Chapter 3 Dangdut in the Dark

Kriiiing... The old wall clock chimed again, signaling the start of a new chapter of strangeness at Kinanti's Coffee Stall. Damar's second night watching over this part-time horror establishment. This time, he came with more thorough preparations. A battered flashlight in his pants pocket (just in case of sudden blackouts), and a bottle of Zamzam water in his fanny pack (as a precaution against entities allergic to holy water).

He wasn't sure if these items would be effective against the bizarre creatures that seemed to use this stall as their unofficial basecamp, but at least there was an illusion of safety. A small one. Especially after the faceless man and self-moving chair incident the night before. An event that made him wonder if he had truly woken up from his overly long nap, or if he was trapped in a prolonged nightmare directed by a local version of M. Night Shyamalan.

00:01.

Thunk! Just like the night before. The long fluorescent lamp on the stall's ceiling went out for a moment, plunging everything into a darkness that immediately sent shivers down Damar's spine. Then, with a low hum ngiiiiiing..., the light returned, its glow dim and flickering like a disco ball in a haunted house at a night market.

That was when the stall door creaked open slowly krieeek.... There was no sound of the night breeze that usually accompanied the arrival of normal guests (if there were any normal guests at this hour). Only the sound of light footsteps, almost inaudible tap... tap... tap..., like a cat tiptoeing.

A woman floated into the stall. Syuuut... Her hair was long, pitch black, hanging like a dark curtain that moved on its own in the gloom. Her feet? Oh, she seemed to have forgotten to bring them. The woman hovered about a hand's breadth above the cold tiled floor, like an Annabelle doll doing the moonwalk without music. Her face was indistinct, covered by a thin mist that made her look mysterious and slightly frightening. Even more indistinct than the faceless man who had come the night before. Only a pair of deep black eyes stared sharply at Damar from behind the mist, although Damar wasn't sure what could actually be seen in that darkness. Were they real eyes, or just two mini black holes ready to suck out his soul?

The woman sat down silently on one of the rickety wooden chairs krieeek..., like a shadow suddenly falling upon it. Damar stared at her from behind the cash register, his body stiff and upright like a wax statue that had forgotten to melt. His heart pounded like the bass drum of a metal band practicing in his chest. Silent. Quiet. Only the air felt heavy and cold, almost unbreathable. Something felt very... wrong.

Then, the woman's mouth opened slowly. But it wasn't a normal human voice that came out. Ngiing... The sound was like a soft melody, like an old song broadcast from a dusty old radio.

"I'm still the same as before..."

Jiaaaah! Damar jumped in surprise, almost dropping the leftover coffee cup from the night before that he hadn't had time to wash. Pyar! He looked up, trying to find the source of the sound. But no one was speaking. Only the woman, still sitting calmly at the table with a blank stare.

"I'm still the same as before..."

Old dangdut lyrics. Damar recognized it. The sound pierced the recesses of his memory, taking him back to his childhood when his mother often played old cassettes on their battered radio. Sometimes the melodious (or mournful?) voice of Meggy Z heartbroken, sometimes the golden (or off-key?) voice of Rhoma Irama looking for a partner, sometimes even older songs that made Damar feel like he was trapped in a time machine taking him to memories he didn't particularly miss.

"Wha... what can I help you with, Miss?" Damar asked cautiously, trying to keep his voice from trembling.

The woman stared at Damar with an expressionless gaze, devoid of any readable emotion. Only her deep black eyes spoke, conveying an unspoken sadness and emptiness.

"Don't force me... to choose him..."

Whoa! Damar could barely breathe. His mouth felt as dry as the Sahara desert in the dry season. The words he wanted to say felt stuck in his throat, forming a strange, painful lump. The woman continued "speaking," each sentence that came from her lips was a fragment of a different song lyric, as if her life was an endless medley of melancholic dangdut. Each lyric felt randomly chosen but somehow fit the increasingly chilling atmosphere of the stall. It was like a ghostly DJ was playing a special playlist for invisible visitors.

"Don't force me... to choose him..."

Another song drifted out, this time from a slightly different era, but still with the same mournful melody. It had absolutely nothing to do with the situation at hand. The woman's voice seemed to jump through time dimensions, echoing between the shelves of sachet coffee and cold fried snacks, feeling like it was floating in the increasingly heavy air.

Damar really didn't know what to do. Meanwhile, the woman continued to "speak" with dangdut lyrics that to Damar seemed nonsensical but somehow felt very familiar to his ears. Like a song that kept playing in his memory, unstoppable even though he tried hard to reject it. It was like being trapped in an old commercial that couldn't be skipped!

"No need for anyone to feel wrong, we're just trapped in time..."

The song became increasingly strange, the longer it went on, the more restless and uncomfortable Damar felt. Fear began to creep into the edges of his brain like cockroaches in the stall's kitchen. He wanted to run, to escape as far as possible from this place, but his feet felt glued to the floor. It was as if the universe was binding him here to witness an otherworldly dangdut performance he hadn't ordered.

The woman finally stopped "singing."

And Damar didn't know if it was a relief-finally silence returned-or just an intensifying tension, waiting for the next surprise.

With careful steps, he walked slowly to the rickety kitchen. His trembling hands tried to prepare a cup of black coffee-without sugar, according to the faceless customer's request last night (who knew if their tastes were the same?). Damar's hands felt heavy, his heart beat faster and faster like maracas shaken brutally. But this was his job. He had to be professional, even if his customers were ghosts who communicated through dangdut songs. He wanted to look brave, but the fear was stronger than his usually large curiosity. With hesitant steps, he returned to the table and placed the cup of coffee in front of the woman. Hopefully, she wouldn't ask for the more expensive robusta.

Damar watched every movement the woman made. The woman who didn't utter a single word, but "spoke" with the strains of a heartbreaking song. Suddenly, the woman's indistinct face smiled. A strange, unreal smile. Like a smile in a dream that felt so beautiful but impossible in the real world. A smile that seemed impossible for an ordinary human trying to stay awake on a night shift.

The woman looked at the black coffee, then directed her deep black eyes that pierced through the faint mist towards Damar. A gaze so deep that Damar felt like he was staring into a bottomless well.

And slowly, like a shadow fading under the hot sun, she disappeared. Syuuut... No sound, no sudden movement. Just like cigarette smoke that vanished into thin air carried by the night breeze. Leaving Damar alone in the increasingly chilling silence, accompanied only by the aroma of bitter coffee and the dangdut songs that still echoed in his head.

Damar was stunned. He stood stiffly behind the cash register, observing the table with suspicion. On the table, there were no delicate footprints, no traces of a floating body that he could find. But in the spot where the woman had been sitting, lay a dry leaf that looked wet, as if it had just been touched by a tear. But who was crying? Didn't the woman never really speak? She only "sang" song lyrics that Damar didn't fully understand.

Hesitantly, he reached for the dry leaf. Sreeek... The leaf felt wet and cold in his hand. The coldness pierced to his fingertips.

But as Damar bent down to put the leaf back on the table, his eyes fell on something else hidden beneath the leaf.

A small piece of paper. Syuuut... Like the rough paper usually used for writing coffee recipes, but this paper looked more worn, older, and slightly yellowed at the edges.

With trembling hands, he unfolded the paper and read it carefully.

"No one is free from this song. All will return. Don't let them find you before the time comes."

Damar froze. The hand holding the worn paper began to shake violently, whether from the sudden cold that enveloped the stall or from the fear that gripped his heart. Dug... dug... dug... At that moment, the fluorescent lamp on the stall's ceiling suddenly went out completely. Thunk! The atmosphere instantly turned pitch black, leaving only the faint silhouettes of the rickety furniture cast by the moonlight from the wall cracks.

In the deep darkness, Damar heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Tap... tap... tap... The footsteps were slow but steady, as if someone (or something) was deliberately walking towards him.

Right behind Damar, in the chilling darkness, the voice returned. This time it was no longer the melancholic dangdut lyrics. But a low, cold, and piercing whisper.

"My coffee... how does it taste tonight?"

Damar turned around with jerky movements. But in the darkness behind him, there was no one. Only the long shadows of the coffee shelves and the increasingly thick darkness. Krieeek... The stall door creaked shut again, as if an unseen hand had just pulled it closed.