The point of incense-fire glowing atop Karangsewu Hill seemed to wave in the dead of night, dragging Karto into a whirlpool of fate he had never been able to escape. The foul stench creeping through the hamlet grew denser, no longer merely the smell of decay but a vile presence that robbed his lungs of oxygen.
Breathing heavily and limping, Karto followed the footpath climbing toward the house on the hill. His fingers clenched tight, allowing the bandage around his palm to grow wet again from blood seeping out of the old, throbbing cut that pulsed in time with the beat of his neck.
The hut at the hilltop stood isolated among rows of towering pine trees. There was no fence or yard, only bare red earth covered by a thin veil of mist. Through the gaps in the hut's bamboo walls, a dim red glow spilled from candle flames, accompanied by the sharp scent of incense and srimpi oil that stung his nose.
Karto pushed open the hut's unlocked wooden door.
Creak...
The inside of the hut was dim. In the middle of the dirt floor, a middle-aged man with long, coiled hair sat cross-legged. He wore a dull black robe and faced a bamboo tray filled with a complete offering: three-colored flowers, yellow rice, and a black chicken with its throat slit.
But Karto's attention was fixed entirely on the object lying atop a clay bowl in front of the man.
A piece of burial shroud.
The mori cloth was dull and stained with wet earth, about the length of a human palm. Tightly bound across its rough surface was a blood-red thread—exactly like the cord binding Marni's soul that Karto had cut in her grave two months ago.
The man called Mbah Seta did not turn around, but his pitch-black lips slowly curved into a mocking smile.
"You came after all, Karto..." Mbah Seta's deep voice echoed through the room, shattering the silence. "Heir to the blood of red magic..."
"Who are you?!" Karto shouted, his voice hoarse and trembling violently. He stepped closer, his grip turning white-knuckled. "Where did you get that shroud?! Mbah Jambrong is dead! I buried that cord in the ground!"
Mbah Seta chuckled softly. The laugh sounded ice-cold as it bounced off the hut's bamboo walls. Slowly, he turned his body and stared at Karto with eyes whose whites had completely turned a blackish red.
"Mbah Jambrong was only one of many intermediaries," Mbah Seta said, stroking the piece of shroud in front of him. "This red magic never dies just because its vessel has had its neck broken. As long as there are greedy, grasping, desperate people like you... this mori cloth will always find a way to be cut!"
Mbah Seta lifted the piece of shroud into the air. The moment it rose, the candlelight in the room suddenly dimmed. Freezing air rushed in at once, carrying the sound of supernatural whispers howling from behind the hut's walls.
Karto... Karto...
Marni's sobbing echoed together with the moans of dozens of other souls who had once been sacrificed to that vile magic. Karto clutched his head and dropped to his knees on the dirt, screaming in pain. The bruised strands around his neck tightened as though the piece of shroud in Mbah Seta's hand were being pulled to strangle Karto from afar.
"Look closely, Karto!" Mbah Seta barked, his eyes bulging. "This isn't just a piece of cloth! It's a blood-inked pact! Every time this magic is used in a new place, a piece of shroud from the previous sacrifice must be used as bait to bind a new restless spirit!"
"You... you're using Marni's burial shroud..." Karto gasped, his eyes wide with terror.
"That girl's burial shroud is the key!" Mbah Seta laughed cruelly. "The blood you spilled on her forehead that night didn't seal away the magic, Karto... Your blood made the pact eternal! You didn't seal Marni away; you surrendered your own soul to bind this shroud!"
Mbah Seta threw the piece of shroud straight at Karto's chest.
Sizzle!
The moment the mori cloth touched his chest, it clung to him like red-hot iron, burning through Karto's shirt and skin. White smoke smelling of scorched flesh billowed upward. Karto let out a hysterical shriek and rolled across the dirt, trying to tear the piece of shroud from his chest.
But the mori cloth would not come off. Red fibers from its binding cord crept inward through Karto's pores, merging with his blood vessels.
From the dark corner of the room, a pocong wrapped in a tattered red burial shroud slowly emerged from behind the incense smoke. Its ruined, bulging face stared at Karto with unbearable vengeful hatred. Marni's restless spirit stood rigidly beside Mbah Seta, joining her supernatural power with his to crush the last remnants of Karto's sanity.
Give me back... my soul... the figure whispered.
Mbah Seta rose to his feet and walked toward Karto, who lay limp on the dirt. "Tonight, Karangsewu Hamlet will become my new sacrificial ground. And you, Karto... you will be the main stake anchoring this curse in their soil!"
Karto stared at the piece of shroud now pulsing atop his chest, drawing blood from his own wound. He realized completely that he had been trapped in an endless vicious circle—a curse bound to a piece of mori cloth, woven with red thread, and made eternal with the blood ink of his own blood.