Chapter 2 The Five Past Midnight Visitor

Krik... krik... The old wall clock still chimed faithfully, though its tempo felt slower than a meditating tortoise. Its hands moved with palpable reluctance, as if fully aware of the horrors lurking in the minutes to come.

00:02.

Damar remained frozen in place. Like a wax statue that had forgotten to melt.

His eyes were glued to the figure before him. Man... was it? Creature... was it? Who knew. What was clear was that it stood upright, neatly dressed in an expensive-looking gray suit (maybe stolen from a closed shop?), but... zilch! Where was its face?

Not covered by the iconic Jason Voorhees mask. Nor with gruesome scars like a villain in a cheap movie. Truly... flat. Blank. Smooth. Like a hotel pillow fresh out of its packaging and not yet trampled on by a weary guest. It was a sight that made Damar wonder, how did this being see? Or maybe it had eyes on its... knees? Ewwh.

The faceless man sat down with a graceful movement that didn't fit the atmosphere of this rickety stall. Creeeek... ngiiik... The poor wooden chair groaned again as if its soul was being slowly snatched away. Damar felt his body tremble along with it, not from the cold (although the room temperature had suddenly plummeted as if a portal to Antarctica had just opened), but because his heart had decided to breakdance in the wrong place-his throat. It felt like a hummingbird was trapped there and desperately trying to get out.

"Black coffee. Without sugar," the man said.

The voice returned without the intermediary of lips. Blup! Directly greeting Damar's eardrums with unsolicited Dolby Atmos sound quality.

"I want to know... what it feels like to be human, even if just for a moment."

Sigh... Suddenly Damar felt a pang of pity. Turns out being human was so interesting that even a faceless creature was curious. Even though, when you thought about it, being human was just... paying installments, getting stuck in traffic, hearing neighborhood gossip, and occasionally getting a stomach ache from eating three-for-a-thousand fried snacks. Not very special, was it?

The voice didn't come from a mouth. Well, duh, it didn't have a mouth! But the voice was clear. Inside Damar's head. Like a neighbor's whisper talking about your flaws behind your back-but this time, the neighbor was a faceless entity from who-knows-which dimension. Or maybe... was this his own subconscious hallucinating? Maybe I haven't had a face all along?

Damar wanted to run. He really did. His legs were already poised to perform a marathon sprint towards the exit. But for some reason, his legs felt more scared than his brain. They were like two best friends having a terrible fight. His brain screamed "GET OUT!", but his legs just replied "TOO LAZY...".

With sluggish steps like a trainee zombie just woken up and forced to make coffee, Damar walked towards the kitchen. His right hand reached for a grimy glass that had probably seen generations of flies perch on it. His left hand... developed a sudden tremor like a leaf in a strong wind.

Hot water from the battered thermos that sounded like a jet taking off nguuuuung... was poured into the glass. Cheap sachet coffee powder-which smelled more like warehouse dust than coffee beans-spilled a little on the table. Pyar! For some reason, the aroma tonight wasn't the usual. There was a strong smell of damp earth. Not ordinary soil. Soil that had just been... opened. Like there was a sudden grave-digging project behind the stall. Uh-oh.

The cup containing the pitch-black liquid was placed on the table carefully, as if carrying a time bomb ready to explode at any moment. The man-or whatever it was-moved his front (where his face should have been) towards the coffee.

Without a nose. Well, obviously! But Damar could feel, or rather sense, that the creature was inhaling the coffee's aroma. Maybe it had a sense of smell on its... forehead? Disco chills.

"The scent... is sad," it whispered.

The whisper returned to greet Damar's thoughts with a dramatic, melancholic tone.

"You use very deep well water, don't you?"

Gluk! Damar swallowed, his saliva feeling like pebbles. How did it know about the old well behind the stall that was rumored to be... haunted?

The stall felt increasingly cold. A mysterious gust of wind suddenly sneaked in through the cracks in the cardboard-patched walls. Siiing... The old radio in the corner-which usually only served as an antique decoration-suddenly turned on by itself with a krrrr... jreng!

"Don't you deny your heart..."

An old song with mediocre sound quality. The singer's voice was tinny like a beaten-up can. But for some reason, the lyrics felt... too fitting for the situation. Was this a special playlist for uninvited guests?

The faceless man nodded slowly. An expressionless nod. Truly a sight more terrifying than seeing a credit card bill at the end of the month.

Then-puff!-it vanished.

Not leaving politely, saying thank you, and paying at the cashier (although Damar was sure it had paid with the wet money earlier). Not even walking out the door. But... evaporated. Like cigarette smoke blown by the wind. Wuuush... gone! Leaving only the lingering aroma of bitter coffee in the air, and...

Sret.

Damar looked at the table. Where the coffee cup had been, lay a five thousand rupiah bill. Soaked as if it had just been rescued from a flood. Wrinkled as if it had been squeezed by a stressed giant. Its corners were torn open like a yawning mouth. And... it was freezing cold when Damar dared to touch it with his fingertip. Brrrr... The cold pierced his bones, like touching the hand of a corpse fresh out of an icebox.

He hesitated to pick it up. This money felt... cursed.

But what truly made his hair stand on end in unison-performing a flash mob all over his body-was something written on the wet bill in coffee ink that looked still wet.

The writing slowly emerged on the surface of the money, as if scratched by an invisible finger. Ssssh... appearing...

"Don't turn off the lights...

At 00:05, the next customer arrives.

And they don't like the dark."

Deg! Damar's heart did another double beat in his throat.

00:03.

Damar stared blankly at the wall clock. Its hands still ticked tik... tok..., but their movement felt incredibly slow, like a snail in a race.

With trembling hands, he reached for the battered lighter on the cash register. Ctek! A small flame ignited, illuminating his pale face. He lit a stub of an old candle that had been a decoration in the stall for who-knew-how-long. The candlelight danced, making the shadows on the walls move like ghosts doing breakdance. The fluorescent lamp on the ceiling was getting worse, flickering erratically klip... klap... klip... klap..., as if giving a disclaimer that something terrible was about to happen.

Another wooden chair-which had been silent-began to move on its own. Krieeek... Slowly but surely. As if someone had just sat down, or was preparing to sit down and enjoy a bitter coffee offering from Kinanti's Stall.

00:04.

Damar backed away slowly, moving away from the table where the cursed money lay. His hand unconsciously reached for the worn-out, dusty palm fiber broom. Not an ideal weapon against supernatural entities, but at least better than the used fried snack spoon he had briefly considered. Who knew, maybe it could swat giant flies?

And from outside the stall... kriyet... The sound of footsteps could be heard. Slow. Rhythmic. But not like the sound of ordinary shoes tapping on asphalt. Tap... tap... tap... More like the sound of... nails. Long ones. Very long. And curved like small sickles. Kriet... kriet... kriet...

"One more minute," Damar whispered to himself. His voice trembled like a leaf in a storm.

"Please... don't let it be a spider. Please... please... please..."

00:05.

Kreeeeek... The stall door opened on its own. Without any visible wind. Its rusty hinges let out a heartbreaking sound like the scream of a cat caught in a door.

A cold wind-that smelled like freshly dug grave soil-rushed in, making the candlelight dance wildly before finally... pyar! It went out. Darkness immediately enveloped the stall, leaving only the faint moonlight that seeped through the cracks in the walls.

Then... from behind the door that hung open like the mouth of a dark cave, a hoarse voice was heard. The voice of an old woman that sounded tired and... a little insane.

"Dam... two coffees for me. One for me.

One for him who hasn't been properly buried... hihihi..."