At the border between Bangka and the Javanese transmigrant lands stood a forbidden forest called The Forest of Lost Souls. Anyone who ventured too deep would lose all memory of the person they loved most. But the villagers hid an even more horrifying secret: the forest did not take memories. It exchanged souls.
VOICE FROM THE HEART OF THE FOREST
Rain fell like a gray curtain as Raka set foot in Sumberwungu Village. The dirt road cutting through the rice fields had turned into black mud. The wind carried the smell of wet leaves and something else—the coppery scent of blood that had dried long ago.
He had left the village seven years ago.
And his younger brother, Bayu, had been missing without a trace for seven days.
Raka dragged his old suitcase along while staring at the row of wooden houses, which looked gloomier than he remembered. No children were playing. No radios murmured. Even the dogs that usually barked now sat silently, staring west.
Toward the forest.
The Forest of Lost Souls.
“Mas Raka?”
A woman’s voice made him turn. A woman in a gray headscarf stood beneath the porch of the village hall. Her face was pale, but her sharp eyes recognized him at once.
“Sari?”
She nodded slowly. They had been schoolmates once. Now Sari was the village midwife.
“You really came back.”
“I have to find Bayu.”
Sari fell silent for several seconds before saying softly, “If you can… don’t look for him tonight.”
Raka frowned. “What do you mean?”
Sari gazed toward the forest shrouded in mist. “Three people have already gone into The Forest of Lost Souls looking for Bayu. They came back the next morning… but they didn’t remember who Bayu was.”
Raka’s heart turned cold.
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
They walked toward the house Raka’s parents had left behind. Along the way, several villagers shut their doors when they saw them pass. One old woman even made an evil-averting sign as she whispered, “Don’t say his name after nightfall…”
“Whose name?” Raka asked.
The old woman did not answer.
Raka’s old family home stood at the edge of the village, closest to the forest. Its walls were damp, and weeds filled the yard. As soon as the door opened, dust swirled through the air, and the smell of rotting wood greeted them.
A notebook belonging to Bayu lay on the living room table.
Raka opened it immediately.
The writing on the last page made the hair on the back of his neck rise.
Don’t follow the sound of the gamelan.
Beneath that sentence were irregular scribbles, as though they had been written by a trembling hand.
If you hear your name being called from inside the forest, don’t answer.
A sudden gust blew through a window that had opened on its own.
At the same time, a faint sound drifted through the air.
Ting... ting... ting...
Like the sound of a saron being struck slowly in the distance.
Raka held his breath.
“What is that?” he whispered.
Sari, standing in the doorway, immediately went pale.
“Get inside. Now.”
The gamelan sounded again, this time more clearly. It wasn’t coming from the village, but from the direction of The Forest of Lost Souls.
Ting... Tung... ting... Tung...
Strange. The notes didn’t form a song. They sounded more like a summons.
Then, between the metallic notes, came a human voice.
“Raka…”
He froze.
The voice belonged to Bayu.
“Mas… help me…”
Raka ran outside before Sari could stop him. The rain had let up, leaving behind a thin mist creeping over the ground. In the distance, the trees of The Forest of Lost Souls looked pitch-black, like a gigantic wall.
“Bayu!” he shouted.
There was no answer.
Only the sound of the gamelan growing more distant, as if retreating deeper into the forest.
Raka stepped toward the path.
Sari’s hand clamped tightly around his arm.
“Don’t!”
“I heard him!”
“That wasn’t Bayu.”
Raka glared at her. “I know my own brother’s voice.”
Sari slowly shook her head, and for the first time, genuine fear showed on her face.
“Three days ago,” she said softly, “I also heard my mother’s voice calling from inside the forest.”
“Your mother’s still alive.”
Sari swallowed.
“That’s why I never answered her.”
The night suddenly felt colder.
Something moved beyond the trees.
A tall, thin figure stood among the mahogany trunks. Its face was hidden, but its head was tilted to one side, as if it were watching them.
Then Bayu’s voice sounded again.
This time, it came from directly behind Raka.
“Mas… why did it take you so long to come home?”
Raka spun around.
There was no one there.
When he turned back toward the forest, the tall figure was gone.
But there were now wet footprints in the muddy ground in front of his house.
The footprints did not lead toward the forest.
They came out of the forest… and stopped right in front of the house’s door.