Kuntilanak

By Raymond Frazee

Paranormal investigator Indriani Baskoro arrives in Bali at the bequest of a local healer. She is there to take part in a hunt for a spirit seen in a small village, but what Indriani discovers is far more disturbing, and what starts of a simple ghost hunt eventually becomes the greatest fight of her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raymond Frazee
• Release date: Sep 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466028630

Raymond Frazee

A long time resident of Northwest Indiana, Raymond Frazee has long dreamed of joining the writers who grace his bookshelves. And now he's made that dream come true-- Join him as he brings his stories from his imagination and out into reality. It's going to be great ride, so hop in and have fun!

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Kuntilanak

Raymond Frazee

Copyright 2011 Raymond Frazee

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The Ferry

Chapter 2: The Preparation

Chapter 3: The First Night

Chapter 4: The Evidence

Chapter 5: The Well

Chapter 6: The Second Night

Chapter 7: The Resolution

Chapter 8: The Stakeout

Chapter 9: The Séance

Chapter 10: The Villa

Chapter 11: The Coda

Dedication

To Sri, who planted the idea.

To Tanya, for helping me get there.

The first passengers were disembarking the ferry and Buana searched for his friend, squinting against the morning sun reflecting harshly off the waves of Selat Bali. Even standing under the covered walkway the glare was enough to give him a headache. Buana hated coming to the ferry in the morning, mostly because he was not a morning person. Then again, when your job has you working at all hours of the day or night, any time was likely to become a bad time.

Buana only needed to wait 90 seconds before spotting her. She was easy to recognize; her email mentioned she would be wearing something colorful and Buana could see that was a bit of an understatement. Her bright floral pattern blouse and cream-colored khakis were literally glowing in the morning sun, but it was the meter long pink rolling duffel she pulled behind her that instantly drew his attention. Buana was only now making out her backpack: yes, it too was pink, just as he remembered when they met two years ago. Walking amongst the other people—most of them tourists from Java—she stood out like a beautifully painted figurine surrounded by a sea of drabness.

He stood off to the side of the ramp intersection, hands folded against his white pants, waiting patiently. She spotted Buana from 5 meters away and began waving, a bright smile playing across her face. In moments she was standing before him, both doing their best to stay out of the way of the other passengers.

Setting her duffel upright the woman stood facing him. Palms together, she performed a small bow. Om Swastiastu, Buana, she said, giving the traditional Balinese greeting.

Performing the same gesture Kadek Bagus Surya Buana replied, Om Swastiastu, Indri, then stood tall, his smile almost as bright as hers. Welcome to Bali.

Indriani Baskoro looked around. Always this busy this early in the morning?

Buana motioned Indri to follow him along the elevated ramp. It’s like this day and night; the only time the traffic dies down is when Bromo is erupting, referring to Mount Bromo, one of Java’s many active volcanoes. Then the tourists are running off to see the volcano. They turned left, heading towards the stairs leading to the parking lot. I’m glad you could make it, Buana said. He took one end of her duffel as they descended the stairs. I was worried other obligations would keep you from visiting.

I thought that might be the case as well, she said while negotiating the stairs. The moment they were in the parking lot she popped the duffel handle and continued following Buana. We were supposed to go to Karangsari to investigate this weekend— She shook her head, remembering the argument with her team leader before boarding the bus for the Ketapang ferry. But there was no way I was passing this up. She squinted into the morning sun. Not for a kuntilanak.

Once her bags were loaded aboard Buana’s van, Indri sat back and began reviewing the information she’d been sent in the last week, as well as everything Buana had collected since. The last sighting was the night before? she asked.

Buana adjusted his sunglasses and windscreen shade while driving east, making the sun’s glare a bit more manageable. I spoke yesterday with the two people who saw it. Turn to page 4— Indri flipped through the notes to that page. Two different people, different parts of town, different hours of the night.

Indri did a quick scan of Buana’s notes. What sort of village is Tukad Mungga?

Quiet. Buana pulled behind a slow moving lorry and began looking for an opportunity to pass. Most of the villages in North Bali are that way. He passed the lorry and picked up speed. We’re getting more and more visitors up here; the south part of the island is for the day trippers and ex-pats. He relaxed as the road opened up, settling in until the next block of traffic. You’ll find a lot of wealthy and semi-wealthy people living in places like Tukad Mungga: people getting away from the crowds, looking for their own piece of the quiet life. He smiled as he cast his glance for a moment upon his passenger. Sort of like the towns around Yogyakarta, no?

Oh, sure, Indri said, almost snorting out the words. She examined the map Buana included in his notes, checking the spots circled. These sightings are 300 meters apart?

Watching the road while speaking, Buana said, 300 meters apart, but the sightings were within 20 minutes of each other. I was lucky to get the times down so exact: one of the witnesses was on his mobile when he spotted the kuntilanak, and the other was leaving a friend’s house and remembered checking the time only moments before.

Reaching over to tap the papers, he said, I know what you’re thinking: it’s unusual for a kuntilanak to cover that much territory. But Tukad Mungga isn’t a very big local. Buana returned his attention to the road for a moment, slowing for a group of motor bikes. The whole town is maybe a half a klick across—though some count Pandji, the village to the west, as part of Tukad Mungga. He chuckled. Pandji does the same thing . . .

I know how local boundary arguments go. Reaching into her backpack Indri removed her own case file. I find the movement strange, though. I thought kuntilanak stayed in one particular area.

Not always. The first three sightings happened near a small clearing on the south side of town. After that she started appearing all over the village. Buana tapped the horn twice, hoping to encourage the motor bikes to speed up. I’ve only been on this for a week; I’ve spent a lot of time hunting down people who saw her in the beginning—

And when did the sightings begin? Indri’s pen was at ready as she prepared to add to her own notes.

Three weeks ago. Buana decided he’d had enough and flew past the motor bikes at the first opportunity. Couple of teenagers, out late and looking for a quiet spot, were approached. They weren’t the first to report it, though, because they were making out when the kunti appeared. He shrugged. They contacted me three days ago after I began putting out feelers.

Indri