His mounting curiosity sent a jolt of adrenaline through him, driving him to visit the abandoned house he had used as story material that night, even though fear dominated his thoughts.
Randy got off his motorcycle and raked a hand through his hair. The moss-covered old building looked especially terrifying on a night like this.
It had taken him quite a while to convince himself to come here. At least it wasn't too late yet, and people were still passing by on motorcycles and in cars along the road. The area was relatively busy tonight, at least.
He wanted to prove Miss Ria's claim that he had made a mistake while researching the death of the abandoned house's resident for his story. He couldn't wait until tomorrow. With his curiosity at its peak, Randy knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until he proved it for himself.
He had no idea what he might find in this empty building. Still, some part of him kept hoping he would meet someone he could question about the real truth behind the story of this house.
Randy easily entered the building, which wasn't even locked. It really was a house its owner had simply abandoned. When Randy pushed the door open, he saw that all the furniture and belongings were still there.
His courage faltered when he saw the dark hallway. But if he didn't go in, his curiosity would drive him crazy. Trying to calm the pounding in his chest, he tapped the flashlight he had brought until it came on, illuminating the rooms inside the house.
He took a firm step inside, sweeping the flashlight beam over several areas he felt needed checking.
Randy's flashlight illuminated the staircase leading to the upper floor. There were several rooms up there, so he started climbing the stairs.
“Hey!”
Thump.
His steps stopped. He froze in place.
“Hey!”
The voice instantly raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Randy slowly rubbed his cold nape. He glanced right and left, but there was no one behind the darkness.
He swallowed with difficulty. Then he turned around stiffly. A black shadow shaped like a human being stood in front of the house's door—the one he had left open.
“W—what the hell!” Randy stumbled backward, his foot catching on something. He fell onto the stairs, landing hard on his backside. The flashlight in his hand rolled away somewhere.
Scrape… scrape…
Footsteps dragged across the floor as the black shadow continued approaching him. Randy scooted backward. Especially when the moonlight filtering in from outside revealed the silhouette swinging something in its hand.
With trembling hands, Randy accepted the ginger drink held out by the middle-aged man beside him. He took a pleased sip of the steaming beverage.
He gave the man an awkward nod when their eyes happened to meet. The two of them were sitting in a coffee stall some distance across from the house.
“So you thought I was a ghost?”
Randy nodded with an embarrassed grin, feeling terribly guilty toward the man beside him.
“Ha ha ha… A lot of people are scared when they first see me, especially when I'm carrying a machete around.”
Randy nodded quickly. The darkness had also kept him from seeing the older man's face clearly. He had jumped to the worst conclusion and assumed the man was a ghost, then screamed in terror.
“I'm just the person assigned to guard the house from nosy people who sometimes come here to loot it.”
“If you're afraid it'll get looted, why not just lock the house, sir?”
“I don't know. I'm confused about that myself. The owner never got the lock fixed. Besides, none of the locals dare go near the place because of the scary story surrounding this house.
“Usually, the looters come from out of town, but they always run off before they can get anything because they're scared away by Alia's restless ghost.”
“Have you ever seen Alia's ghost, sir?”
“Don't even ask!”
“Why not?”
“All the time. I've gotten so used to seeing that ghost wandering around in my house. But she hasn't shown up much these past few days. Thank goodness.”
“Yeah, because she came to my boarding house,” Randy grumbled to himself.
“She is a restless spirit, kid. It's only natural for her to wander around like that.”
“So you believe Alia committed suicide?” Randy asked.
“Shh… Lower your voice! Alia is sensitive. The moment we tell the story of her suicide, she'll show up.”
“Really, sir?”
The old man nodded confidently.
“What are you really doing here, coming to that abandoned house alone in the middle of the night? Weren't you scared?”
“Well, I was scared, sir. I just forced myself to be brave because I was curious. One of my friends who can see ‘them’ said Alia didn't commit suicide like people have been saying.”
“Huh?” The old man flinched, staring at Randy with furrowed brows. “Are you serious? Don't go making up lies. You'll end up slandering someone.”
“I didn't believe it at first either, sir. That's why I came to this abandoned house on a whim—and ended up meeting you. So you really don't know anything?”
“Nope. I don't know anything except those conflicting reports.”
“Sir… could you help me?”
“Help you with what?”
“Give me more information about Alia's death. Because…” Randy leaned forward slightly after checking that no one was watching them. “Alia has been haunting my friend and me for the past few days, sir.”
“What do you mean?”
“It's like this… I casually wrote a story about Alia dying by suicide on one of my social media accounts.
“Then, ever since that day, Alia's ghost has been terrorizing me and my friend—the one who can see supernatural beings I mentioned earlier. She said Alia didn't commit suicide. She said Alia wanted me to write down what really happened.”
The old man now looked uneasy. He shifted restlessly in his seat.
“Do you know something? About that house, or its owner, who is still related to Alia?” Randy asked, noticing the man's strange movements.
“Um… It's been ten years. People sometimes forget the story of this abandoned house. And actually, the house has changed hands. It isn't owned by one of Alia's relatives anymore, but by someone else, and I'm the one assigned to guard it. But…”
“But?”
“But what, sir?”
“There is something strange about that man. I often catch him crying alone while staring at a painting of a beautiful woman in one of the rooms. I've never asked any further because that man is kind of strange. He often talks to himself.”
“What is that man's name, sir?”
“Hilman. He comes every Saturday.”
“About what time?”
“Usually in the afternoon, just before sunset prayer.”
Randy nodded several times. Then he got up from his seat.
“You want to meet him, kid?”
“Yes. I need to get more information so I can continue my story and find out what really happened.”
“As far as I know, Mr. Hilman doesn't talk much, and he doesn't like being questioned. But if you still want to try, that's up to you. Hopefully you'll succeed.”
“All right, sir. Thanks. Oh, right—what's your name?”
“Dirman.”