Chapter 1
The House Was Supposed to Be Haunted
The house had a ghost, or at least that was what Reno suspected after seeing something move behind an upstairs curtain, noticing the front porch leaning as though it were trying to escape, and catching the faint smell of wet wood, dust, and something that had probably died without filing the proper paperwork. He stood in front of the two-story building with his hands on his hips, studying the peeling paint, the cracked windows, and the porch that sagged dangerously to one side. When the upstairs curtain moved again despite the complete absence of wind, Reno narrowed his eyes and said, “Cheap.” Mira, his wife, looked at him in disbelief. “That’s what you noticed?” “Of course.” “Not the creepy house?” “The house is cheap.” Their teenage son, Dimas, was sitting on top of a cardboard box labeled KITCHEN. He looked at the house, then at his father. “How cheap?” “Four hundred thousand a month.” Dimas immediately jumped off the box. “Okay. We’re definitely going to die.” Grandmother Sumi, who was sitting comfortably in a plastic chair, took a sip from her bottle of water. “Don’t be dramatic.” Dimas pointed at the house. “Grandma, the upstairs curtain just moved.” “So?” “There is no wind.” Grandma Sumi shrugged. “Maybe someone is inside.” Everyone looked at the house. Silence settled over them. Reno cleared his throat. “That’s probably the previous owner.” Dimas stared at him. “She moved out three months ago.” Reno frowned. “Then maybe she forgot something.” Mira looked at him. “Like what?” Reno thought for a moment. “Her soul?” Nobody laughed. Even Reno realized it had been a terrible joke. “Fine,” he muttered. “Let’s move the furniture.”
The family began carrying their belongings inside, and the house was even stranger from within. The living room was enormous, but the furniture was old and covered in white sheets, while a large wooden staircase led upstairs beneath walls crowded with faded photographs. Dimas stopped in front of one of them. It showed the house many years earlier, with several people standing in front of it: an old man, a woman, two children, and someone standing behind them. Dimas leaned closer. “Uh... Dad?” Reno, who was carrying a box, turned toward him. “What?” “Who’s that?” Reno looked at the photograph, and his expression changed. A tall figure stood behind the family, its body blurred and its face impossible to see. Reno stared at it for several seconds before shrugging. “Probably the photographer.” Dimas looked at him. “Why would the photographer be standing behind them?” “Maybe he had a very long camera.” “What does that even mean?” “I don’t know. Help me carry this.” Dimas sighed. “You’re going to get us killed.” “At least we’ll die in a cheap house.”
By sunset, most of their belongings had been moved inside. Mira stood in the kitchen unpacking plates, Grandma Sumi arranged her medicines, and Dimas was upstairs choosing a bedroom while Reno tried to fix a loose cabinet door. Then a heavy thump echoed through the house. Everyone froze. For a moment, the building seemed to hold its breath. A faint creak followed from somewhere above them, and then came another thump. Dimas appeared at the top of the staircase. “Did someone fall?” Mira looked at Reno. Reno looked at Grandma. Grandma looked at Dimas. “Go check,” Reno said. Dimas stared at him. “Why me?” “You’re younger.” “That’s not how family works.” Another thump shook the ceiling, followed by the sound of something scraping across the upstairs floor. Dimas slowly walked down the stairs. “Maybe it’s a rat.” Grandma Sumi shook her head. “Too heavy.” Reno grabbed a broom, Mira grabbed a frying pan, and Dimas grabbed nothing. “You guys are ridiculous,” he said as they moved toward the living room.
Nothing appeared to be out of place. The furniture was exactly where they had left it, and Reno lowered the broom with a satisfied expression. “See?” A soft groan came from behind them. Everyone turned at once. The chair near the window had moved, if only by a few inches, but it had moved. Above it, the curtain swayed gently even though the windows were closed. No one spoke. The chair creaked again and slowly turned toward them. Dimas took one step backward. Reno raised the broom, Mira tightened her grip on the frying pan, and Grandma Sumi simply walked over and pushed the chair back into place. “There,” she said before sitting down. “Problem solved.” Dimas whispered, “Grandma, it moved by itself.” Grandma took another sip of water. “So?” “So that’s a ghost.” “Then the ghost has terrible taste in furniture.” Reno nodded. “Exactly.” Dimas looked at both of them. “Why are you two like this?”
That night, the family went to bed. At exactly 1:17 a.m., the lights in the hallway turned on, but nobody noticed. At 1:23 a.m., the kitchen cabinet opened, and nobody noticed that either. At 1:31 a.m., a shadow slowly crawled across the ceiling of the living room without attracting anyone’s attention. At 1:42 a.m., something began walking up the stairs, one step at a time, each footfall followed by a long, complaining creak. The footsteps stopped outside Reno and Mira’s bedroom. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then a pale hand slowly appeared beneath the door, followed by another. Something began scratching the floor. Inside the room, Reno opened one eye and looked at the clock. It was 1:48 a.m. The scratching continued, and a faint whisper drifted through the gap beneath the door. “Reno...” His eyes widened. “Mira.” She did not answer. The whisper came again, softer this time. “Reno...” “Mira.” She grunted. “What’s wrong?” “Something knows my name.” Mira opened one eye. “Cat?” “We don’t have a cat.” “Then ignore it.” The scratching continued, followed by a slow dragging sound moving from one side of the door to the other. Reno sat up. “Mira.” “What?” “I think it’s a ghost.” She sat up as well. “Are you sure?” Another scratch scraped across the floor. Reno nodded seriously. “Pretty sure.”
The door handle began to turn, very slowly. Reno grabbed Mira’s arm. “Where are you going?” “To tell it to stop.” She opened the door, but the hallway was empty. The lights flickered once and then went still. Reno slowly stepped behind her. “See?” Mira said. A cold breath brushed the back of Reno’s neck. He froze. “Mira.” “What?” “Don’t move.” Something creaked above them. A dark shape shifted behind the curtain at the end of the hallway, and Mira narrowed her eyes. “Is that a person?” The curtain lifted despite the absence of wind. A pale hand curled around the fabric, and then something dropped from the ceiling with a heavy thud. Reno screamed. Mira screamed. The thing screamed. All three stopped at once. A small, pale face slowly appeared from behind the curtain. It belonged to a woman with long black hair, completely black eyes, and hair covering half her face. She floated several inches above the floor as the temperature in the hallway plunged. Mira stared at the ghost. The ghost stared at Mira. Reno stared at the ghost. For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Mira pointed at the ghost. “Are you the one scratching the door?” The ghost nodded. Mira frowned. “Why?” The ghost opened her mouth and released a horrible, echoing scream. Reno covered his ears, but Mira shouted back, “Don’t scream!” The ghost stopped and looked confused. Mira crossed her arms. “You woke us up.” The ghost blinked. “I was trying to scare you.” “Well, congratulations.” Mira pointed toward the clock. “You succeeded in waking us up. That’s different.” The ghost looked offended. Reno finally found his courage. “Can you do that somewhere else?” The ghost stared at him. Reno pointed toward the hallway. “We have work tomorrow.” The ghost’s mouth slowly opened. She looked at Mira, then at Reno, then at the bedroom, as though she could not understand what had just happened. Finally, she floated backward. Mira closed the door, and Reno stood silently beside her. “Did we just...” “Yes.” “We just told a ghost to leave because we have work tomorrow?” “Yes.” They went back to bed.
Outside the bedroom, the ghost remained frozen in the hallway. She had terrified people for twenty years, made grown men run from the house screaming, and once caused an entire family to abandon all their belongings and flee before sunrise. But tonight, for the first time in her afterlife, she felt insulted. She slowly floated toward the staircase, but halfway down she stopped. Another ghost stood there, a man wearing a torn white burial cloth. The pocong looked at her. She looked at him. Neither spoke. Finally, the pocong whispered, “How did it go?” The woman stared into the darkness. “They told me to be quiet.” The pocong was silent for a moment, then nodded sympathetically. “That family is dangerous.” From upstairs came Mira’s voice. “AND DON’T FORGET TO CLOSE THE FRONT DOOR!” The two ghosts looked at each other. The pocong whispered, “Run.” And for the first time in twenty years, the ghosts ran.
