The night was so dark, I could hardly see my own hand. The downpour that had started in the afternoon kept pouring, as the wind blew and lightning flashed and thunder clapped. The terrible cold bit into my bones. The road was completely unlit. As I struggled along, potholes seemed to appear wherever my feet landed. There were many times when I lost my balanced and nearly fell down. The intermittent flashes of lightning were my only source of light in the otherwise total blackness. My eyes had by now grown used to taking full advantages of these bursts of brightness, first to take a quick look ahead to see where I was going, then to scan around for a decent place to take shelter. But on both sides of the road, there seemed to be nothing but rubber trees and scrub. Much as I needed the scantiest protection from this deluge, I would not want to be under any tree the next time lightning struck. And so, I pushed on, still hoping there would be some place somewhere ahead where I could spend the night out of this rain.
My hopes were finally fulfilled. In the next flash of lightning, I spied a house a short distance into the rubber plantation. A path beckoned towards it and I hurried that way. At last, a chance to keep out of this cold, I told myself with relief.I hope the occupants would be kind enough to let me in. Maybe even give me a job later. Even chopping wood or carrying water from the well ought to earn me something. I am sure they would be well disposed towards a poor beggar like me. As I neared the house, I saw that it was dark. Not a single light could be seen from the outside. Maybe the occupants are fast asleep, I said to myself. It was a typical Malay house, raised about a metre above the ground on numerous posts. I climbed the simple steps that led to the front door. It was shut. It did occur to me as I reached out to knock that perhaps I should not interrupt the occupants sleep and trouble them in the middle of a night like this. I could actually keep out of the rain under the house where, ordinarily, it should be dry enough. But then I had second thoughts. Seeing how drenched I was and considering the cold wind still howling around me, I decided it might be better to seek shelter upstairs after all.
before I could raise my hand to knock however, a gust of wind from behind blew the front door open. Creeeeeeaaaaaak... went the door as it swung in gently. I took a peek inside. no one seemed to be in. I spent some time peering around, until gradually I realized the house was in fact unoccupied, perhaps even abandoned. it had a badly leaking roof and in some places rain water was pouring inside. I mustered enough courage to enter, and noticed across the bare hall what looked like the door to a room. I went there and, yes, it was a bedroom, a decent one too, with only minor leaks here and there. Stepping inside, I decided it was as good a shelter as I could ever find. I went out to close the front door, and returned to undress. The cold was killing me. I went out of the bedroom in the nude to look for the kitchen where I hoped to light a fire to warm myself and dry my clothes. i found some firewood there and to my luck, a match box with some matches in it. Once the fire was lit, I hung my clothes to dry and sat down to warm myself.
The fire shed some light for the first time on the shape the house was in. It was quite bad. The walls were dilapidated and some windows had been torn off their hinges. Only the bedroom I picked was a little better. Still, I thought the house was just right for me to spend the night everyday after begging. It looked like it had been abandoned and it was not too bad really, all things considered. It certainly beat sleeping on the sidewalk. Talking about sleep, I was getting really tired and drowsy by now. I went back to the bedroom and found a dry part of the floor where I could lie down. i closed my eyes, and was just about to doze off when the front door creaked, just like it did earlier. Before I could get up to check on it, I heard footsteps entering the house. I kept still.
A man walked past the bedroom and went straight to the fire which I had lit in the kitchen. I rose and kept my eyes on him. Could this be the owner? I wondered. He's going to get really mad if he finds out I had had the gall to break into his house. Oh, but then again, he could be just another beggar like me, because his clothes were as tattered as mine. He was tall and thin, emaciated even, like he had been suffering from some debilitating illness. He squatted before the fire and held out his hands to warm them. His eyes were fixed on the flames, as if captivated by something in there. He looked neither right nor left, and seemed totally oblivious to the clothes I had hung by the fire. It occurred to me then that it was not right to just keep to myself and let him sit there all alone. Hesitantly, I went out of the bedroom and spoke, 'Pardon me, but I need to get my clothes, please.'
He turned to look at me, but said nothing. All he did was nod a few times in assent. He did not seem at all surprised by my appearance. I quickly grabbed my trousers, which were still wet, and put them on. His eyes returned to the fire, now dying. I added a few sticks to stoke it, and the flames were soon rising again. I sat down next to the man, to share the warmth. He still had not said a word. I noticed he had had a worse drenching than I. Water continuously streaming down his clothes and body. 'Terrible rain, isn't it?' I said, trying to start a conversation. 'Yes, it is.' I thought he was never going to speak. The voice was deep and rough, as if it had issued out of a deep canyon. 'Where did you come from, if I might ask?' He turned and, with a smile, said, 'I was caught in the rain and came here to find shelter, just like you.' 'great,' I said, 'I mean, at least I have someone for company now.'
The man took time to open up. But once he did, we chatted away like old friends. Gone was my drowsiness. We talked about all sorts of things until the subject turned to the house. 'Did you know this house is haunted?' he asked. I shook my head as I took a look around me. 'The owner used to be a rubber plantation worker. Nice guy, and very hardworking too. The manager like him so much, he promoted him twice. First he made him an overseer, and then he put him in charge of rubber sales in town. As a result, the man started spending less and less time at home,' he said to begin the story. 'Well, he had a wife, young and attractive, but not quite faithful, as it turned out. With her husband away from home much of the time, she somehow managed to start an affair with, of all persons, the manager himself. Hubby was none wiser at first, but one day, he caught the two of them in bed together. In a fit of rage, he grabbed a machete and hacked them both. To avoid discovery, he buried the bodies right here, under this very house. Then he killed himself by jumping into the well out there.
'Ever since then, the folks here said the house is haunted. People have seen a man wandering around at night, sometimes digging in the earth under the house, like the guy did when he was burying his victims bodies,' he added, ending the story. Even as I listened to him, with a fair bit of horror I must say, I could not help noticing that the man seemed to be getting no drier despite all the time we had spent on and on, wetting the whole floor. I guess I just had to open my big mouth. 'Hey, how come you're still dripping wet when I'm almost dry?' He turned and fixed his gaze at me. All of a sudden, he broke into a weird sort of cackle that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. 'Oh, I can never get dry, my friend! I can never get dry, you see!' he explained.
'Look!' and with his bare hands, he dug into the fire and scooped up two handsful of burning embers and shoved them at my face. I had no time to grab my shirt, still hanging by the fire. I had no time to think about the pitch darkness outside. I had no time to worry about the pouring rain. I just sped out of the house, and ran and ran and ran. I did not look back, did not look right nor left. I just let my feet take me where they would, until I could hear that demoniacal cry no more.
My hopes were finally fulfilled. In the next flash of lightning, I spied a house a short distance into the rubber plantation. A path beckoned towards it and I hurried that way. At last, a chance to keep out of this cold, I told myself with relief.I hope the occupants would be kind enough to let me in. Maybe even give me a job later. Even chopping wood or carrying water from the well ought to earn me something. I am sure they would be well disposed towards a poor beggar like me. As I neared the house, I saw that it was dark. Not a single light could be seen from the outside. Maybe the occupants are fast asleep, I said to myself. It was a typical Malay house, raised about a metre above the ground on numerous posts. I climbed the simple steps that led to the front door. It was shut. It did occur to me as I reached out to knock that perhaps I should not interrupt the occupants sleep and trouble them in the middle of a night like this. I could actually keep out of the rain under the house where, ordinarily, it should be dry enough. But then I had second thoughts. Seeing how drenched I was and considering the cold wind still howling around me, I decided it might be better to seek shelter upstairs after all.
before I could raise my hand to knock however, a gust of wind from behind blew the front door open. Creeeeeeaaaaaak... went the door as it swung in gently. I took a peek inside. no one seemed to be in. I spent some time peering around, until gradually I realized the house was in fact unoccupied, perhaps even abandoned. it had a badly leaking roof and in some places rain water was pouring inside. I mustered enough courage to enter, and noticed across the bare hall what looked like the door to a room. I went there and, yes, it was a bedroom, a decent one too, with only minor leaks here and there. Stepping inside, I decided it was as good a shelter as I could ever find. I went out to close the front door, and returned to undress. The cold was killing me. I went out of the bedroom in the nude to look for the kitchen where I hoped to light a fire to warm myself and dry my clothes. i found some firewood there and to my luck, a match box with some matches in it. Once the fire was lit, I hung my clothes to dry and sat down to warm myself.
The fire shed some light for the first time on the shape the house was in. It was quite bad. The walls were dilapidated and some windows had been torn off their hinges. Only the bedroom I picked was a little better. Still, I thought the house was just right for me to spend the night everyday after begging. It looked like it had been abandoned and it was not too bad really, all things considered. It certainly beat sleeping on the sidewalk. Talking about sleep, I was getting really tired and drowsy by now. I went back to the bedroom and found a dry part of the floor where I could lie down. i closed my eyes, and was just about to doze off when the front door creaked, just like it did earlier. Before I could get up to check on it, I heard footsteps entering the house. I kept still.
A man walked past the bedroom and went straight to the fire which I had lit in the kitchen. I rose and kept my eyes on him. Could this be the owner? I wondered. He's going to get really mad if he finds out I had had the gall to break into his house. Oh, but then again, he could be just another beggar like me, because his clothes were as tattered as mine. He was tall and thin, emaciated even, like he had been suffering from some debilitating illness. He squatted before the fire and held out his hands to warm them. His eyes were fixed on the flames, as if captivated by something in there. He looked neither right nor left, and seemed totally oblivious to the clothes I had hung by the fire. It occurred to me then that it was not right to just keep to myself and let him sit there all alone. Hesitantly, I went out of the bedroom and spoke, 'Pardon me, but I need to get my clothes, please.'
He turned to look at me, but said nothing. All he did was nod a few times in assent. He did not seem at all surprised by my appearance. I quickly grabbed my trousers, which were still wet, and put them on. His eyes returned to the fire, now dying. I added a few sticks to stoke it, and the flames were soon rising again. I sat down next to the man, to share the warmth. He still had not said a word. I noticed he had had a worse drenching than I. Water continuously streaming down his clothes and body. 'Terrible rain, isn't it?' I said, trying to start a conversation. 'Yes, it is.' I thought he was never going to speak. The voice was deep and rough, as if it had issued out of a deep canyon. 'Where did you come from, if I might ask?' He turned and, with a smile, said, 'I was caught in the rain and came here to find shelter, just like you.' 'great,' I said, 'I mean, at least I have someone for company now.'
The man took time to open up. But once he did, we chatted away like old friends. Gone was my drowsiness. We talked about all sorts of things until the subject turned to the house. 'Did you know this house is haunted?' he asked. I shook my head as I took a look around me. 'The owner used to be a rubber plantation worker. Nice guy, and very hardworking too. The manager like him so much, he promoted him twice. First he made him an overseer, and then he put him in charge of rubber sales in town. As a result, the man started spending less and less time at home,' he said to begin the story. 'Well, he had a wife, young and attractive, but not quite faithful, as it turned out. With her husband away from home much of the time, she somehow managed to start an affair with, of all persons, the manager himself. Hubby was none wiser at first, but one day, he caught the two of them in bed together. In a fit of rage, he grabbed a machete and hacked them both. To avoid discovery, he buried the bodies right here, under this very house. Then he killed himself by jumping into the well out there.
'Ever since then, the folks here said the house is haunted. People have seen a man wandering around at night, sometimes digging in the earth under the house, like the guy did when he was burying his victims bodies,' he added, ending the story. Even as I listened to him, with a fair bit of horror I must say, I could not help noticing that the man seemed to be getting no drier despite all the time we had spent on and on, wetting the whole floor. I guess I just had to open my big mouth. 'Hey, how come you're still dripping wet when I'm almost dry?' He turned and fixed his gaze at me. All of a sudden, he broke into a weird sort of cackle that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. 'Oh, I can never get dry, my friend! I can never get dry, you see!' he explained.
'Look!' and with his bare hands, he dug into the fire and scooped up two handsful of burning embers and shoved them at my face. I had no time to grab my shirt, still hanging by the fire. I had no time to think about the pitch darkness outside. I had no time to worry about the pouring rain. I just sped out of the house, and ran and ran and ran. I did not look back, did not look right nor left. I just let my feet take me where they would, until I could hear that demoniacal cry no more.
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