The Skulls Of Kuala Banat

This story happened about fifty years ago when a close friend of mine, Martin Haliday, was a District Officer in the East Coast of Malaya. Obsessed with the mystery surrounding a place called Kuala Banat, Martin had embarked on a plan to open a settlement there. He succeeded  after much effort to get official approval, but ran into problems when he tried to attract settlers. Villagers from around the area, aware of the mysterious character of the place, and superstitious as always, refused to uproot themselves for such a venture. The government finally had to transplant about thirty Malay families from the Kuala Terengganu area to establish the first Kuala Banat village. Then something terrible happened. Days after it was opened, a team of government officials visited the new settlement, and made a shocking discovery. It seemed as if a plague had overrun it. Bodies lay all over the place, children, men, women, even poultry and livestock. None carried any injuries, but every single one of them had the look of terror, wide open eyes, open mouths, bodies contorted as if cowering in the face of a monstrosity. They were taken to town for investigations, but to this day, no one could shed any light on the cause of their deaths. All the doctors could say was it was probably some unknown contagion. martin himself, who was found unconscious, never recovered. He was brought back for treatment, but went from bad to worst and finally succumbed to his condition. When questioned about Kuala Banat before he passed away, he become incoherent and could not explain clearly what had happened.

I was the last person to see Martin. He sent for me just before he died and I rushed right away to his place where he was being treated. It was in the late evening then. He was lying on an old metal bed, his eyes shut. The only visible sign of life in him was the rapid pumping of his chest for he was panting like he had just had a hard run. The table beside him was completely covered by medicine bottles and a cold plate of dinner. The house was quiet except for the distant calls of owls and insects. As I pulled a chair to his side, Martin opened his eyes weakly and stared at the ceiling for some time before slowly turning to me. He smiled a pathetic smile and, his voice choking, spoke to me. 'I have to tell you what happened. I must, or I'll have no peace in my grave. I must tell you everything about Kuala Banat, from beginning to the end. But before I do, swear to God's name that you will not let anyone open another settlement or live in Kuala Banat, ever. Please, swear now, before I go.'

Well, I did as he told me to, just to humor him. He smiled that smile again and, almost whispering, said, 'I'm not mad, you know! I'm sane like you, but everyone says I'm mad. You can see I'm not, can't you? But there's no point trying to convince them. They'll never believe  you anyway.' He paused to catch his breath, and then gestured to an old book by his side. 'I know what I'm saying, I know what I'm writing. Here's my diary. It has everything you'll need to know about Kuala Banat. And everything it says is true. I'm not lying, and I'm not crazy. Please believe me.'

I nodded, just to make him feel better. Moments later, he closed his eyes, and slept. Forever. I took on the task of packing up Martin's belongings and clearing them from the house, mostly to be shipped to his family, some to be disposed off. I kept only the diary, for I wanted badly to know what really happened in Kuala Banat.

One thing Martin Haliday loved to do in his spare time was going fishing with the local Malay fisherman. On those jaunts at sea, he was just like any of them, spending days at a stretch, working their lines, their nets and their traps, being grilled by the hot sun by day and chilled by cold winds and dew by night. He thoroughly enjoyed their company and would rather toil with them than sit in the comfort of his office. He found it an exhilarating experience just to drift in the open sea as dawn broke over an uninterrupted horizon. It was this favorite pastime of his that led Martin to discover the mystery of Kuala Banat. He was then with his usual band of fishermen from Kuala Pulai, on a long journey back from their favorite fishing grounds. It was early dawn and, seated in the middle of the boat, Martin could not help but be struck by the sparkling stars dotting the sky that was turning light with the first rays of the rising sun. The party had by then found themselves becalmed by lack of wind and had to resort to rowing . They soon became exhausted and, with still a long way to go before reaching home, they decided to stop over at Kuala Banat. The sun was up by the time they beached there and everyone alighted from the boat to erect temporary shelters, as they were going to spend the day there. After breakfast, they lay down for a good rest.

When Martin awoke, the sun was well on its way down to the west. Some of the boatmen were preparing dinner while others were bringing down their shelters for soon they would be resuming their journey home. Martin went down to a stream to bathe. Then, deciding he had some time to kill, he slung his rifle over his shoulder and went off to explore the forest. As he went in, he noticed flocks of birds, of various sizes and colors, flying about and creating a racket as they scrambled and jostled for a perch to spend the night. Rambling further inland, he suddenly found himself in a clearing. It was a surprise to him to find this bald space in the thick of the jungle, where every inch of the ground was otherwise covered by vegetation. It was as if the jungle had decided to avoid it. As he stepped into the clearing, Martin was struck by the concrete like hardness of the ground. he looked around, intrigued, and something caught his attention. Something almost concealed by the lush undergrowth at the edge of the clearing. he went up for a closer look. At that very moment, the noisy birds abruptly became silent, as if sensing danger. Martin noticed that and wondered why, but went ahead anyway.

He discovered among the undergrowth, the ruins of an ancient stone wall. As he probed further in the scrub, he found pieces of broken masonry, some big, some small, with features that reminded him of European buildings of the medieval era. It soon dawned upon him that he must be standing on the ruins of a fortress of some kind. Questions then came in a deluge. Masonry? Fortress? In this part of the world? The natives here used wood in their grandest of buildings, so it must have been foreigners who built this. But who? What were they doing building a fortress in this place? And what made them abandon it? He sat down to reflect on the puzzle, searching his own knowledge of the history of Malaya for some clues. but nothing seemed to help. Dusk came but, deep in his thoughts over the mystery, Martin took no notice. If not for the persistent shouts of the men on the beach, he would have remained at the clearing right through nightfall. Jolted out of reverie, he got up and hurried back. But even as he did, he resolved to return one day to probe further into the mystery of the ruins.

As he sailed home that evening, Martin could not get Kuala Banat out of his mind. He asked everyone in the boat, but not one of them seemed to know anything, or seemed prepared to say anything about it. Their attitude strengthened his resolve to dig into the mystery. There must be a story behind it, something extraordinary, for these guys seemed so reluctant to say more than a few words about what they knew. Back home, Martin wasted no time digging into the background of the area. He started spending all his leisure hours in the library at his office, reading up on the history of Malaya, seeking any scrap of information he could glean about Kuala Banat. As a result, he no longer found the time to join the folks of Kuala Pulai on their fishing trips. this change in his behaviour was quickly noticed by the folks. It aroused the particular concern of one man, Pawang Mat Yasin, the village shaman.

Martin's interest in Kuala Banat had turned into an obsession. The mysterious place had so enchanted him that all he wanted to do in his life was to be among the ruins, to live there, and to work there. That was how he came up with plans to open the settlement. The idea was, with the place inhabited, he could live there and be where he really loved to be. He wrote to his superiors and, after months of hard work, finally obtained official approval. Elated, Martin gathered the villagers of Kuala Pulai to announce the plan. He tried to entice them to settle there, telling them what a blessed land it was and what abundance it offered. He described to them the exciting ideas he had for the settlement. he told them many wonderful things about Kuala Banat, but to his disappointment, they refused to resettle. The folks simply would not hear about moving there. Undeterred, Martin got in touch with his superiors again, and sometime later, a government boat arrived at Kuala Pulai with thirty families from Kuala Terengganu, to found the new settlement of Kuala Banat.

Martin received them with obvious delight and quickly arranged for thirty native prahus to transport them there. but the folks of Kuala Pulai simply watched as the settlers prepared for their journey, saying nothing to stop or encourage them. On the eve of their departure, Pawang Mat Yassin called on martin. He wanted him to abandon the plan. As expected, martin would not have it. It would be unthinkable to call off the plan now, after so much had been done to get it going. Kuala Banat was, after all, such a lovely place to live and make one's living. Indeed, Martin thought it odd that anyone should try to discourage him from going. He found it even more puzzling when Pawang Mat Yassin became insistent, and talked of some 'great peril' that Martin and his people would suffer should they proceed with the plan. Martin responded with assurances that all necessary precautions would be taken and that he would personally see to it that no danger would come to his people. In fact, he invited the shaman to join them. 'I'd rather be cut into pieces than step foot in that cursed place. It's full of evil,' replied Pawang Mat Yassin, looking very anxious. But when Martin dismissed his fears as pure superstition, the shaman, his anxiety replaced by indignation, immediately agreed to join him just so that martin could see for himself that he was telling the truth. All he asked was the freedom to return to Kuala Pulai anytime he wanted.

Early the next morning, martin and his party of settlers set off for Kuala Banat. Pawang mat Yassin, sharing the same boat with Martin, lodged himself in the aft and immediately started chanting quietly all the prayers for safety he could think of. Occasionally martin would catch him shuddering in fear, but he simply ignored him and pretended no tot notice. The sun had almost set when Martin's party made it to the waters off Kuala Banat, so the settlers decided to spend the night in their boats and to land the next morning. But already that evening, Kuala Banat was seeing the change that was coming its way as dozens of lanterns and the drone of human voices turned the sea alive. The moon shone bright under a pristine sky. The Kuala Banat beach looked invitingly pure. Beyond the beach, the leaves on the trees glimmered under the moonlight to contrast with the dark, solid profile of the mountains in the background. martin told himself it was a scene like he had never seen before. he wondered how his ruined fortress would look in the golden moonlight. It must be fabulous. He felt a sense of elation because God had now granted his wishes. He could imagine what a great place Kuala Banat would be once his people had settled down.

Next morning, Martin and his men were up with the sun to get their stuff unloaded and taken to the shore and to start clearing the land where they were to build their new houses. Tasks were allocated among themselves, some to cut trees, some to level the ground, others to fish and yet others to prepare the meals. But one man stood out in the midst of this hubbub. He was none other than Pawang Mat Yassin, who, for the best part of the day, remained stuck to his place in the boat. It took a lot of persuasion by Martin before he finally agreed to step ashore, and even then that ominous look never left his face. 'We have not really settled down, sir,' he warned. 'We've not seen this venture through. So, don't start celebrating yet.' 'Well, we've landed and we've spent the whole day on the beach, haven't we?' countered Martin. 'Yes, but spending the night at sea,' the old man replied. 'No, no, Sir. I think we should just abandon this idea and return home.' 'Come on, Pawang, don't talk nonsense. It's not that simple, you know,' said Martin, getting a little exasperated. Then, seeing how earnest and sincere the old shaman was, he felt a little uneasy. Why is this old man so persistent? Does he know something about the place that no one else does?

On the third day, Martin joined some of the men on a tree cutting foray into the woods, and unwittingly led them to the site of the ruins. He had been visiting the place quite frequently ever since the party arrived in Kuala Banat, but none of the other men had ever been there before. They were clearing the undergrowth around the base of a tall tree they were going to fell, close to the site, when they stumbled upon three human skulls. The men were terrified, but Martin picked up the skulls and carefully examined them. The largest had a fracture, presumably having been bashed by a heavy object. From its size and features, Martin could guess that it belonged to a Caucasian. The smallest obviously belonged to a child while the one in between was quite possibly an adult female. Martin brought the skulls to the open space, where he dug a hole and buried them. As he did, he wondered who the trio could be, how they came to be in the country and how they were connected to the ruins.

That night, as the moon rose and bathed Kuala Banat in its light, Martin lay restlessly in the boat. Try as he might, he could not close his eyes to sleep, and lay bobbing in a sea of thoughts over the mystery of the ruins and the skulls. Finally, he got up and looked out across the water to the shore, and remembered his wish to see the ruins in moonlight. Quietly, he put on his shoes and got off the boat, now tied to the jetty which the folks had just completed. He strode down the jetty to the shore, where he quickly followed the trail leading to the ruins. All the time, he was sure he was alone. What a shock he had when he reached the clearing, and suddenly heard the growl of a dog behind him. He turned around, and was relieved to see it was none other than his own dog. Somehow, it had managed to follow him all the way there without him noticing it. The dog seemed to be attracted to something at the spot where the skulls were buried. Martin could see that as its eyes were fixed there. But then, something happened and, its fierce mien was instantly replaced by a look of terror. the dog then turned on its tail and fled along the track back to the beach, whining all the way. martin gave a whistle to summon it back but it never returned. he wondered if it was a snake or some beast that had terrified the dog, but saw nothing there. Martin felt a sense of alarm building up inside him, heightened by the absolute silence about him. He looked around uneasily, sensing something watching his every movement and waiting for the right moment to pounce on him. He sniffed the air for the scent of wild animals, but there was only the aroma of leaves damp with the night's dew in his nostrils.

Then something caught his eyes, something at the spot where he had buried the three skulls, something that stood out under the bright moonlight. He bent down for a closer look, and was shocked to find it was none other than the skulls! They were back on the ground, arranged in a row just like when he had first discovered them. His heart went racing and blood surged through his body. Who could have dug up the grave and removed the skulls? There was no one in the area other than the settlers, and he knew none of them would dare touch the skulls. It could not have been wild animals either, considering how neatly they had been arranged. In any case, what would any animal want with some old, abandoned skulls long bleached by the elements? Indeed, when he looked around, he could not find any tracks to indicate the presence of any animal or humans before him. martin notice the odd way the skulls looked. Their jaws hung like they were grinning at him. And something deep within those hollow eye sockets, seemed to be staring at him. They seemed to be waiting for him to do something he knew not what for them. For the first time since he set foot among the ruins, Martin was really scared. He felt like fleeing back to the boat, but every muscle and joint in his body seemed to have seized. He stood facing the skulls, unable to move an inch as though he had been nailed to the ground. He could not take his eyes off those hollow eye sockets. Then he felt a strange sensation building up inside him. His soul was rising, leaving his body and flying towards the skulls! What happened next was a complete blank to him.


When he came next morning, he was back in the boat, and everything was a haze. He could not be sure if he had gone through what he had gone through. It felt like a dreamy experience to him. He could not even be sure he had left his bed and the boat until he saw the shoes still on his feet. Seeking to reassure himself, he hurried ashore, back to the ruins. he found the three skulls just as he thought he had seen them neatly arranged on the ground, at the exact spot where they had earlier been buried. Horrified, he retraced his footstep back to the boat, trying to recall along the way what happened the other night. Everything seemed real enough from the time he stepped ashore until the time he discovered the skulls back on the ground. But beyond that point, it was all a strange dream to him. He recalled seeing himself or was it himself? standing on the beach, looking out across the ocean. He recalled crossing himself. He recalled mouthing a string of words in a language he could not understand. He recalled feeling despondent, and scanning the horizon in a vain search for sign to bring back a ray of hope. He recalled making his way, in despair, back to the fortress in the jungle.

It was an odd feeling. He remembered doing all this, and yet it was not him. It was as if someone else had taken his body, making him do these things he could not comprehend. He recalled how surprised he was then he saw the fortress, It was solid and strong, a far cry from the ruined fortress he knew. Within its fortifications stood a house. Smoke billowed from its chimney. He was a complete stranger to all this. Yet to that other self within him, it was a familiar scene. Suddenly, he felt alarmed. He rushed to the house and burst inside. No one was around. Frantic, he called out names he had never heard of. He dashed into a dark room. As he looked around in bewilderment, something tugged at his feet. He bent down to find out what it was, and touched a form drenched in some slimy substance. He grope around, found an oil lamp, lit it and shone it on the floor. To his horror, it was a woman and a child, both European, dressed in the style of a bygone era. They lay motionless in a pool of blood. He threw himself beside them and broke down, anguished. He rose, gritting his teeth, and silently swore he would avenge their deaths.

He went out of the house and strode under the moonlight, cursing and swearing in that strange language again. As he did so, he noticed from the corner of his eye something flashing behind him. Before he could even turn to look, a violent blow landed on his head. That was the last thing he remembered before he was jolted out of sleep. What was really happening to him? Could Pawang Mat Yassin be right after all? Could there really be something evil in Kuala Banat? His dream struck him as a kind of possession. Had it to do with some supernatural presence there? But why him? Was it because he had been showing too much interest in the place? Had he disturbed something he should not have? 

What if Pawang Mat Yassin was also right about the peril awaiting the settlers? It was a terrifying prospect indeed. But what could he do now? he would be in for a lot of trouble if he told the settlers to go back and abandon Kuala Banat. By this time, the settlers had complete their houses and other structures for the new settlement, and began moving ashore. In the afternoon, as Martin sat watching the sunset with troubles in his mind, Pawang Mat Yassin came along and joined him. For several minuets, he just sat quietly beside him, staring at the sea. Then he spoke. 'I guess you must be getting the feeling now, don't you, that something terrible is going to happen here? Am I right? I know because I've been watching you. Please take my advice, Sir. Abandon this place. There's still time for us to save our skins. Come on, let's get out of here, right now. My boat is just over there.' 'Abandon the place? What about these folks?' 'Let them carry on as they are,' Pawang Mat Yassin replied, his eyes still fixed at some point far away at sea. 'We can't possibly take them all back now. You'll get into a lot of trouble if we did. Let them stay. That way, both of us can go!' 'No. I can't do that. But, why don't you go, Pawang? You, of all persons, should go. You would not have been in this mess if not for me, so go on. Save yourself.' Really, Martin wished he could just flee. But he knew he could not.

'Come on, Sir. Come with me, please, while there's still a chance,' pressed Pawang Mat Yassin. Then, finally revealing the cause of his concern, he exclaimed, 'Look over there! Do you see that?' and grabbing Martin by the arm, he pointed with a trembling right hand in the direction of the sea, at what he had been watching all this time. Martin could feel the surge of blood through his body when he saw it. Way out in the ocean, in between a pair of islets close to the horizon, a sailing ship was heading for Kuala Banat. It was no ordinary sailing ship. In form and design, it belonged to an European era of five hundred years ago! And astonishingly, it was speeding their way, against the wind! 'What kind of ship is that?' asked Martin. 'Looks like a junk.' Even as he said that, it was clear to him that there was something very wrong about that vessel.

'It's a demon ship, Sir. My God! That vessel's full of evil, and it's coming our way. Please, Sir, you've got to listen to me. Let's get out of this place while we still have the chance. Come with me to my boat!' pressed an anxious Pawang Mat Yassin. But it was clear to the shaman that Martin was not going to quit Kuala Banat, or abandon his folks, for anything. Finally giving up, he released his grip on Martin's arm and unsheathed his kris. In the sand at his feet, Pawang Mat Yassin quickly drew a human figure with the dagger. 'Here. This is a talisman. If you really must stay, please use it. make sure you lie down inside the figure before the ship reaches the shore. It will be just enough to protect you from peril, by the Grace of Allah. But if there is any doubt in your mind that you can survive this, for your own sake, get out of here.' And with those words, Pawang Mat Yassin dashed for his boat, got in and rowed furiously away. 

Martin spent some time, standing motionlessly on the beach, watching Pawang Mat Yassin and his boat fade into the distance. Then he shifted his eyes, first to the fast approaching ship, then to the talisman Pawang Mat Yassin had drawn for him in the sand. The last thing he saw before the sun set, plunging Kuala Banat into darkness, was his dog. It was looking up at the sky and howling like it had never howled before. 

The rest of the story was told by a government official who was among those who visited Kuala Banat and discovered the deaths. 'I'll never forget that morning in Kuala Banat,' he said as he began the story. 'We went there by a government launch, arriving just before noon. From the distance we could already see the grisly scene awaiting us. Everything was still, except for the howling of a dog somewhere. My boatmen, all Malays, did not hide their sense of terror. I went ashore and, my God, it was like a battle scene. The whole place was littered with dead bodies. Men, women, children, young and old, even livestock and poultry! Everyone of them sprawled face down on the earth, hands and feet jerked behind them, like they were trying to flee from something when death struck. Their eyes were open wide, and their mouths looked like they had been screaming in terror. 'It was a really shocking sight. We had to dig a huge grave to bury them, and that was only after I'd spent a long time persuading the men to do it. They were so terrified they dared not step out of the boat. And then I found Martin. He was sprawled on the ground just like the others, except that, he lay within a human figure drawn in the sand. The dog, who was beside him, kept on howling. Martin was unconscious, and no wonder too. He had been lying in the heat of day without his clothes. He behaved like a madman when he came to.

'We rushed him back for treatment and had some of the dead bodies removed for medical investigations. But, no clue was found as to what could have caused their deaths. All the doctors could say was that it was probably some unknown contagion.' What really happened to the Kuala Banat settlers? What caused their deaths? what about that mysterious sailing ship? To this day, no one has the answers.

The Guardian

Soon after the lines securing her to the wharf were cast into the water, SS Kepong, with rumbling engines sending tremors through its hull, makes its laborious departure from the port of Kuching. As if to bid farewell to the few port workers standing along the wharf, the ship sounds its thunderous horns three times before turning its bow towards the ocean, the ocean that will take us to Singapore three days from now. Abdul Rahman and I, captivated from the start by the white waters churned by the propellers  now turn our eyes to catch a final view of Kuching. Dusk was falling as the ship left the harbor and the lights now coming on in several houses on shore make the town glitter in the thickening darkness. Abdul Rahman turns to me, and smiles the first smile to appear on his face in two weeks. 'Thankd God, we made it, Dol. Safe at last from that Thing. My God! What a horrible experience! I can never stop grieving for our friends, especially Professor Morrison. he never had a chance, did he?'

That Thing, the cause of this tragedy we have just gone through, is a hand. Just a hand. But what a hand it was! Severed from the mummified corpse of a Dayak warrior , seemingly breathed with a life of its own and driven by a demoniacal thirst for revenge, it had been hunting us down for the best part of the past two weeks. It chased us through the jungles of Borneo all the way to town, sending us fleeing like mad, disoriented men, with little to eat and little to sleep. By then, it had already brought two of our colleagues to violent death, and driven another mad, to wander in the middle of the vast Bornean jungle. We are to be its final victims.  'You're right, Man,' I reply, 'we are lucky to escape. But...' I did not finish the sentence. I have been having this disturbing feeling that our troubles are not really over. Something tells me we are never going to escape that demon hand, even if we ran to the end of the world. Just last night, back in Kuching, that hand had tried to get into my hotel room while I was asleep. It even knocked gently when it could not open the door. When I awoke, I thought that it was Abdul Rahman calling on me. But halfway to the door, I noticed the knocking hand suddenly shifted to the windows. I did not open them fortunately, but I could see its index finger, which had already made it through the grille, groping for the latch. it failed again and finally went away, with fading thuds on the floor.

Now in our cabin, Abdul Rahman and I sit down to discuss what we went through. we have decided to put down in writing everything that has happened, how it all began, what brought us into the jungle, how that dead man's hand turned killer. We believe we must narrate them before either or both of us fall victim to it. Abdul Rahman now shares my suspicion that it is still around and we have not really escaped it. The only question is which one of us will be the first to go. And before that happens, the story must be told. So here it is, our story...

My name is Abdullah Abdul Karim. I was born in Singapore. My late father, a school teacher, poured everything he earned into my education, sending me first to a Malay school and then to English, through primary and high schools, till I made it to England, where two years ago I graduated with a degree in anthropology from the University of London. On my return, I found a job at the museum in Singapore as an assistant to the curator, Professor A D Morrison. It was also there that I met Abdul Rahman, who was another assistant to the Professor. Three weeks ago Professor Morrison received a letter from the museum of Borneo in Kuching, about attempts to locate a 500 year old Dayak tomb. The curator, Dr Ian Hunter, had led a party to a potential site, a cave in the middle of the Bornean jungle, and had come back quite certain he was on to something. Now he wanted the Professor to join him in exploring the site further. Three days later, Professor Morrison, Abdul Rahman and I departed for Kuching an a Malayan Airways flight. We were received by Dr. Hunter himself.

That night, at his home, Dr. Hunter gave us details of his investigations. He also told us the story behind the tomb. 'There's an old Dayak legend about the tomb of a princess located within a dark cave in the jungle. The princess was the consort of a Dayak chief who ruled some 500 years ago. The legend told how she poisoned the chief when she fell in love with the tribe's leading warrior. This was discovered, and the princess was sentenced to death. But before she was executed, she claimed the warrior had conspired with her. When the warrior denied this, she put a curse on him saying he would die with her and stand forever as guardian of her tomb. True enough, as soon the princess was executed, the warrior fell ill inexplicably and died. He was entombed with her, she in a coffin, he standing beside her. 'Based on this story and the clues I've found so far, I think there is a good chance we will find a royal Dayak tomb in that cave,' said Dr. Hunter, ending his story. 'I invited you here gentlemen because I believe it's going to be a lot of work for me, if the tomb is found, to study it on my own. I presume there'll be a lot of ancient treasures there and I think it would be to our mutual advantage to conduct a joint investigation.'

We left Kuching town early the next morning. Together with us were two Dayak porters, a Dayak cook, and John Smith, a Kuching Museum staff who acted as our cameraman. Five days of trekking and boating upriver later, we arrived at the mouth of a cave. It was already late afternoon then, so we decided to strike camp and spend the night resting. We went in to start work early the following morning. It was another 200 yards from the mouth of the cave to our destination and, to light our way in the darkness, we carried torches. We came to a sort of door, sealed with a large rock, behind which Dr. Hunter believed lay the princess tomb. We made a check for any kinds of device meant to open the door, and even tried shifting the rock manually, but failed. Finally, I was told to go back to base camp to get some iron bars we had brought along for just such a purpose. When I reached the campsite, I found it deserted. The three Dayaks we had taken along with us were gone though none of our property was taken. I fetched the four iron bars and returned to the cave to tell the team what had happened. 

'That's no surprise. They are very frightened of this place. They say it's haunted,' said Dr. Hunter. Aided by the iron bars, the five of us heaved and pushed until, at last, the rock budged and we managed to open the gap large enough to let ourselves through. We entered a dark and stuffy chamber, and under the light of our torches, beheld its contents for the first time. It was outstanding. The chamber was filled with all kinds of strange artifacts, magnificent pieces of pottery and metal cases waiting to be discovered. Dr. Hunter was right. As we were to find out later, this was the chamber he had been looking for. We went to work right away, exploring the place, studying the artifacts one by one. All of a sudden, there was a shriek from one corner of the cave. It was Smith. Apparently, we had left him far behind us as we moved along. We rushed towards him, expecting to find him in danger. But we were stunned when we reached him. Smith had actually opened one of the metal cases, and it was filled to the brim with jewels and gold ornaments that looked simply dazzling under the light of the torches.

'Look, we're rich,' Smith shrieked again, ecstatically. His eyes shone as he stared at the treasure. 'Yes, fine, but we're not here to be rich,' Dr. Hunter replied, clearly unamused. 'We're here to look for the princess tomb. So, lets not waste anymore time.' We found what we were looking for soon enough. At another corner of the chamber was a platform and on it stood what looked like a coffin. It was made of wood, gleaming as if it had been oiled. Standing gallantly at what we assumed was the head portion, clad in loincloth, one hand holding a spear and the other a short sword, was an astonishingly lifelike statue of a man. At least, we thought it was a statue. 

Professor Morrison took a closer look as he rubbed its hand. 'It must've been a master sculptor who made this. Look at the perfection. You'd be forgiven if you'd mistaken its for a human. He must have been a great warrior to have a statue made of him and entombed with the princess like this,' he remarked. 'No,' Dr. Hunter replied, 'actually that's the warrior I told you about. That's not his statue. That's him. He was entombed here with the princess when he died. They've mummified his body so well, you can't see any sign of decomposition or disintegration.' And then he exclaimed with delight. 'Don't you see? This is it! This is the tomb we've been looking for! This warrior guardian, this coffin, they are exactly as the legend said.'

It was only then that Dr. Hunter told us about the curse of the coffin. According to the legend, he said, whoever opens the coffin will suffer the wrath of the Guardian. We heard him alright. But people like us do not believe such things, do we? 'Alright, let's take a look at the other items here first. We can go back to the coffin later,' Dr. Hunter suggested afterwards. And so we spent the rest of the day scrutinizing and documenting the artifacts in the cave chamber, while Smith took photographs of them. We put aside those we could carry to be taken out when we leave. When evening came, we packed up and left for base camp. Smith remained behind, however, saying there were a few more shots he wanted to take. We agreed, thinking it would not be too long before he rejoined us. But when he still had not emerged half an hour later, we became very concerned. Dr. Hunter asked Abdul Rahman and I to go back to the cave chamber to look for him. We called out his name when we reached the entrance, but there was no reply. So we decided to go in.

We had hardly stepped inside when Abdul Rahman, who was ahead of me, suddenly froze in his tracks and screamed. We found Smith on the floor. in his right hand was his camera, apparently broken. In his left, a handkerchief. It had a tear, and out of the breach had split some jewels, obviously taken from the case we found today. But what horrified us most was the spear that was stuck in his chest, the very spear that has been in the hand of the warrior standing guard at the head of the princess coffin. Smith was dead and the blood from his chest was already soaking the shirt he wore. Thinking the spear must have accidentally slipped off the statue's hand and stabbed him, I tried to draw it out of Smith's chest. But I could not. It had gone right through his body and lodged its point in the cave's rock floor. Only with our full combined strength did we manage to pull it out. That was how Smith met his death. We buried his body just outside the cave....

Last night I could not continue writing our story, because that Thing had killed Abdul Rahman. I am all alone now. God, what shall I do? It would be fruitless to seek help because everyone would say I am mad. Poor Abdul Rahman. Never knew he would be the first to go. But Abdul Rahman would not listen to me. I had warned him not to take strolls on the deck at night. a member of the crew was with him when it happened, and saw it all. He said Abdul Rahman started screaming all of a sudden. His hands were on his throat, and his eyes seemed like they were going to pop out. Then he fell overboard, just like that. The ship stopped to allow a search to be made, but he was not to be found... Before continuing with my story tonight, I have locked the cabin door and windows from the inside to make sure that Thing would not be able to come in. I know I do not have long to live. I know I am racing against time to finish this story. Even now I can hear it coming. The knob is turning now. It must be trying yo open the door. Come on, you demon, come on in if you can. I've locked the door from inside. I see, you're trying the windows now, huh? To hell with you! I'm not as stupid as Rahman. I've locked them too...

The next morning, Professor Morrison, Dr. Hunter, Abdul Rahman and I went back into the chamber of the princess tomb. We worked till noon, and then decided to go back to camp for lunch. We were out of the cave and half way to camp when we realized Dr. Hunter was no longer with us. Before we could call out his name, however, we heard loud laughter like someone gone mad. It came from the direction of the cave. Soon Dr. Hunter appeared, laughing and stumbling away like a lunatic. When he saw the three of us, he paused and pointing his finger repeatedly at us, shouted, 'You're going to die, all of you. He's going to get you... Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha!... You can go and get yourself killed, I'm not going to let that happen to me.' The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as I stared, stunned, at him. Before we could say or do anything, the doctor was gone. He simply ran away, blindly, laughing like a lunatic, and disappeared in the thickness of the jungle. I am not sure why, but the next thing I knew, Professor Morrison was rushing back into the cave, his torchlight swinging about as he went in. Abdul Rahman and I ran after him, but before we could catch up, we heard him screaming from within the chamber. We dashed inside just in time to see the Professor gasping his last breath. The tomb guardian, earlier stiff as a statue, was alive and his hand were on the Professor's throat. We also noticed that the lid of the coffin had been lifted, presumably by Dr. Hunter, who was the last to leave the place. That must have brought the warrior back from the dead. But we had no time to speculate what might have happened because the guardian was now lifting the Professor's body and throwing him at us. And then he came charging!

'Run, Dol, run!' shouted Abdul Rahman. 'He's coming after us.' we ran as fast as we could out of the cave with the guardian hot on our heels. At the cave mouth, Adbul Rahman and I picked some large stones and threw them at him, but he kept coming. Desperate, I picked our kerosene stove and hurled it at him. It struck him and he fell. I quickly grabbed one of the steel bars we had used to open the chamber door and swung it at him with all my strength. The first blow landed on his right wrist and severed the hand. The second smashed his head. He moved no more. The severed hand, however, seemed to have a life of its own. It came speeding on its fingers, just like an insect, to grab my feet. I kicked it as hard as I could, sending it flying some distance away. But it soon came back. 

Abdul Rahman grabbed my arm and told me we had to flee. We ran and kept on running through the jungle for the next five days and five nights, hardly pausing for food or drink. When we finally reached a Dayak village at a river mouth, we were completely sapped. It was with the help of the Dayaks, who ferried us downriver on their boats, that we finally made it to Kuching. We checked into a hotel in town, confident that the demoniacal hand would not be able to track us that far. But it came knocking at my door that very night. The next day, we took the first chance we had to buy tickets for our passage back to Singapore on the SS Kepong, sailing the same evening. Abdul Rahman is now dead, dispatched by that hand. My God! It must have followed us right up to our ship. It is now my turn to meet death. I know it must be tonight. I know this is going to be my final night alive. Farewell!

At the Singapore harbor when SS Kepong berthed, a team of policemen led by a European officer went on board to meet the master. Abdullah's body was later taken down to a waiting police van to be sent to the morgue. The captain recorded the incident in his log as follows: 'The door and windows to Abdullah's cabin had been secured from the inside. I had to break in with the help of some of the crew. We found Abdullah sprawled on the floor, his mouth distorted and eyes wide in apparent horror. His neck was bruised and had what appeared to be strangulation marks. We found no other evidence in the cabin, though we noticed the ventilation hole was open and there was a terrible stench from inside, something like the smell of a decomposed corpse.'

Under The Banyan Tree

Unlike most men his age, Said was not very healthy or active. He was only twenty three, and he had been suffering from tuberculosis for two years now. That was what made him move into this seaside village. The fresh air and clean environment, recommended his doctor, might help him improve his condition. But like most men his age, Said could not stand being confined to the bedroom and staying in bed all day long. It soon became his habit to sneak out by the window every night, after locking the bedroom door and switching off the lights, to go for a late evening walk. He did not care for crowds. All he sought was the peaceful solitude of the beach, where the cool sea breeze whistled in the area and the waves kept a steady rhythm on the shore and light from a row of kelongs added glitter to the black sea. He would stroll along the water's edge or simply sit down under a big banyan tree, in the darkness, all by himself. He would head back to his room only when he could not stand the chill anymore. One night, Said fell asleep as he sat under the banyan tree, which was not unusual. What happened next, however, was out of the ordinary. 

Said was awakened all of a sudden by loud sobbing. Someone was crying, very close by, under the banyan tree. At first he could not even remember where he was until the breeze and the crashing of the waves reminded him he was still at the beach. It was only then that the sobbing actually attracted his attention. It went on for several moments until a voice, a woman's voice, spoke, 'Go away! Go away! Leave me this very minute!' Said was completely flummoxed. What's all this about? he wondered. The voice came again, and this time, things were a little clearer. 'I can take care of myself. You don't have to send me home, Hussain. Just leave me alone.' Said still could not decide what to do or say. For a while, the woman was quiet too. The she started sobbing again. Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Said got up. A figure in white stirred behind the tree, obviously startled by his movement. 'I'm sorry. Don't be afraid. I was asleep and, well, you roused me,' Said explained. He noticed the woman was alone. 'Is there a problem? Can I be of any help?'

The woman did bot reply. During the following moments of silence, Said decided he probably had no business probing any further, whatever it was that had just transpired. He looked at his watch. 'Goodness, it's half past one. I didn't realize how late it is. Pardon me, Miss, but don't you think... I mean, considering the time...?' He was nervous, trying hard not to offend her. 'You're right. It is rather late, isn't it? Then she rose to leave. The woman seemed to have recovered from her initial shock. Due to the darkness, her face was only vaguely visible to him, but the voice was gentle and pleasant to the ear. Said said nothing. Then she asked, 'Would you mind escorting me home? You're alone, too, I see.' 'Shall we take a taxi or...?' 'No, thank you. I'd rather walk. My place isn't far from here,' replied the woman. And so, together, they left the banyan tree. 

At the end of a rather long, quiet walk, they came up to a tall gateway. Beyond, Said could make out the silhouette of a double storey mansion surrounded by clumps of tall bamboo and what seemed to be a splendid garden. Looks like someone well to do, he thought. The woman halted at the gate and turned around. 'Thank you, once again.' 'Oh, it's my pleasure. And, good night,' Said replied before they parted company. When he turned to look behind him some distance away, the woman was still standing in front of the gate. That meeting and the mysterious woman occupied Said's mind ever since. He could not stop thinking about the incident, losing sleep for several nights thereafter as a result. And every evening, he would make sure he was under the banyan tree, waiting, hoping to meet her again. He wanted so much to talk to her. He wanted to know her, and perhaps find out what had really happened under the tree that night they met. Who was 'Hussain' and why had she mentioned him when he had seen no one with her? Said waited and waited, night after night, but the woman did not turn up. And all the time, his yearning to meet her grew stronger and stronger.

Finally, he decided he had to do something about it. He must find her himself if he was ever to see her and talk to her again. Out he went one day, looking for the mansion with the tall gateway, and ha parted company. He located the place with some difficulty, and had an unpleasant surprise. It did not trouble him when he noticed, on reaching the place, that the tall gateway did not seem as grand as he thought it looked before. But the shock turned him speechless when he saw what was beyond. Instead of a mansion, there was only desolation. instead of clumps of bamboo in a splendid garden, he saw nothing but a sea of lalang, the tall coarse grass common in this country. he certainly could not have made a mistake about the place since the tall gateway still stood as a landmark there. But where's that big house? Where's that woman? What has happened to them? Presently, along came a postman on a bicycle. Said approached him and posed the questions now swirling in his mind.

For several moments, all the man could offer him in response was a quizzical look. Then he explained, 'Actually no building has stood here for many, many years. There used to be a house, yes, but that was long ago. It was owned by a merchant. But he moved out, and it was abandoned and eventually torn down. And the owner was never seen again. 'The story was that he moved out after a tiff with his daughter. Anyway, our postmaster here is the best person to ask if you want to find out what really happened. Why don't you look him up? He's at the post office now,' the postman suggested. 'You said the woman mentioned the name Hussain?' asked the postmaster when Said met him. He spoke carefully and nodded repeatedly. 'Right. Do you happen to know them?' 'Its all very curious, this story of yours,' remarked the postmaster. 'You know, that woman sounds just like Jamilah, Hassan's only daughter. But... she disappeared long ago. You see, it all began when Jamilah started going out with this fellow Hussain, who happened to be one of her father;s workers. Hassan disapproved of their relationship, but they carried on seeing each other secretly. When Hassan found out, he sacked Hussain and forbade Jamilah to see him again.

'That turned out to be the mistake of his life. Hassan didn't realize what a headstrong girl his daughter was. Jamilah was not to be intimidated. One fine morning, she left home and never came back. All she left was a letter saying she was running away, that she could not stand living there any longer. 'Hassan went after the girl's sweetheart, found him at home and questioned him about her whereabouts. But Hussain insisted he had had nothing to do with Jamilah anymore. He confessed that they had earlier vowed to elope but then he had backed out later. He was not prepared to be responsible for the consequences. Hussain said he had met Jamilah at their usual place the night before they were supposed to run away together. He had then told her of his change of heart and advised her to return to her family. Jamilah broke down and cried, and told him to leave her alone. He did so, and never saw her again. He didn't know she had not returned until Hassan told him so.

'Well, Jamilah had been missing ever since. She has never been traced. Heartbroken, Hassan soon abandoned the mansion. No one knows where he is now. 'These events happened more than fifteen years ago. The woman you described sounds like Jamilah, particularly since you said she mentioned Hussain. And the banyan tree... That's where the two of them used to meet. But... it just doesn't make sense! Like I said, that girl disappeared so many years ago! 'And that mansion where you said you sent her home. It can't be! They pulled it down soon after Hassan abandoned it! 'Unless...' The growing horror was evident on the postmaster's face. 'My God! Could it be? A ghost...?'

Two months passed, and Said's condition was deteriorating steadily. He was now all skin and bones. And yet, every night, he fought his infirmity to wait faithfully under the banyan tree for the mysterious woman. At last, one night, she came. She greeted Said with a delighted smile, as if they were seeing each other on a tryst. Said's heart was in his mouth. He could feel the blood rushing through his body. It was a totally new sensation to be near her. It was neither fright nor shock. 'It's been a long time,' he remarked, 'but that's alright. I'm just happy to be seeing you again. Won't you have a seat with me? I've brought a blanket along for us to sit on.' 'Thank you,' she said, and she smiled. Said could not help noticing the dimples on her cheeks. 'Please accept my thanks, once again, for your kindness that night we first met,' she spoke as she sat down beside him. 'Oh, don't mention it,' Said replied. 'I tried to see you, you know, but... you weren't home.' 'I know,' she replied, her tone completely unchanged. 'I can't stay here long.' She changed subject abruptly. 'I thought you'd never come again. I've been waiting a long time.'

'I know. And I know how painful it is to wait. I used to suffer just like you, having to wait endlessly.' She turned to face him. 'I didn't catch your name. Mine's Jamilah.' 'Very pleased to know you. I'm Said,' he replied. 'I'm a thousand time more pleased to know you.' She smiled again, the dimples adding to her allure. 'What do you do during the day?' she asked. 'Nothing, actually,' Said replied. 'Well, it's a long story, if you wish to know.' 'Please go on.' Under the twinkling stars in the sky and in the breeze whispering through the trees, the pair of turtledoves were soon absorbed in blissful conversation. Then she stood up and said, 'I'm afraid I have to go now.' 'When can we meet again?' asked Said. She fell silent for a moment. 'I'm not sure,' she replied. 'How about tomorrow night?' pressed Said. 'I don't think that's possible,' she replied. Said's face changed instantly. 'What's wrong?' she asked gently. 'Have I disappointed you?' Said just nodded. 'I'll be here next week,' she said, reassuringly. 'Thank you. I'll be waiting,' said Said, and his face brightened up. As he got up to roll the blanket, he offered to send her home. 'I'm sorry, but that won't be necessary. Just stay here please, and don't follow me,' said the woman. 'Alright, if you say so.' She left and soon disappeared in the darkness.

The last time the postmaster saw Said was the day before the young man was taken to hospital. He was losing the battle against his illness. The late nights he kept outdoors certainly did not help. 'You have no idea how happy I am. Death for me is going to be sweeter than life,' Said remarked. 'Don't say that,' said the postmaster, 'I'm sure you'll make it.' 'Yes, I certainly will,' Said replied with a weak smile. The following day, Said was discovered missing from his room. On a hunch, the postmaster and some concerned friends went to the beach. There, spread on the ground under the banyan tree, was a blanket damp with the night's dew. Said's body was found floating in the sea some distance from shore. He had gone into the water fully clothed.

The Golden Lantern

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Visitor From The Coffin

The little photo studio stood at a corner of a side lane sandwiched by two rows of shophouses. Since it opened this morning, no one had been seen entering, which was odd, as the studio normally received a steady stream of customers. From young men and ladies dressed in the various styles of the day, to gray haired old folks, the studio never seemed to run out of people coming to have their photos taken. Usually, that is. Perhaps it was the bad weather that kept them away today. It had been raining the whole day, at least a drizzle when it was not a downpour, and dark clouds blanketed the sky, keeping the sun out of sight all day long. It was evening now, and it was drizzling. Passers by going either way along the lane were seen hurrying along, some with umbrellas, others in raincoats. Yet others having neither, simply broke into a sprint to get to the nearest shelter. Under the light of a nearby streetlamp, one could make out the sign, 'Hamid's Photo Studio,' unlit but in clear display on a large board hanging beside then entrance. Presently a tall, hefty man appeared and stood at the door. He was the owner, known to everyone as Mr. Hamid the photographer. Despite his almost forty years, Hamid still cut an impressive figure. He was good at his work, kind and friendly, and as such was very well liked by everyone who knew him.

The light rain was getting heavier nod and occasionally there was a gust of wind. The time was 7.30 in the evening. Hamid could be seen stepping out onto the pavement where some wooden planks stood stacked against a pillar. Those days, long before metal shutters came, a set of thick planks like these, made of hard wood, would be arranged edge to edge along wooden rails to secure the wide open front of shops when they closed for the day. Hamid was taking the planks and arranging them one by one over the glass panels fronting his studio, when he suddenly noticed a man standing right in front of him. The man seemed to have appeared abruptly, out of nowhere, to stand erect before Hamid and staring with eyes fixed at him. It was so unexpected that Hamid froze for a moment. It took him some time to collect his thoughts and only then did he realize it was just Ah Fook, the towkay, who ran a grocery store not far from his studio. There was another surprise. Ah Fook, who always went about in just an undershirt and loose, Chinese style boxer shorts, even on Chinese New Year's Day, was in a very smart outfit this time. He wore a dark blue suit, a pair of black shoes that shone under the streetlamp, and a black tie. The sudden transformation rendered Hamid speechless. For the first time ever, the towkay had actually dressed up. And he looked great too. Well, at least, if one ignored the unkempt mustache and beard, which had not changed. And, ... the towkay also seemed sad, indeed, mournful.

'Hi there, towkay! Can I help you?' asked Hamid. The towkay did not reply but slowly stepped into the shop. Hamid followed him, though his initial astonishment had not worn away. 'You want your photo taken? I see you're looking great this evening,' Hamid went on. The old Chinese man halted and turned around to face him, but still said nothing. His eyes stared blankly at Hamid, and under the light shining from the center of the ceiling, the sorrow on his face was clear to see. His was the look of a sick man, his face so pale it was almost bloodless. Hamid found it disconcerting, facing the man now in front of him. He felt a mixture of curiosity, concern and apprehension. 'You want you picture taken? Please come with me,' said Hamid slowly as he led the way into an inner room, the actual studio where his photography work was done. Ah Fook, still silent, followed. At the curtained doorway, Hamid stopped to show the old man in. Ah Fook went in without saying a word and sat down on a stool in front of the large studio camera. That made it clear to Hamid that the strange behaving old man wanted his photo taken. But still he was not sure if he really should step inside and take the man's picture. he remained at the doorway for several moments, feeling quite uneasy, his feet hesitant.

In the meantime, Ah Fook got himself into position. He placed his right foot ahead of his left and pulled a side table that was always there ready for use, to his side, to rest his elbow. Hamid stood stone stiff studying him. His heart throbbed heavily and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. A queasy feeling dame over him as he looked at this pale, sickly, bloodless face staring at his camera. God, that fellow could easily pass for a corpse, he told himself. He steeled his nerves to tell his strange customer, 'OK, in a moment, please. Let me just get this thing ready.' The clock on the studio wall chimed eight, but Hamid was oblivious to it. Even as he adjusted the camera, his mind was working furiously seeking answers to the questions that had now emerged, like, what made Ah Fook come to have his photo taken now despite being obviously very, very ill? He went behind the camera, pulled a piece of black cloth over his head, peered into the lense  and began adjusting its focus as he normally did. He froze. The lense had been adjusted and the view was in sharp focus, yet there was no Ah Fook, no towkay to see. The stool where he sat was there, the side table on which he leaned his elbow was there, both clear in the lense. but, where was the towkay? Hamid shut his eyes momentarily before opening them again, hoping it was all just his imagination. But, no, the studio props were still without their subject. He flipped the black cloth off his back and straightened up to look at the stool and the side table and had the shock of his life when he found the towkay seated there, eyes fixed blankly at the camera like before. Hamid went back behind the camera to bend and peer under the black cloth. And once again he could not believe his eyes, for the towkay was now missing from view.

Very much perturbed, Hamid said nonetheless, 'Are you ready, towkay? Keep still, please. I'm going to take the picture now,' and released the shutter. There was a click and the lense momentarily turned dark. A moment later, Hamid flipped the black cloth off his head, looked up, and found the towkay missing. The stool where he sat earlier was empty. Hamid dashed out of the room, knocking several chairs along the way. Utterly terrified, his mind confused, his body shivering, and his hair standing on end again., he burst out of the shop. He stood on the pavement and looked at Ah Fook's shop, but the old towkay was not around. 'That's very strange,' said Hamid to himself. 'Really strange. He went away just like that, in a flash. An old man like him surely can't be gone that fast, can he? Didn't even say what sort of photo he wanted or ask how much it would cost.' Hamid returned to his studio and went straight to the stool where the towkay had sat minutes earlier. He found a depression on the cushion, indicating that someone had indeed sat there minutes ago. But that discovery was no relief to Hamid and, instead, made the whole incident even more chilling. He was glad he did not touch the man as he normally did with his clients. He always had something to correct in their posture before snapping their pictures, but somehow, this time he forgot all about it.

Hamid left the studio again to pay a visit to Ah Fook's shop. He wanted to tell him, anyone there, what had just happened. As he neared the place, he heard people crying in the upper floor. Some Chinese men were talking in hushed tones when he stepped inside. Hamid asked them, 'Is Ah Fook around?' The men paused to turn and look at him. The oldest among them replied, 'Towkay, gone, dead. Evening, came down staircase, smart dress, fell, broke his head. Told wife wanted photo taken. Whole life no photo of himself. Everyday wife told him must take photo. So he dressed nice, wanted to go to studio. But he fell down, He only said,'Must have photo... must have photo.. until he died.' Hamid was shocked. 'What? Really? When did it happen?' 'Half past seven,' said the old Chinese gentlemen. In mounting horror, Hamid withdrew from the shop and hurried back to his studio and into his darkroom to develop the photo he had just taken. Twenty minutes later, as he studied the picture, he saw what he had dreadfully expected all this time. The stool and the side table stood forlornly. Of Ah Fook the towkay, there was not a trace.

Among The Gravestones

It had been a very rainstorm and even now heavy rain and thunder continued to assail Kampung Sepang. In the midst of it, Halil chatted with his pal, Jabri, in the living room of his house. The doors and windows had all been shut to keep out the rain. Jabri had driven there for a visit sometime after maghrib, the hour of the dusk prayers, in response to Halil's invitation. They had been neighbours and good friends for years, until he moved out six months ago and they lost contact. 'Come over to my place after maghrib tonight. We can have dinner together and chat. It's been a long time since we got together,' Halil suggested to Jabri that day over the phone. They did not count on the bad weather. In fact, no sooner had Jabri arrived that the storm broke out. They had adjourned to the living room after dinner, for coffee and conversation, hoping to wait it out. But it was past eleven now and the downpour was showing no signs of relenting.

'Look like you'll have to spend the night here,' said Halil. 'No way. I've to be at work early tomorrow morning.' 'No problem. You can go to work straight from here. Look at the downpour. You want to go through that?' Jabri had no time to reply, for someone was knocking excitedly at the front door. The caller gave a salam, the Islamic greeting, as Halil went up to open the door. In front of him stood a middle aged man, his clothes soaked by the rain. He looked very anxious. 'I'm very sorry, but could you help me, please?' asked the man. Halil stood surprised for a moment. 'Yes? Any problem?' 'My car broke down about an hour ago in the rain. Can't get it to start,' the man replied. 'Where is it?' 'It's in a lane some distance from here. I left it there with my wife and young daughter inside, to look for help. We're on our way to visit my in laws in Kampung Deli. This is the first time I ever visited the village at night, and with that downpour and the darkness, I lost my way. And then, when we came to that lane, the engine just conked out. Could you please help me? I'm very worried now, because my wife and girl are out there all by themselves,' said the man.

'May I know your name and where you come from, Sir?' Halil asked. 'The name's Jabar and I come from Singapore.' 'Your car broke down along that lane going up the hill, right?' 'Right... how did you guess?' Halil was already feeling the palpitations in his heart. He knew that lane. It ran across the disused Chinese cemetery that spread over the sides of a hill about half a mile away. The lane was always deserted, because no one dared use it even at daytime, let alone at night. Years back, a villager from Kampung Sepang, cycling there at dusk, was chased by a long haired woman brandishing a vicious looking pair of fangs. In his rush to escape, he and his bicycle plunged headlong into the ditch along the road. He was found unconscious hours later by fellow villagers who went out looking for him. Several months later, two boys on a bird trapping trip saw a beautiful young woman seated on a gravestone, preening her long, flowing locks. She grinned , and revealed those fangs, before vanishing. The boys took to their heels, but survived to tell the story.

A Kampung Sepang farmer told of another frightening experience. Searching for a missing goat near the cemetery, he suddenly hear a chilling cry somewhere ahead of him. The cry made him think of demons. When he looked, he saw a young woman sitting on a stone monument, giving him a queer sort of gaze. The farmer fled as fast as he could back to the village, blacking out the moment he stepped into his house. For days afterwards, he lay sick in bed from the shock. Jabri, who had been listening attentively as Halil and Jabar talked, finally decided to join in. 'Look, Halil, I feel sorry for him. We've got to help. Come along. I'll drive and we'll send him to his car. Think you're brave enough?' Halil did not reply. There was a cloud in his brain. That creepy feeling was still on the back of his neck. Jabar pleaded. 'Please help me. In the name of God!' Despite his uncertainty, Halil had to agree finally.

The trio moved quickly. As Jabri dashed for his car with Jabar right behind, Halil hurried to his room, reappearing soon afterwards with a couple of torchlights in hand. He rushed into the car to join them, taking the front passenger's seat next to Jabri, and turned around to hand one of the torchlight to Jabar in the rear. It was still pouring and, with vision much reduced, Jabri was compelled to keep the speed down. Worse, water was almost a quarter way up the wheels in places along the road. 'Hey, Ri, can't you go any faster?' Halil urged. Jabri shook his head and explained that he was trying to avoid getting water in the engine, which would cause a breakdown.

For the rest of the journey, the three said nothing to each other. They stared ahead as the headlights on Jabri's car struggled to penetrate the heavy curtain of rain. Halil shivering all over, not from the cold but from the terror of recalling all the tales he had heard about the place they were now heading for. He thought he should warn Jabar of the possible dangers ahead, but realized he should not distress the man any more than he already was. 'Mr. Jabar, when we get there, please be very careful. Don't be hasty. There's a lot of hazzards in this kind of downpour,' Jabar said nothing, responding with just a nod. Soon, they were there.

As they turned into the lane and drove uphill, Halil saw a figure dashing across their path from the bushes to the left. In the beam of the headlights, a pair of purple eyes seemed to glow as they stared at them. Jabri was shocked and instinctively applied the brakes. 'You see that, Lil? What the hell is it?' There was a distinct tremble in his voice. Halil nodded. He followed the figure with his eyes as it plunged into the bushes on the right. He switched on the torchlight in his hand and pointed its beam there, but by then there was nothing left to see. 'Step on it, Ri!' Halil said. Jabri stepped on the accelerator and the car screeched up the hill. Moments later, jabar gestured towards the side of the lane. 'That's my car... Over there on the left. You see it?' 

Jabri slowed down and pulled up a short distance behind Jabar's stalled car. In the beam of the headlights they noticed to their alarm that all the door were open. Alighting, they cautiously approached the car. But with just a few yards to go, Jabar, unable to take the suspense any longer, suddenly dashed forward for a closer look. 'God! What has happened to them?' he screamed. When Halil and Jabri caught up with him, they found the car was indeed empty. There was no sign of Jabar's wife and daughter. Jabar seemed on the verge of breaking down by now. He called out his wife's and his daughter's names repeatedly as he swept the surrounding area with the torchlight in his hand. 'Satimah... Ratna... where are you?' No reply. There was only the rattling of falling rain on the earth and the trees. Jabar called out even louder, but still there was no reply. He kept sweeping the area with the beam of the torchlight, but could not see anything. 

'We have to search for them,' Jabar said, striding uphill along the lane. 'No, hold on, Mr. Jabar. This is a dangerous place, you know,' said Halil, pulling him back by the arm. 'But, I have to find my wife and daughter,' Jabar protested anxiously as he jerked his arm free. He strode away and continued to search around with his torchlight and called out his wife's and his daughter's names. Jabar had not gotten very far when a woman's voice called out from the direction of the graves. Halil and Jabri heard it. Jabar must have too, for he quickly shone his light in that direction. 'Jabar, dear, we're over here,' said the voice. In the beam from Jabar's torchlight, they saw a young woman leading a girl aged about seven by the hand. As they approached him, they heard Jabar asking, 'Where have you been?' 

Halil and Jabri had never seen any woman so fabulous looking. The little girl was just as beautiful. They saw Jabar running towards them. But then, abruptly, he stopped in his tracks, apparently startled. Halil shone the light on them, just in time to see Jabar dropping the torch in his hand and retreating in apparent horror. The young woman and child kept bearing upon him. At one point, they turned to look into the beam of light from Halil's torch, and Halil and Jabri saw two pairs of crimson eyes staring at them. As a terrified scream issued from his mouth, the woman and the girl closed in on Jabar and tried to encircle him in their arms. But, luckily for Jabar, he slipped and rolled downhill. The woman and child seemed to have lost sight of him, and went for Jabri's car instead. Halil rushed forward to pluck to safety, while Jabri dashed for their car. 'Hurry! Get into the car and wind the windows up!' urged Halil, as he pulled Jabar by the arm. Jabri quickly started the engine. By this time the woman and child were just yards away.

'Lets get out of here! Reverse! Reverse!' Halil screamed. Jabri engaged the gear and the car lurched backwards, almost plunging into the ditch. Jabri swung it into the lane and they sped away just in time. The road back to Kampung Sepang was still flooded, but this time Jabri threw caution to the wind and sped all the way home. It was to their good fortune that the engine did not fail them. Back at Halil's place, the trio rushed out, dashed inside and locked all doors. They slumped into the sofa, panting from terror. Their faces were drained of all blood. 'I think 'll take up your offer to spend the night here after all,' Jabri told Halil. In the Chinese cemetery they had just fled from, two fabulous looking women were preening their hair as a little girl romped amongst the gravestones.

Teluk Berapit

It had always been a strangely quiet, forbidding place. There was first of all that jungle. Stretching from the beach for as far as the eye could see, it was reputedly impenetrable to man or beast. Night or day, no bird of any feather, so it was said, would dare perch itself on any of its trees. And no animal great or small would be caught dead in it. The waters, always so calm and free of currents, were known to be teeming with fish. It would delight any fisherman to see them jumping about as they did here on the water's surface. But, sadly, Teluk Berapit was no place for fishing, for it was also reputed to be the domain of evil spirits. many a daring fellow testing that taboo had perished there. In a village miles away, old Pak Adam, his wife and four small children lived a pathetic, hand to mouth existence. Pak Adam was a fisherman, and the family's fortunes thus depended solely on the sea and the whims of the weather. Today was to be yet another of those miserable days they had had of late, when he came home with nothing to show for the hours he had spent at sea. He looked down cast as he unloaded his tackle at the door. Not a fry took his bait today. What was he and his family going to eat? Same as yesterday, rice and salted fish in a soup of cold water? Or like the day before, watery rice porridge with some salt? Come to think of it, there probably wasn't any grain of rice left in the house.

His wife, Sapiah, who had shared this life of misery with him for many years, said nothing when he returned. She knew from the way he looked that it was going to be another gloomy day for them. Resignedly, she went to the old cupboard in the kitchen where she kept some coins in a cup. That was to have been invested into making some cakes for Seman, their eldest son, to sell and help make some money. It looked like it will have to serve as capital for their stomachs today. Grabbing her worn out shawl, Sapiah went out and hastened to the local Indian provision shop, She would have to ask Kassim to give her whatever food she could get for the paltry sum in her hand. It was dark and silent at Pak Adam's place that night. Having spent all their savings on the lunch today, the family now had nothing left even to buy the kerosene for the lamp. Left in darkness, the kids went to bed early on the two or three spoonfuls of rice that was left of the afternoon meal. Sapiah too soon fell asleep from exhaustion. Pak Adam, however, could not sleep. There were troubles in his mind, and his stomach was tormented by hunger. He tossed and turned, right, left, face up and face down, but the pangs were too much to bear. He got up and went to the kitchen to get himself a drink, hoping that it would ease the hunger. 

As he poured some water into a metal cup, Pak Adam considered his chances at sea tomorrow. He must do something to change his fortunes. he must seek the best fishing grounds and get a good haul, to make sure his family will have something to fill their stomachs. The name 'Teluk Berapit' kept recurring in his mind but, for a while, he brushed it aside, aware of the taboos about the place. 'Don't ever visit that evil place. never mind if your family has to starve. Don't even go near it, for whoever goes there will bring misfortune to this village.' Adnan the Shaman warning was still clear in his ears. But, as he returned to his room, Pak Adam realized he had a serious problem in his hands. How is he to feed his family tomorrow? Is he really prepared to see them go on an empty stomach for yet another day? No, misfortune or no misfortune, evil or no evil, Teluk Berapit was his only hope now. He must go there tomorrow to try his luck, or his family could very well die of starvation. Pak Adam lay down. His mind was made up. Somehow, that made him feel a lot better, and at last, he could close his eyes to sleep.

By the time Pak Adam reached Teluk Berapit the following day, he had spent a whole day rowing and in the west the sky was already turning red with the setting of the sun. Just like he had been told, it was an eerily quiet place. There was an unnatural stillness in the air, in the water, in the whole atmosphere. And that jungle. Just like they said, it stretched right from the shore and looked so thick and forbidding. As he rowed on nervously towards the beach, he wiped a way the sweat on his face with sleeve of his tattered shirt, and surveyed the waters around him. He was now where no fisherman was supposed to be... that infamous place supposed to wreak misfortune on himself and his village. Adnan the Shaman's warning kept ringing in his ears. Even his wife had tried to dissuade him that morning. 'Frankly, I'd rather we all starve than have you visit that damned place. Why can't you listen to what the Shaman said? Who's to look after me and our kids if something happened to you?' she pleaded.

And he replied, 'Please don't worry, Piah. I can take care of myself. And don't put too much faith in all these witch doctors. We are the ones suffering, you, me, and our kids. Not them. If I go out fishing like I always do, and come back empty handed, like I always do, is Adnan going to help us? That cut throat. You think he's going to do something for our sake?' Pak Adam could still hear those words in his ears. He really wished he did not have to venture into the bay, but he had no choice. His family's survival was at stake. In any case, he had gone too far to go back now. Might as well get it done and over with, and make a good job of it.  As soon as he landed, Pak Adam started looking for a place to spend the night. With the woods stretching right down to the beach, he had very little to choose from, but he did find a suitable spot under a shady tree. Quickly, he unloaded his stuff, and built a shelter of branches, twigs and dry leaves. He lit a fire, and sat down to the meager dinner his wife had prepared for him. And then he slept like a log.

When he awoke the next day, the sun was already high. Strangely, so were his spirits. There was none of the anxieties and fears of the evening before. The bright sunshine must be doing him a lot of good, he thought. After a late breakfast, he prepared his lines and paddled out to the middle of the bay. There he found the otherwise calm water rippling, indicating an abundance of fish. As a matter of fact, a good number was jumping about on the surface, just as he had been told. Pak Adam spent the rest of the day doing nothing but fish. So engrossed was he that he completely forgot about lunch. By late afternoon, his boat was fully loaded with the day's catch. He only realized how long he had been on the water when the sun had almost set. Quickly, he pulled his line in and hurried back to shore. After only the sixth stroke of oars, Pak Adam suddenly froze. His heart started pounding. He had a strange feeling that he was no longer alone, that somewhere back in the jungle surrounding the bay, something was watching. He scanned the scene around him. Everything seemed so quiet. Not the lightest of wind was in the air. The jungle was rapidly turning into a great, black silhouette as darkness fell. Nothing was out of the ordinary as far as he could see. Yet he could feel a pair of eyes watching him from the distance.

Then, as inexplicably as it came, the feeling disappeared. And he started rowing again back to his shelter. It was already dark when Pak Adam landed. he hastened to unload his hefty catch and store them for the night. Suddenly, he froze again. This time, a chill came over him and he could feel his hair standing on end. He sensed it acutely. Something was watching him, staring at him from behind. he could almost feel the heat of its eyes on the back of his neck. Slowly releasing the fish in his hand, he reached for the dagger in his boat and swiftly turned around. Nothing! There was nothing there other than the blackness of the jungle. It was beginning to bug Pak Adam. Was he imagining things, out of anxiety perhaps? Or was there really something out there? Human? Animal? But he thought no human or animal lived there. An evil spirit, perhaps? The guardian spirit of the place? Then, strangely as these thoughts tumbled in his mind, the feeling somehow disappeared once again. He ended up feeling embarrassed with himself for indulging in such childish imaginations.

His catch unloaded and taken to the shelter, Pak Adam lit a fire. Then he sat down to clean the fish and salt them before storing them well away from the heat. This way, they would last much longer and can even be sold later as salted fish. He could not help feeling pleased with his haul. He reckoned he would easily get twenty or thirty dollars for it, enough to feed his starving family for a few days. He roasted a couple of the fish, boiled some rice and sat down to dinner. That was when it came back again, that nagging feeling that something was watching. He strained his ears for tell tale sounds, half expecting a beast or something to creep up behind him. But there was nothing of the sort. Yer he could really sense those eyes staring at him, almost searing him with their gaze. He could sense them closing up on him. Pak Adam stopped eating. He had lost his appetite. Warily, he scanned the jungle around him. Nothing but blackness as far as he could see in the light of the fire. But his uneasiness could not be dismissed anymore. His sense of danger was growing stronger and stronger. The hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. He straightened up nervously, and peered into the darkness, straining his ears for the slightest sound.

Suddenly, his heart went racing and his whole body started trembling uncontrollably. There they were, in the dark edge of the jungle on the other side of the fire, a pair of green eyes fixed unblinkingly at him. The colour alone told him they were no human eyes. Animal, probably. He could not be sure for the eyes were all he could see in the darkness. But at least they were real. At least he knew what had been bugging him. At least now he could see it, and as far as he could see, it was nothing supernatural. Rising cautiously, dagger in hand, Pak Adam picked up a burning stick from the fire and flung it at the pair of eyes. The stick landed on some dry leaves, causing a small fire which lasted long enough to let him see that the pair of eyes belonged to something like a dog. The fire did not seem to bother it at all. It just kept on staring stonily at him. Even when a second burning stick landed a little closer to it, the animal only retreated a step or two, before sitting down to stare at him again. He snarled at it, hoping to scare it away, but that had no effect either. The animal stuck to its position. Finally, faced with a deadlock, Pak Adam sat down grumbling, 'Well, go on. Stay there the whole night if you want. But if you touch my fish, I'll cut you to pieces!' 

As he finished his dinner, the old man added some sticks to feed the fire, and was soon able to see, in the brighter light, that his guest was indeed a large wild dog. He found comfort in his knowledge that a wild dog is at least not as dangerous as a tiger, and would not come near if there is a fire. When at last he retired to his hut, Pak Adam noticed the dog was still there and had not moved. He lay down with the dagger right next to him, but somehow that did not give him much comfort. He found it difficult to sleep, continually feeling the urge to get up and check what the dog was doing. He spent some time tossing and turning, troubled by all sorts of ideas and unanswered questions, before he finally dozed off. His sleep was interrupted sometime later. He looked out, and everything was dark. The fire had died down! He rushed out and hurriedly rekindled it with some dry twigs, and soon it was burning again. As the flames lit up the surrounding area, Pak Adam noticed that the dog was still at the same spot. It was lying prone now but its eyes never left him. Gradually, it dawned upon him that the dog did not mean him any harm. His sympathy was immediately aroused, for he realized it had spent practically the whole night there and must be hungry by now. He tossed a couple of fish. Surprisingly, the dog did not touch them at all.

Giving up, but still puzzled by the dog's behavior, Pak Adam went back to sleep. When he woke up, the sun was already high. He gathered his tackle and his catch and prepared to leave. The wild dog was still at the same spot, observing his every move. It stirred when he started carrying his things to the boat, getting up to tread quietly after him down to the water. As Pak Adam loaded his stuff, the dog sat down to watch him from a distance. Feigning disinterest, but keeping the animal always within sight, he pushed his boat into the water, got in and started paddling along the shoreline. The dog followed him at the water's edge, keeping abreast of the boat. The faster he rowed, the faster it strode, and soon it was running to keep up with him. Pak Adam found the dog's behavior more and more baffling. It appeared that it wanted him to stay. Swiftly, he swung the boat back to shore and stepped out. The dog halted, keeping its eyes on him. Pak Adam approached it, dagger in hand. On seeing this, the dog turned around and headed for the jungle. He followed. It kept going, but paused every few steps to turn around and look at him. It did not take long for Pak Adam to realize, of course, that the dog was really leading him into the jungle.

Thus they went, beast in front, man behind, through the woods. At times, Pak Adam had difficulty keeping up, what with the tangle of vines and undergrowth he had to bash through, and the dog would actually wait for him and go on only when he was within sight. The further they went, the more convinced Pak Adam was that it really want him to follow it. It took them almost half a day before they finally came upon a clearing. In the middle of the place, the dog halted and turned around to face Pak Adam. Then it started scratching the ground, pausing after a while to look up at him, before continuing. This went on for some time until it was apparent to the old man what it want him to do. For a moment, the two fore paws of the dog even looked like a pair of human hands to him, while that pitiful look it kept giving him seemed to convey a plea for help to Pak Adam. Pak Adam could not understand what came over him next, or what made him do what he did, but he squatted down and, with the dagger, started digging furiously at the spot where the dog had been scratching. The dog remained close by, watching. About half and hour later, the dagger nicked something. He cleared the soil on top, and carefully lifted a wooden plank.

What he found underneath made him scream in shock. It was human skeleton, buried along with a blowpipe, the weapon of the aborigines of the Malayan jungle. As he stared at his discovery, Pak Adam forgot about the dog for a while. He did not even notice it when it drew closer, and stood right beside him at the edge of the hole. What a surprise he had when he suddenly felt the animal breathing down his neck. But that was not half as bad as the shock he had when he turned around to find himself face to face with a drooling beast, its tongue sticking out and its eyes fixed at him in a daunting gaze. In that instant, he could imagine the vicious force of its jaws on his neck. But no, the dog did not harm him at all. Indeed, as Pak Adam stared into its eyes, he soon realized it was only trying to show him how happy it was.

Barking away like dogs do when in high spirits, it then bounded towards a pile of dry wood near the edge of the clearing. There it turned around and stood looking at Pak Adam again. He quickly understood what the dog wanted him to do. Pak Adam collected the bones and the blowpipe, carried them to the pile of wood, and started a fire. Soon, a roaring fire was consuming the bones and the blowpipe. Pak Adam kept adding wood to keep it burning until all that was left was a pile of ash. So engrossed was he that he forgot about the wild dog altogether. When at last it was over, he looked around and found he was all alone. The dog had disappeared without his knowledge. He searched around the clearing as best as he could, but there was no sign of it. Finally he decided there was no point staying there any longer, and hurried back to his boat. The queer circumstances of his experience was beginning to get  to him. 

How he managed to find his way through the thick forest back to Teluk Berapit, he never knew. As soon as he reached the boat, he got in and rowed hurriedly away. He had not gone very far when he noticed a strange happening. For the first time in a long while, the still waters of Teluk Berapit stirred and rippled as wind blew, bringing life back to the bay. Pak Adam raised his sail and the boat picked up speed, and sliced its way home. It was dusk when Pak Adam reached his village. His returned created a sensation, sending almost everyone down to the beach. They came in droves, not only to marvel at his extraordinary haul but to gawk at him and confirm for themselves that he had indeed returned safely. It seemed during his longer than expected absence, word had got around that he had disappeared at sea. His wife Sapiah had gone hysterical thinking he must have met his fate at the hands of the evil spirits of Teluk Berapit. Worse, she sought Adnan the Shaman's help, and he had divined that Pak Adam had been abducted by the elves, Bunian, and would not return unless a king's ransom was paid. Adnan said she had to offer ten yards of white cloth, ten yards of yellow cloth, saffron rice, roast chicken, flowers in seven hues and several other items if she wanted to redeem her husband. Fortunately, Pak Adam returned just in time, or she would have taken an enormous loan from Kassim the Indian shopkeeper to secure the ransom.

When asked what happened to him in Teluk Berapit and why he failed to return yesterday, all Pak Adam said was, 'I met the Goddess of the sea, who took me to her palace, treated me to a banquet, and presented me with this boat load of fish.' And he quickly extricated himself and hurried off to sell his catch. The money he made gave the family welcome relief. ever since then, Pak Adam had been making occasional return visits to Teluk Berapit, to fish and just to be there. No longer was he filled with trepidation about the place. And no longer was he troubled by fears of the unknown lurking in the jungle, watching his every move. On one of these fishing trips, he chanced upon some aborigines in a boat. The oldest among them greeted him as their boats drew closer. 

'I notice you've been fishing regularly and sometimes even spending the night here.' 'That's right,' Pak Adam replied. 'Have you ever come across a certain wild dog?' 'Oh, as a matter of fact I have.' 'Weren't you afraid?' 'No.' 'You know something? That's not a real wild dog. He was one of us. He'd been cursed into a dog, and became the guardian spirit of Teluk Berapit.' 'Really? How did it happen?' 'Well, one day, he killed a dog. Not just any dog. It was the chief's best hunting dog which the man loved like his own son. The chief got seething mad. He banished him from the village and condemned him to be an outcast, roaming the jungle alone. He also warned him never to return, or he'd have him killed and his bones scattered all over the jungle, and his spirit will then have no peace unless a stranger comes along and burn them all to ashes.'