rain suddenly stopped.
3:12.
The entire village fell silent.
3:14.
Raka heard a bell from the clock tower.
**Dong.**
He counted.
One.
There was no second chime.
3:15.
The wall clock in his room began moving backward.
3:16.
The room light flickered.
Raka stood in the middle of the room.
Then, precisely at 3:17—
**Every clock stopped.**
Raka stared at his watch.
3:17.
The wall clock.
3:17.
The laptop.
3:17.
Even his phone screen showed the same numbers.
Then a sound came from outside.
It wasn’t human.
Hundreds of voices.
Whispering in unison.
“Raka…”
He approached the window.
Outside, all the villagers stood in the street.
Silent.
Motionless.
Every head was turned toward the inn.
Raka held his breath.
The house lights came on one by one.
Then every villager raised their head at the same time.
Staring at his window.
Raka backed away.
Someone knocked on his door.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Then Mr. Jatmiko’s voice came from outside.
“Raka, don’t open the door.”
Raka didn’t answer.
A few seconds later, the same voice sounded again.
But this time, it came from beneath the bed.
“Raka…”
He froze.
“Don’t believe him.”
Raka slowly looked down.
A pair of eyes was visible beneath the bed.
The eyes of a small child.
And the child smiled.
“Because Mr. Jatmiko has been dead since that night.”