Raka had just gotten off his motorcycle when he heard the sound.
Creak... creak...
He stopped in front of the house's gate and glanced toward the living room. From outside, the windows of Grandma Ida's house still looked dark. The porch light was on, but the inside of the house seemed uninhabited.
Creak... creak...
The sound of wood rubbing together came again.
Raka furrowed his brow.
"Maybe Grandma Ida's still awake."
He slowly opened the gate, then pushed open the front door, which turned out to be unlocked.
"Assalamu alaikum, Grandma?"
There was no answer.
Raka stepped inside with the backpack that had been hanging from his shoulder all this time. The house still looked the same as he remembered from childhood. The walls were cream-colored, a wooden cabinet stood beside the television, and a small table covered with family photos sat next to the window.
But one thing immediately caught his attention.
An old rocking chair.
It stood in the living room, directly beneath a dim light.
The chair was moving slowly.
Forward.
Back.
Forward.
Back.
Raka stood frozen.
"Grandma?"
The chair stopped.
The room suddenly fell silent.
Raka swallowed. He tried to come up with the most reasonable explanation. Maybe the chair had just been pushed by the wind. The floor could be slanted. Or maybe a cat had bumped into it earlier.
He stepped closer.
"A cat?"
Suddenly, a bedroom door slammed.
Bang!
Raka turned immediately.
"Grandma Ida?"
An elderly woman appeared from behind the bedroom door, her white hair partly covered by a thin shawl. Her face looked tired, but her eyes were still sharp.
"Raka?"
"Yes, Grandma."
"You're here now?"
Raka scratched his head.
"You told me to come home."
"I told you to come home tomorrow."
"Well, I figured I might as well come tonight."
Grandma Ida sighed.
"Put your things in the front bedroom."
Raka nodded. But before he moved, his eyes turned back toward the rocking chair.
"Grandma..."
"What?"
"What's wrong with that chair?"
Grandma Ida's expression changed immediately.
"What chair?"
Raka pointed.
"That one."
Grandma Ida glanced at it, then hurried over to the chair. Her hand immediately gripped its backrest.
"Don't touch it."
Raka fell silent.
"I didn't touch it."
"Good."
"Grandma, the chair was moving by itself earlier."
Grandma Ida stared at him.
"The wind."
"But the windows are closed."
"Don't ask so many questions."
Grandma Ida's tone made Raka decide to keep quiet.
He picked up his bag and headed toward the bedroom. But after only a few steps, the sound of the chair came again.
Creak... creak...
Raka stopped.
Grandma Ida went still too.
Creak... creak...
This time, the sound was clearer.
Raka slowly turned around.
The chair was rocking again.
Even though Grandma Ida was still standing beside it.
"Grandma..."
"Go to your room."
"But—"
"Raka!"
Raka immediately clamped his mouth shut.
"Yes."
He hurried away.
In the bedroom, Raka set his bag on the bed. He still couldn't stop thinking about the chair. He had often seen it in Grandma Ida's house since he was little. But back then, the chair had always been kept in the corner of the room and was almost never used.
Raka still remembered what his father had told him before he left.
"Once you get to Grandma Ida's house, don't wear your grandma out."
That was all.
There had been no story about the chair.
No strange warning.
No explanation for why he had to come home so suddenly.
Raka sat on the bed and opened his phone.
A message from Bimo popped up.
"You there yet?"
Raka typed back quickly.
"Yeah."
"Your grandma doing okay?"
"Seems healthy."
"Seems?"
Raka paused for a moment.
He wanted to tell Bimo about the chair, but in the end, he only wrote,
"I'll tell you tomorrow."
Bimo replied immediately.
"Don't leave me hanging."
Raka smiled faintly.
"It's nothing important."
Before he could put his phone in his pocket, he heard a sound from outside the bedroom.
Creak... creak...
Raka froze.
The chair.
He stared at the bedroom door.
Creak... creak...
This time, it sounded quieter.
Raka stood up.
Curiosity overcame his fear.
He opened the door a crack.
The hallway was empty.
The living room light was still on.
Raka peeked through the gap in the door.
The chair was rocking by itself.
There was no one near it.
Raka opened the door wider.
"Grandma?"
There was no answer.
He walked slowly toward the living room.
The closer he got, the louder the sound of wood became.
Creak...
Creak...
Raka stood about six feet from the chair.
"If someone's there, just come out."
The chair kept moving.
Raka laughed nervously.
"I know there's got to be an explanation for this."
Suddenly, the chair stopped.
Raka frowned.
Then he heard a woman's voice behind him.
"Raka..."
He spun around.
Grandma Ida stood at the end of the hallway.
"Why are you out here?"
"I heard a sound."
"Go back to your room."
"Grandma, someone just called my name."
Grandma Ida looked pale.
"There's no one here."
"I heard a woman's voice."
"Go back to your room. Now."
"But—"
"Raka!"
Raka finally obeyed.
As he walked past Grandma Ida, he caught a glimpse of the old woman's trembling hands.
"Are you afraid of that chair, Grandma?"
Grandma Ida's steps stopped.
For several seconds, she didn't answer.
Then she said quietly,
"That chair is what you should be afraid of."
Raka turned around.
Grandma Ida had already started walking toward the living room.
"Why?"
Grandma Ida didn't answer.
She stood in front of the chair, then stroked its backrest as if she were touching something precious.
"It's been so long," she murmured.
Raka watched from a distance.
"What's been so long?"
Grandma Ida shook her head.
"Nothing."
Raka sighed, then went back to his room.
But that night, he didn't fall asleep right away.
Around eleven, the sound of a motorcycle stopping in front of the house woke him.
Raka got up and opened the window.
A man in a black jacket got off the motorcycle.
He stood in front of the gate for quite a while.
Raka didn't recognize him.
The man stared at Grandma Ida's house.
Then his eyes turned directly toward Raka's bedroom window.
Raka instinctively ducked.
His heart began beating faster.
A few moments later, he peeked out again.
The man was gone.
The motorcycle had disappeared too.
Raka closed the window.
"Who was that?"
He lay back down.
Before he could close his eyes, he heard a sound from the living room.
Creak...
Creak...
Creak...
Raka pulled the blanket up to his chest.
The sound continued.
Then it suddenly stopped.
Silence.
A few seconds later, he heard something fall.
Thud!
Raka sat up immediately.
He gathered his courage and left the bedroom.
The living room was empty.
But the rocking chair had changed places.
Now it was sitting directly in front of Grandma Ida's bedroom.
And on its seat lay a small red object.
Raka picked it up.
A bracelet.
On the inside of the bracelet was a name, almost faded away.
SARI.
Raka stared at the letters for a long time.
From inside her room, Grandma Ida's voice came faintly.
"Don't..."
Raka turned around.
Grandma Ida's bedroom door was slightly open.
"Grandma?"
There was no answer.
He moved closer.
"Grandma, who does this belong to?"
Grandma Ida's voice came again.
This time, it was clearer.
"Don't say that name."
Raka tightened his grip on the red bracelet.
"Why?"
Grandma Ida slowly opened the door.
Her eyes were brimming with tears.
"Because the person who owned that bracelet died thirty years ago."
Raka fell silent.
Behind him, the rocking chair began moving again.
Creak...
Creak...
And for the first time that night, Raka realized that the sound wasn't coming from old wood moving in the wind.
Something was waiting in that house.