His name is Dimas Raharja. He works as a public servant assigned to a government office. Dimas has performed his duties admirably for the past three years.

For certain reasons, Dimas must be reassigned to a place he has never visited before.

He knows no one there.

But in the name of duty, Dimas is willing to be transferred by his supervisor.

Rumor has it that everyone who has worked in the city Dimas is about to enter never feels at home and only manages to endure for two to three months.

Dimas isn't sure why they all feel uncomfortable and choose to be transferred back.

"I'm off now, Dad, Mom. Please pray for me, I hope everything goes smoothly," says Dimas as he bids farewell and asks for his parents' blessings.

"Of course, Dim. Your mother has only one piece of advice, never abandon your five daily prayers. And after Maghrib, make time to read the Quran," advises Dimas's mother.

Dimas nods and smiles. He promises in his heart not to neglect his prayers and to read the Quran every day.

After bidding farewell to his parents, Dimas promptly boards the online motorcycle taxi he had ordered, which has been waiting for him.

His mother looks hesitant to let her son go this time.

It's unusual for her to feel this kind of unease. She has a premonition of misfortune.

Nevertheless, Dimas’s mother continually murmurs prayers for her son, who is striving to earn money to help their family's finances.

"I suddenly have a bad feeling, dear. Is it just me, or do you sense it too?" Dimas's father asks his wife.

"I feel the same. But I will always pray that Allah SWT keeps Dimas away from all harm," says Dimas's mother, sincerely praying for her son.

..........

Dimas finally arrives in a city in East Java province after a long overland journey.

Upon disembarking from the bus, Dimas is greeted by someone assigned to escort him to the official residence.

"Are you Dimas?" asks the middle-aged man, who Dimas guesses is around forty.

"Yes, that's me. Are you Mr. Wongso?" Dimas inquires to confirm.

"Exactly, Mas. Hop on my bike. I'll take you to the official residence," offers a hospitable Mr. Wongso.

Dimas complies. He gets on the empty back seat. Once Dimas is securely seated, Mr. Wongso kickstarts his weathered motorcycle toward the residence where Dimas will be staying.

Along the way, Dimas sees the busy highway clogged with vehicles.

Dimas resigns himself as Mr. Wongso recklessly overtakes other vehicles left and right.

He is impressed by Mr. Wongso's riding skills.

Nimble and skilled.

Before long, the motorcycle arrives at the courtyard of a large and spacious house, still with red brick walls and designed like a traditional old-time house.

If compared to his parents' house, this official residence is about three times as big.

"Here we are, Mas. Go on in, your colleagues are inside. If you need anything, just head over to my house over there," says Mr. Wongso, pointing to a house about a hundred meters away from the residence Dimas will be occupying.

"Thank you, sir. Then I'll head inside," Dimas replies and steps toward the residence's gated door.

However, he halts when Mr. Wongso calls out to him again.

"Something else, sir?" Dimas asks, curious.

"I just want to remind Mas Dimas not to sit on the front terrace after eleven at night," warns Mr. Wongso, glancing toward a banyan tree that has already claimed Dimas's attention.

Dimas follows Mr. Wongso's gaze to the banyan tree with an expression that's hard to read.

"Why is that, sir?" Dimas asks, his curiosity piqued.

"Just don't, Mas. I'll be off then," replies Mr. Wongso, who is still hesitant to share his reason.

Dimas nods, allowing Mr. Wongso to return to his home.

The day darkens into evening, and the clock shows seven o'clock.

Dimas takes steps toward the house where he will live while attending to his work.

Before entering, he takes another glance at the banyan tree, its leaves dense, with many hanging roots, not too tall.

It looks eerie in the night.

A shiver runs down Dimas's spine. Whether it's a reaction or something else, he doesn't know.

Better to enter and perform the Isha prayer.

Dimas knocks on the door before fully entering.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Shortly, someone inside opens the door for Dimas.

"Welcome,"

Dimas startles at a whisper from a woman — its source unknown.

He looks around; no one is to be found nearby.

He turns back to ensure that he indeed heard someone speak to him.

"Have you arrived?" calls out a voice from inside the house.

Again, Dimas flinches — this time at the sound of a voice, loud and baritone — completely different from the one he just heard.

"Oh, hi, Mas. I'm Dimas..."

"I already know, come on in, Dim,"

His greeting is cut off by the other person.

Dimas enters, closes the door, and is introduced by a man named Satrio who also resides there with another roommate named Riko. They would be living there as a trio.

"Yes, Mas Satrio. Nice to meet you," Dimas responds with a smile.

"Just call me Satrio, no need for formalities. We seem to be the same age," says Satrio kindly.

"All right, Satrio," Dimas concedes.

After escorting Dimas to his room, Satrio excuses himself, to which Dimas nods acceptingly and immediately looks for a prayer mat to perform the Isha prayer.

Fortunately, there's a bathroom in the room he is staying in, so he doesn't have to look for one outside.

After performing ablution, Dimas unrolls the prayer mat and begins his devotion to Allah SWT.

The next day, Dimas woke up precisely at four in the morning. It was as if an internal alarm had been set; he always awoke at that hour.

Upon opening his eyes wide and gathering as much spirit as he could, Dimas promptly walked to the bathroom for ablution and to cleanse himself with a shower.

While dousing himself under the showerhead, Dimas felt a presence watching him from every direction.

Dimas turned off the shower and looked around.

Nothing.

He saw no one.

Dimas paused to think.

"Maybe this is just my imagination," Dimas mused to himself.

He decided to continue his showering ritual until finished.

Once done, Dimas wrapped a towel around his waist.

He moved to the sink to brush his teeth.

Reaching for the toothpaste on the edge of the sink, it suddenly moved on its own.

Dimas tried to stay positive. He reached for his toothpaste again, and once more, it shifted by itself.

Dimas glanced around to see if there was someone else in the bathroom.

After a deep breath, Dimas attempted to grab the toothpaste again.

As his hand touched it, at that same moment, Dimas felt another hand on the back of his.

He recoiled and stepped back a few paces.

His breathing quickened. Dimas couldn't believe what had just happened.

He pressed himself against the wall, scanning the room.

No one was there but him.

Dimas realized he was being disturbed by an unseen entity.

When his gaze fell on the mirror, Dimas's eyes widened in disbelief, his body trembling with fear, for he saw a long-haired figure in white standing right above his head.

The figure was creeping like a gecko.

Then an eerie laughter echoed through the bathroom.

Hahahaha!!

Hahahaha!!

The creature crawled about, eventually stopping on the ceiling, staring down at Dimas.

Dimas could see the ghastly face, damaged, with one eye hanging out in front of it.

He covered his ears and shut his eyes tightly.

As it's forbidden to pray in the bathroom—a directive from Allah SWT—Dimas chose to recite prayers internally.

He silently uttered every exorcism prayer he knew, his body shaking violently.

Slowly, the laughter turned into a wailing cry that sliced through his heart.

Dimas continued with the prayers he remembered. "Allahu laa ilaaha illaa huwal hayyul qoyyuum, laa ta’khudzuhuu sinatuw walaa naum. Lahuu maa fissamaawaati wa maa fil ardli man dzal ladzii yasyfa’u ‘indahuu illaa biidznih, ya’lamu maa baina aidiihim wamaa kholfahum wa laa yuhiithuuna bisyai’im min ‘ilmihii illaa bimaa syaa’ wasi’a kursiyyuhus samaawaati wal ardlo walaa ya’uuduhuu hifdhuhumaa wahuwal ‘aliyyul ‘adhiim."

After finishing the verse, the sounds that had been there disappeared.

Simultaneously, the call to dawn prayer began to sound from the mosque's loudspeaker.

Finally, Dimas opened his teary eyes, having been stricken with fear. Yes, Dimas had cried.

He wasn't supposed to be afraid, but this was the first time Dimas had seen and heard the supernatural himself.

Regaining composure, Dimas performed ablution and left the bathroom.

Dressed completely, he went on to fulfill his morning duty as a Muslim.

*

"Good morning, Satrio, Riko," Dimas greeted for the first time at the breakfast table.

"Good morning, Dimas. Did you sleep well? Soundly?" Satrio inquired, making sure.

"Soundly," replied Dimas, who wasn't lying.

After breakfast, they headed to the government office together, driving a car especially prepared for the employees.

As they passed the banyan tree, Dimas felt a shiver run through him.

He always shivered passing that particular tree.

Dimas glanced at the banyan tree once more before leaving.

Nothing seemed unusual, but Dimas always sensed something about that tree.

"What's the matter, Dimas? You're daydreaming?" Riko said, snapping Dimas out of his fixation on the mysterious tree.

"Eh! Let's just get going now!" Dimas suggested, and his two friends nodded in agreement.

Upon arrival at the office, Dimas greeted everyone he passed cheerfully.

Satrio showed Dimas to his desk, which wasn't too far from theirs, allowing for easy socializing as Dimas didn't yet know any of the other workers.

"New employee from out of town, right?" a woman with shoulder-length hair greeted.

Dimas nodded and smiled warmly in response.

"Hi, I'm Clarissa," the woman said, extending her hand for a shake.

Dimas smiled and returned the gesture.

"I'm Dimas. Pleasure meeting you," said Dimas graciously.

She smiled and excused herself to return to her desk, which, it turned out, was next to Dimas's.

While still focusing on Clarissa, a whispered voice reached Dimas's ear again.

"Kill her!" said the whisper.

Dimas recognized this voice wasn't that of any of his friends.

Dimas closed his eyes briefly and exhaled roughly.

Intent on refocusing, Dimas turned to Satrio beside him, but "Aargh!" he yelped, startled, collapsing to the floor. It was not Satrio that Dimas saw.

Dimas became the center of attention among the employees in the room. "What's the matter, Dim? You look like you've just seen a ghost," Satrio asked, offering to help Dimas stand.

Dimas was silent, processing yet another bizarre experience.

"Why do 'they' appear so often here? I've never seen them before," Dimas thought to himself.

"You okay, Dim? Dimas? Hey!?" Satrio snapped again, awaiting a response.

Dimas jolted out of his reverie and weakly shook his head 'no'.

Dimas saw the entity from this morning's bathroom encounter.

Its mangled face and dangling eye caused Dimas to tremble fearfully.

Especially terrifying was how close the disfigured face came to his own, the hanging eye nearly touching Dimas's face.

Suddenly, Dimas touched his face fearfully, expecting to feel blood, but found none.

"What's wrong, Dimas? There's nothing on your face," said a puzzled Satrio as he watched Dimas wipe at his face.

Dimas shook his head again and remained hesitant to share his experiences.

Dimas wondered if he was the only one haunted by this unseen specter.

Were Satrio and Riko not experiencing what he endured?

Dimas was completing the Maghrib prayer in congregation at the mosque near his official residence.

He intentionally prayed at the mosque to calm his nerves. He wasn't ready to share his troubles with his two friends.

Dimas feared they might be frightened, and worse, they might not believe what he had seen.

After leaving the mosque, Dimas didn't head straight home, but instead stopped by Mr. Wongso’s house.

Upon arrival, Dimas immediately knocked on Mr. Wongso's door. Shortly after, he heard the sound of the door opening from the inside.

Click.

The door opened, revealing Mr. Wongso wearing a wrapped sarong around his waist.

Dimas guessed Mr. Wongso had just completed the Maghrib prayer as well.

“Assalamualaikum, Sir....” Dimas greeted him for the first time.

“Waalaikumsalam Mr. Dimas. Please come in,” invited Mr. Wongso.

Dimas complied and entered Mr. Wongso’s house, taking a seat on a rattan chair in the living room.

“What brings you here, Mr.?” Mr. Wongso asked curiously.

“I wanted to ask about why you forbid me from sitting on the terrace after eleven at night. What's the reason behind it?” Dimas cut straight to the point.

Mr. Wongso seemed nervous after being asked that question.

“I can't tell you, Mr. If I do, it wouldn't be good for me,” replied Mr. Wongso, his gaze darting around the room.

He acted as if someone was watching him.

Dimas’s confusion grew, but he wouldn't press Mr. Wongso to talk if it would endanger him.

“Can you give me any advice on what to do next?” inquired Dimas once more.

“Have you heard any whispers?” Mr. Wongso asked softly, leaning closer to Dimas in hopes no one else would overhear.

Dimas was startled because he had already experienced what Mr. Wongso was asking about.

“I’m disturbed by those whispers,” Dimas replied in a hushed voice.

“I can't help much, but my advice to you is to be careful,” Mr. Wongso counseled.

*

“Where is Dimas, Sat?” Riko inquired, noticing Dimas was not at home.

“He's praying Maghrib at the mosque. He said he’d stop by Mr. Wongso's house afterward,” Satrio informed them of Dimas's whereabouts.

“Why does he need to visit there?” Riko pressed, not yet satisfied.

Satrio shrugged, an indication he also didn't know why Dimas went to Mr. Wongso’s house.

“I find Dimas's behavior since this morning really odd. Even seeing your face made him shout that loudly,” Riko expressed his thoughts.

“I’m puzzled too. Maybe my face is so handsome? I realize I’m indeed the handsome bro. From the front, I'm handsome; from the back, I'm handsome – Handsome from every angle,”

Satrio continued to boast confidently about his own looks.

Riko was no longer listening to anything Satrio was saying. His focus was on Dimas, who was standing on the porch staring at the banyan tree.

Riko kept an eye on what Dimas would do next.

When he saw Dimas start to cautiously approach the banyan tree, Riko ran to get closer to him.

Riko ignored Satrio, who was calling after him and muttering curses for being ignored.

*

Dimas was now on the porch of the official residence, reluctant to go inside as he was determined to unravel the mystery of the female figure associated with the banyan tree before him.

Dimas felt there was a connection between them.

Perhaps by examining the banyan tree more closely, he might find some clue there.

He moved slowly toward the eerie tree, especially unnerving that night due to the dim yellow porch light, as opposed to a white one, which only heightened the creeping atmosphere.

Just three steps away from reaching the banyan tree, an unexpected pat came on his back.

“Allahu Akbar!”

“Allahu Akbar!”

“Astagfirullah, astagfirullah!”

Dimas gasped in shock, invoking the name of His Lord.

“It’s me, Dimas!” exclaimed Riko, who had purposely approached Dimas as he was moving toward the banyan tree.

Riko noticed an unusual gaze from his friend upon viewing the banyan tree before them.

“You scared me, Rik,” Dimas retorted, half-annoyed.

“Why are you standing here in the middle of the night anyway?” Riko reasoned.

Just then, a sudden downpour soaked the bickering pair.

Dimas and Riko quickly dashed inside the house to avoid the rain.

After the house door closed, under the banyan tree stood a figure of a woman with shoulder-length hair, dressed traditionally in a kebaya.

She looked emptily toward Riko and Dimas, her face ghastly pale.

Flashback on.

Riko's hurry to chase after Dimas wasn't without reason.

He had seen a woman in a kebaya, whom he'd noticed every time he went to and from work.

Riko knew she was not a human but a being from another realm.

He feared this entity would trouble Dimas, having observed it since Dimas had moved into his current residence.

The figure always watched Dimas as he left for and returned from work.

When Dimas was three steps shy of the banyan tree, the figure still stared blankly at him and Riko.

Riko decided to pat Dimas’s shoulder to prevent him from getting closer to the tree.

Thankfully, this stopped Dimas from approaching the banyan tree.

Flashback off.

"Why were you walking toward that banyan tree?" Riko began interrogating.

Dimas fell silent, contemplating his response. He still hesitated to share his experiences with his friends.

"Just curious. Whenever I look at that tree, it seems to possess some mystery,” Dimas half-lied.

Riko felt relieved that Dimas had not seen the woman standing under the banyan tree.

"Indeed, it’s shrouded in mystery. Even seeing it every day, I still get goosebumps whenever I pass by," Satrio chimed in, joining the conversation between Riko and Dimas.

"So, I'm not the only one who feels that the banyan tree contains some hidden mystery?" Dimas's interest piqued, finding a kindred spirit.

"What about you, Rik?" Satrio prodded, noticing Riko's silence.

Riko alternated glances between his two friends before replying.

“Numerous mysteries are indeed enshrined within that banyan tree,"