I live in a three-story shophouse somewhere on Sumatra Island, Indonesia. It was built in the 1980s, and I’ve been living here for 15 years. (Right now, I’m glad) I’ll be leaving in a year since I’m graduating from high school. I can’t exactly say I love the house, but the idea of leaving it has been hard to accept.
I’ve always known that the house was haunted. When I was a child, I was brave, so it didn’t bother me. I didn’t mind walking through the dark hallways or sitting alone in the living room, watching TV as darkness from the third floor cast over the staircase. I never feared ghosts or spirits since the shophouse is connected to another, making me feel secure (plus, my best friend and classmate of nine years lives next door). There are also three mosques surrounding the neighborhood, and being extremely religious, I never had trouble being alone.
My first encounter happened when I was nine. We had just returned from a trip to Hong Kong, and everyone was tired. My room is next to my parents’, at the end of the hallway. The time was 11 PM. The air felt unsettling that night, but I tried to stay positive. I tossed and turned on my bed, stressed. Despite being tired, I couldn’t sleep. I decided to take a deep breath, closed my eyes, and got lost in the loud silence of the night.
Then I heard it.
Thud. A soft thud outside my room. My eyes fluttered open, regaining consciousness. I listened again, but there was nothing. Silence. I began to panic a little. I convinced myself to calm down, thinking, “It wouldn’t choose this moment to appear, right?” Oh boy, was I wrong.
A loud bang shattered the silence. I shot my eyes open, horrified. It seemed like someone was trying to get inside, the doorknob shaking wildly. I don’t know what came over me, but I got up, ran to the door, and kicked it with all my might. I was angry at whatever was trying to enter. Suddenly, it stopped, only for my parents to burst out of their room. I opened the door, and to my surprise, my parents looked shocked. What surprised me the most was the large dent on my door, with the handle broken from outside.
We ended up staying at my aunt’s that night. The incident wasn’t discussed much afterward; my dad concluded that maybe someone was trying to break in, though it didn’t make sense because CCTV recordings showed no signs of a break-in. But I prefer to believe that explanation.
My second occurrence happened about five years ago, during a week when everyone was exhausted. To keep it short, I was 11 years old. That night, I was very sick, and my mom was sleeping with me since something felt off. It was raining heavily, and my mom told me that I was sleeping fine until the rain turned into a thunderstorm. I woke up sweaty and woke up my mom.
“Mommy…” I shook her awake, and her eyes fluttered open. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m scared,” I said, my voice shaky. My mom sighed and comforted me, patting me back to sleep. I stayed silent for a few minutes, at least until a rough, quick knock sounded from outside. My eyes opened as the room fell silent. Despite the heavy rain, an eerie quietness hung in the air as my mom and I stared at each other. The TV, left on to counter the silence, suddenly went off.
Out of nowhere, footsteps echoed outside. Not just one set, but multiple. It sounded like a group of children running up and down the hallway. This continued for a long minute before the doorknob began to shuffle again. My mom screamed in horror as the shuffling grew rougher and turned into door-banging. I can’t remember what happened afterward. All I recall is my mom calling the police, and we spent the night at a hotel eight miles away. It turned out my neighbor had heard it too, and she mentioned that she had been under the impression that there were many children in my house ALL THIS TIME, indicating that it wasn’t the first time she had heard it. We agreed never to speak of it again.
A few hours ago, something happened while I was getting ready for school. I entered my walk-in closet, a bit drowsy, but the atmosphere changed rapidly into a familiar unease. I got dressed, sat on the couch to put on my socks, and that’s when I first felt it. Something was in the corner of my eye. I jerked my head up to look at the coat hanger, but there was nothing.
I brushed it off, though I was definitely creeped out. I had that feeling where I KNEW that somewhere in the room, IT WAS HERE. Do I know what ‘it’ is? No. Do I want to know? I’m not sure. I acted as if nothing happened and that I was oblivious, as if I didn’t want it to realize I was aware of its presence. I walked slowly, rolled my bangs up with a hair roller, adjusted my skirt, and stood in front of the mirror to apply sunscreen.
That was a mistake. Something made my head turn. In the corner of the room, right where the coat hanger was, a piece of fabric flew toward me. It looked like a white ball—almost like a face, with a black cloth flying toward me. I screamed, terrified, turning my head back to the mirror. I didn’t waste another moment and didn’t look back at the corner. Nothing was there.
I rushed out of my closet, grabbed my bag, and left the house. I drove straight to school, calming down as I parked. I called my mom, who was supposed to be jogging with my dad. “Hey, Mom…”
“What’s wrong? Are you okay, Celine?” I broke down in tears. Motherly instincts never cease to amaze me. After a few minutes of crying to my mom, I finally calmed down. But before I began talking about what had happened, I asked where she was. After hearing her response, I knew I didn’t want to go home.
“It’s just… Dad doesn’t want to go home. He said dozens of eyeless toddlers were staring at him this morning. I don’t know how to convince him it wasn’t… It’s not real, right?”
Please, anyone, I’m desperate for an explanation. Can someone please tell me what might be the issue with these spirits—or hell, what they even are? I’d really appreciate knowing, at least before I have to return home. There are other strange things (at least, what I find strange) that happen frequently in my house:
I hope anyone could help.. Sorry for my bad english. I’ll update if anything happens later.