Raka didn't dare move.
The pair of eyes beneath the bed was still staring at him.
The child smiled.
“Mr. Jatmiko has been dead since that night.”
Raka held his breath.
A knock sounded outside the room.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Jatmiko's voice sounded again.
“Raka, open the door.”
Raka looked toward the door, then glanced back beneath the bed.
The child was still there.
“Who are you?”
The child didn't answer.
It only raised one finger to its lips.
“Shh.”
Then the room light came on.
Raka instinctively shut his eyes.
When he opened them again, no one was beneath the bed.
The bedroom door was still closed.
The wall clock once again showed 3:18 a.m.
Raka immediately grabbed his bag.
He no longer cared about what he had just seen. He had to get out of the inn.
When he opened the door, the hallway was empty.
Jatmiko was nowhere to be seen.
There was no one at all.
Raka ran down the stairs.
The reception desk was empty.
The front door stood open.
Outside, the village was still shrouded in fog.
But something made Raka stop.
Behind the reception desk was an old photograph.
A photograph of Jatmiko.
Beneath the photograph, it said:
“Jatmiko Wibisana — 1959–1996.”
Raka felt as if the blood had stopped flowing through his veins.
He picked up the photograph.
“No…”
The man who had spoken to him the night before really had died thirty years ago.
Raka ran outside.
He walked aimlessly until he finally reached a narrow road behind Bu Sari's roadside stall.
The fog was beginning to thin.
A woman's voice drifted from the distance.
“Raka.”
He turned.
Laras stood beneath a tree.
Her hair was slightly damp with dew.
“Are you all right?”
Raka approached her.
“Mr. Jatmiko is dead.”
Laras didn't look surprised.
“I know.”
“Since 1996.”
Laras nodded.
“Why didn't you ever tell me?”
“You never asked.”
“Is everyone in this village insane?”
“No.”
“Then what are they?”
Laras stared at the empty road.
“Afraid.”
Raka let out a breath.
“Last night, I saw something beneath the bed.”
“The child in the red jacket?”
Raka fell silent.
“You know about him?”
“Everyone knows.”
“Who is he?”
Laras didn't answer.
Raka pressed her.
“Laras, I saw him in a photograph from 1996. He was there.”
“I know.”
“And he said Jatmiko was dead.”
Laras looked at him.
“Because it's true.”
Raka showed her the photograph he had brought with him.
Laras looked at it.
“Then you've met them.”
“Who?”
“The ones left behind.”
Raka furrowed his brow.
“The dead?”
Laras shook her head.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“They're the people who never managed to leave that night.”
Raka said nothing.
Laras walked over to a wooden bench.
She sat down.
“My name is Laras Wening.”
“I know.”
“No. I mean…”
Laras looked at Raka.
“My full name is Larasati Wening.”
Raka waited.
“Wening is my family name.”
“What does that have to do with the village?”
“No one uses the name Wening except my family.”
Raka remembered something.
“Hutan Wening.”
Laras nodded.
“Does your family own that forest?”
“They used to.”
“And now?”
“Now, no one truly owns it.”
“Why?”
“Because the forest changed after that night.”
Raka sat beside her.
“What happened in 1996?”
Laras closed her eyes.
“I was seven years old.”
Raka turned to her.
“You were there?”
“I was in the village when that night happened.”
“So you remember?”
Laras was silent for a long time.
“I remember some of it.”
“What do you remember?”
“The rain.”
“And then?”
“People running.”
“Where to?”
“The old church.”
Raka began to feel uneasy.
“Why?”
Laras looked at him.
“Because they were bringing seventeen children.”
Raka froze.
“Children?”
Laras nodded.
“Me included.”
Raka didn't answer right away.
“Who were those seventeen children?”
“Not all of them were children.”
“Then what were they?”
“Some of them were already dead.”
Raka stared at her.
“Laras…”
“And one of them was a little girl named Rania.”
Raka stood up.
“Rania?”
Laras nodded.
“Rania Adinata.”
“What year was she born?”
Laras looked him straight in the eye.
“1996.”
Raka fell silent.
“That's impossible.”
“Why?”
“Rania is twenty-four years old.”
Laras gave him a faint smile.
There was no happiness in it.
“Because the Rania you know…”
She stopped.
“…isn't the first Rania.”
Raka felt a throbbing in his head.
“What do you mean?”
Laras stood up.
“If you want to know who Rania really is, come to the old church tonight.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
“With whom?”
Laras looked toward the forest.
“With the person who's been looking for you all this time.”
“Who?”
Laras didn't answer.
She simply walked away.
Raka called after her.
“Laras!”
The woman stopped.
“Why are you helping me?”
Laras turned around.
For a moment, her face looked deeply sorrowful.
“Because thirty years ago…”
Her voice trembled.
“…I also called out someone's name, and they never came back.”
Then Laras left.
Raka stood alone in the road.
Behind him came the sound of small footsteps.
He turned.
The child in the red jacket stood several yards away.
This time, its face was clearly visible.
And Raka recognized it.
The child's face was Rania's face.
But before Raka could approach, the child whispered,
“Don't come to the church.”
Then it disappeared into the fog.