Everything Burns

---

Atiqah, the seven year old girl, sat at Sergeant Ismat's desk, drawing on pieces of A4 paper. She looked calm, indifferent, humming the tune of 'Spongebob Squarepants' as she went to work on her masterpieces.

Sergeant Ismat stood a bit further away, feeling twitchy and nervous. Cold beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He looked at the little girl. Beside Ismat stood his superior, Inspector Rashidi, who had his arms crossed across his chest. Both of them were in uniform, even at this late an hour. It was almost half past three in the morning.

Inspector Rashidi looked at the little girl named Atiqah, his face twisted in a mixture of disbelief and confusion. He nudged Ismat on one shoulder, surprising him.

"Are you sure?” Insp. Rashidi asked.

Ismat nodded gravely. But then quickly shook his head. Clearly he too, was perplexed. "I don't know", he said. "But would a girl of seven make up such a story? Or lie? She looked way too honest. But to tell you the truth I hope to God she was making up the story. It just seems... impossible. Preposterous!"

Rashidi nodded in agreement. "But there's no way of finding out right now. In the meantime, try to get in contact with her closest kin. But don't let that girl out of your sight. She is vital to this...”

"Yes Sir", Ismat said. He stood in his place. The little girl was still drawing.

He studied the girl intently. He was deeply disturbed.

Could it be possible?

-------

A few hours earlier

At about half past twelve, Ismat, who was on duty that night, received an emergency call regarding a major house fire in the nearby residential area. Police were often required at such scenes. He arrived at the reported scene about 10 minutes later, where the firemen were already containing the blaze. Ismat, with his junior officer Corporal Syireen, were greeted by one of the firemen, who had a little girl accompanying him.

"This little girl", the fireman said, "lived here with her family. When we got here she was already outside, watching the fire, but...” The fireman trailed off, shaking his head, which Ismat and his Corporal instantly understood. The little girl's family had perished. And almost immediately Ismat asked in his mind: how did she get out?

Of course, he first assumed that one of her family members had gotten her out first when the fire initially started, and returned to rescue the others, only to succumb to fire or smoke. Ismat had looked at the remains of the house; it had been charred black. The firefighters finally contained and put out the blaze.

"Look... our team will have to go through the rubble now", the fireman with the little girl said. "I suppose you're gonna have to take the girl for now. You know, inform her... family and things"

Ismat nodded and took the girl's hand. She was remarkably quiet and calm and she looked fine. Barely a scratch on her. Ismat motioned for Corporal Syireen to drive her back to the station, and he would come back later, with the other policemen who had arrived to provide any assistance. He waited for about an hour, answering some questions from concerned neighbors, assuring them to be calm. The media would probably be here soon, considering the only survivor of the house fire was a seven year old girl.

After the hour passed the chief firefighter in charge came up to him. He had a worried look on his face.

"Is anything wrong?” Ismat asked. The fireman wiped the sweat off his brow. His face was stained by grime and soot.

"We found the little girl's family... They were found... they were found in their rooms. The parents, two older girls and a younger boy. But Sergeant...”", the man said. Ismat nodded, prompting the fireman to continue.

"They were bound to their beds with wire... and they had towels in their throats... and we found bottles of kerosene everywhere...”

Ismat paled. The youngest boy was only 3 years old. He shook his head. "Are you sure?" he asked the fireman, who nodded gravely. The stakes were now much higher. Ismat was shocked by the discovery. He felt his heart quicken. He would have to report this soon. He thanked the fire brigade, and told them to call him for any new discoveries. Secretly he hoped the firemen were mistaken but then scolded him self for presuming the firemen weren't competent; they were trained professionals, and they must have seen their fair share of death caused by fire. They certainly knew what they saw.

Ismat drove back to the police station. The little girl seemed hugely significant now, and not just as the only survivor and therefore witness of a tragedy. If it was true that the rest of the family were found bound to their beds with their mouths stuffed, then there must be a reason as to why the little girl was spared.

When he arrived back at the station, he had considered some possibilities: a botched robbery, a revenge attack. But why spare the girl? Did the perpetrators suddenly have a bout of compassion? But then why the girl, not the younger boy? Or all the children? It was making no sense. He would have to ask the little girl how she managed to get out unscathed.

But first he had gone to his superior, Inspector Rashidi. He told him of the discovery at the scene, and Inspector Rashidi agreed to his idea to ask the girl. Sure, she might be seven years old, but she could potentially hold valuable information as to who committed the atrocity to her family, yet spared her.

Ismat was led by Corporal Syireen to his own desk, where the little girl was. He saw the girl was still quiet, but she was occupying herself drawing pictures. Corporal Syireen, who was already trying to reach the girl's next of kin, whispered to Ismat that the girl's name is Atiqah. Ismat took a seat beside Atiqah.

"Hello Atiqah...”

The girl looked up to him from her drawings, and pushed a strand of hair that had fallen on her face.

"Hello Atiqah... I am Ismat. You can call me Uncle Ismat", he said with a smile, aiming to make the child feel more comfortable. To his relief the girl smiled back, revealing a missing tooth. She also introduced herself.

"Hello Uncle Ismat. My name is Atiqah. I am seven years old...”

Ismat nodded, and suddenly the girls' expression turned sour. "What's wrong?” he asked the girl.

"Ibu, Ayah, Kak Maya, Kak Dila and Amir are dead, aren't they?” she said in an oddly disconnected voice. Ismat did not know how to respond. He put a hand on the girl's shoulder. Then he summoned up his most comforting voice.

"It's going to be alright Atiqah. Do you know any --"

"I didn't wanna do it... But he said if I did it, then he would leave me alone", the girl said, cutting Ismat off. Immediately his curiosity peaked.

"What did you say?"

The girl looked at him, her eyes innocent. "He made me do it"

"Who did?"

"Him", the girl said and gave Ismat a sheet of A4 paper on which she had drawn a crude figure in black, blue and red pen. Ismat took the sheet from her and looked at the drawing. It showed a man with long hair and goatee, wearing spectacles. She had drawn the man wearing a black t-shirt, and blue pants, which Ismat assumed were jeans. Curiously, and somewhat disturbingly, Atiqah had colored the man's eyes red.

Ismat studied the drawing. Could this be the perpetrator? Just as he was about to ask Atiqah, she spoke again.

"He always comes to me at the house. Even when Ibu and Ayah are around. But they cannot see him. Sometimes he's funny but sometime's he scares me...”

Ismat studied the girl. "Why does he scare you?” he asked.

The little girl made circles with her thumbs and forefingers and put them to her eyes. "Because his eyes are red. And he wears funny big glasses with a word that starts with L on the sides. I think it says Live or Levi on the glasses"

Ismat alternated quick looks at the girl and at the drawing she just handed him. "Atiqah, who is this man? Can you tell me what happened tonight?"

The girl suddenly withdrew. Ismat thought he must have sounded too much like a scolding adult to her. But then the girl spoke again.

"He says his name is Edd The One"

"Edd... Edd The One?” Ismat said. He had put down the sketch and had taken out a small notebook and pen. He needed to jot this down.

"Yea... he said Ibu and Ayah cannot see him because they're not special. He says I can see him because I am special"

"Was he there at the house tonight?"

The girl nodded. "He's always at the house. Sometimes when I sleep, I see him on my ceiling. He is always smiling and sometimes I smile back. But sometimes when the lights are off I can see his eyes are red and then I get scared"

Ismat paused in his thoughts. Who could this 'Edd The One' character be? He presumed that the girl was making this up. But he reserved his presumption for now.

"Atiqah... if you can tell me anything you remember from tonight... please tell me. But it's okay if you don't want to or if you're tired"

"I'm okay... He takes care of me...” the girl said.

"Who takes care of you?"

"Edd The One", she said nonchalantly. "Tonight after everyone went to bed, he came out of the mirror. I don't like it when he does that... He never uses the door. It's always the wall or mirror. He came up to me and said that I had to do something for him tonight"

"Alright...” Ismat said. The girl went on.

"Kak Maya and Kak Dila and Amir were sleeping. Usually they don't see him anyway... He came to me and told me to get up. 'Let's have fun tonight!’ that’s what he said. And he makes me get up. His eyes were redder than usual. He gave me some bendy string and made me tie Kak Maya and Kak Dila and Amir's hands and feet to their bedposts. He taught me how to do it. Then he gave me smaller cloths and made me put the cloths into Kak Maya and Kak Dila and Amirs' mouths. They didn't even wake up.

Then he took out bottles of water, but this water smelled funny, like eggs. I don't know. He made me pour it onto Kak Maya and Kak Dila and Amir. And they still slept..."

Ismat already ascertained that 'bendy string' was the wires that were used to bind them, and that the 'smelly water' was the kerosene. He gently interrupted the girl. "This, uhm, Edd The One made you do this?"

The girl nodded and went on, telling her story in a remarkably calm manner. "And then he took my hand and we went to Ibu and Ayah's room. I think he is a magician because his hands were empty but then suddenly he gave me more bendy string and made me tie Ibu and Ayah to their bed. He showed how to do it again. And he gave me two more cloth and made me put it inside Ibu and Ayah's mouths. And then he gave me that smelly water again and made me pour it onto Ibu and Ayah. Ibu and Ayah didn't wake up also...

I did it because Edd The One said if I did, Ibu, Ayah, Kak Dila, Kak Maya and Amir will go to a happy place, and also because Edd The One said that if I didn't do it then he would take me into the mirror and not let me go back...”

Ismat was listening intently.

"And then again Edd The One did a magic trick with his hands. He suddenly gave me a candle, a candle that already had a fire on it. He was smiling when he gave me the candle. It made his face look weird. I took the candle and then he told me to put the fire at Ibu and Ayah. There was a big fire. Ibu and Ayah tried to scream I think. I saw them moving. But they couldn't move. Edd The One laughed.

Then he quickly led me back to my room and made me put the fire to Kak Maya and Kak Dila and Amir. There was another big fire and I saw Amir open his eyes when the fire covered him. They tried to move as well...

Then he told me to follow him around the house. He kept pouring that smelly water on the house and told me to put the fire to the spots he poured water on. The fires grew bigger and bigger. Finally he told me to walk outside because people will start to come by when they see how pretty the house will be. He stepped back into a mirror and was gone. So I walked outside and just sat there, and then the men in the yellow jackets came and shooted [sic] water at the fires. And then you came and the nice lady brought me here"

The girl finished her strange tale. Ismat was stunned into silence. He had stopped jotting down on his notebook. The girl must be lying or making this up, he thought. But the calmness and stillness in her brown eyes betrayed no such lie. In fact, she seemed dead serious.

"Atiqah... did you... did you set fire to... did you set the fire?” Ismat asked. The little girl nodded.

"But because Edd The One told me to"

Ismat thought of that as well. He glanced back at the crude drawing of this 'Edd The One' character. A man, long haired with a goatee, wearing plastic rimmed glasses, who had red eyes, popped in and out of mirrors, and dressed in blue and black. Who was this mysterious person? Or was he just a figment of this girl's imagination. It seemed ridiculous.

But more frightening to him was also that he was convinced that the girl did set the fire... and burned her family members alive. Ismat suddenly felt scared to be close to this girl. They were either dealing with, sadly, a mentally troubled child, or worse, an unknown madman. Ismat hoped it would be the latter.

Atiqah, who seemed to notice that Ismat had gone quiet, went back to her drawings, scribbling using the black, blue and red pens. Ismat stood up, intending to go to Inspector Rashidi to report this strange tale to him. Atiqah called up to him, without shifting her gaze from her drawings.

"Uncle Ismat"

"Yes..?” Ismat said, cautiously.

"He also told me that he made me do it because he wanted to show me something...”

"What was it..?” Ismat said.

"Everything burns", the girl said, her eyes never leaving the piece of paper.

Disquieted, Ismat left her side and went to see Inspector Rashidi.

-----

Present time

When Ismat had relayed what the girl told him to the Inspector, he was greeted with disbelief. The Inspector made him tell the story twice, and then had asked to be taken to the girl, so he could hear it for himself. Ismat initially thought it would be a bad idea to ask the girl to re-tell it, but she did, and in exactly the same way, with no details changed or forgotten. She could not have been lying.

Now Ismat still stood in one place, looking at the little girl at his desk. He suddenly felt tired. He rubbed his face with the palms of his hands, stifling a yawn. When he brought his hands down, he suddenly saw another figure beside where the girl was sitting. Ismat stared, not believing his own eyes: beside Atiqah, he saw a tall man, wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. The man had long messy hair and a goatee, and Ismat saw that he wore black framed glasses. There was a reddish light in his eyes, which he could see even from meters away. He was leaning with his hands on the desk, looking down at the girl as if studying her drawings.

Ismat blinked; suddenly, the figure was gone. Ismat rushed to the girl's side. She looked up at him with a confused look, and went back to drawing straight away.

Ya Allah I must be tired, he thought. I'm seeing things.

He sat on the desk. The girl had suddenly stopped drawing; in fact she had fallen asleep on top of her last drawing. Ismat gently pulled the drawing from beneath her head. Ismat felt his stomach tighten when he looked at the drawing; Atiqah had drawn a house on fire, and in the windows of the house were figures of people crying.

Ismat sighed. Then something caught his eyes. On his desk was the outline of a hand; a much larger hand than the girl's, with strangely long fingers. Ismat bent down; he touched them and pulled his hand back. They were hot, and then Ismat realized the outline was charred onto the desk, as if branded on. As if they were made by fire.

He felt suddenly weak, and frightened. The words of the little girl rang in his mind.

Everything burns.

----

note:
a bit long. inspired by a quote from The Dark Knight.

The School Toilet

-----

Eight year old Faiz loved school.

He loved his teachers. He loved Math, English and Arts. He loved Phys Ed sessions where he would get to play football or just run around playing Cops and Robbers with his classmates. When the recess bell rang at ten o'clock he would go to the school canteen to have his packed lunch; almost always sandwiches, but then he would spend the RM1 his Mama gave him to buy kuih, fruits or a cool frozen lolly treat.

Faiz liked it when the teachers would come in late, because that would mean some extra time to talk about the latest episode of Power Rangers with his friends, or get a glimpse of the latest comic book a classmate would sneak into school. If there weren't any teachers at all, he loved the fact that they were quite free to do anything they please.

He loved school. He thought he could stay there forever.

The teachers loved him too, which made him love school even more. He was a good kid. A bright kid. He was always polite and never disobedient. With time, once his class-teacher told his parents, your son would be a fine young lad. His parents had been proud, and despite having only a basic sense of pride, eight year old Faiz felt like he was on top of the world. He could do anything he wanted. Just get through wonderful school, and the world was his oyster.

The only exception, however, were school toilets. He hated school toilets. An older child or an adult would have hated the school toilet because of hygiene, or the lack thereof. But Faiz, and his peers, had other reasons to hate the school toilet.

Monsters.

In his group of friends, a collective thought of eight year old minds would exchange tales of unspeakable horror about the Monster in the school toilet. Some said it was humanoid, but with abnormal amounts of hair. Others mention a scaly beast, with sharp claws and fangs. The lowest common denominator, however, was the Monster that lurked in the school toilet had a huge appetite. For children.

Nonsense, Faiz's mother said one day when he mentioned about the Monster. There are no such things dear; you're a big boy now. Don't be afraid of monsters okay?

Okay Mama, he had said, and his mother had kissed his cheek.

Still, he loathed it every time he felt like going to the bathroom during school hours. In fact, he was absolutely terrified. His young mind, clear and innocent, would imagine some foul beast waiting inside the toilets, ready to pounce on an unsuspecting victim.

So far though, he has been lucky. Still, his senses would be on extra alert from the moment he unzipped his pants and started to paint the porcelain yellow or white, depending on his fluid intake. His friends however told him of 'near misses', when they had seen something, or felt something. They discussed this with all the integrity and seriousness their eight year old minds allowed.

Eight year old Faiz, bright Standard Two pupil, loved school. But he feared the school toilets.

So it was on this dark and rainy morning, he sat in class. The clouds were shrouding the sun so much that the skies outside were almost black. Thunder and lighting rumbled and raced across the sky. The fluorescent lights in all the school classrooms were turned on. Rain pelted the tile roofs, the sound almost drowning out the teachers' voices. It was a cold day as well.

"Please take out your text books and open page..." said the teacher in Faiz's class. He took out his textbook and placed in on his desk when he felt his stomach churn. Faiz winced. He put a hand on his tummy as another bolt of pain ran through his body. Slowly he released his sphincter, attempting to ascertain if it was gas or if it was the shits. As he felt a hot wetness on his rectum, he tightened his buttocks.

He felt nervous as he glanced outside the classroom into the rain. It was raining heavily, and he dreaded having to go to the toilet in this weather. His palms felt clammy. But when he felt a contraction in his lower intestine, he knew he had to go or risk shitting his pants in front of 30 other kids. Faiz raised his hand.

"Yes Faiz?” the teacher asked, a bit annoyed.

"Cikgu, may I please go to the bathroom?” he said, stammering a little. His classmate Mahfuz looked at him in awe, no doubt amazed that Faiz would want to go to the toilet in this weather.

The teacher nodded and Faiz walked carefully to avoid an embarrassingly sudden release of his stomach contents.

The school toilets were all situated at the ends of the buildings, separated from the classrooms by stairwells. The one Faiz was heading for would take him about a minute of brisk walking to reach. Faiz walked as carefully as he could, one of his hands pasted to his stomach. As he approached the bathroom he hoped there would be other kids there as well. He would not feel so frightened if there were other kids in there.

Unfortunately there were no kids at the toilet. Cripes, Faiz thought. The lights to the toilet were off. He stood in front of the door and put his hand near the wall, fiddling for the switch. When he found it, he flicked it to the 'on' position. Nothing happened. He tried again, but to no avail. The lights were out. Must be the storm, he thought. Oh no.

He began to have second thoughts. He stared into the dark toilets, which seemed to grow around him. He considered trying to hold it in, or maybe rush for another toilet on another floor, but then he felt something poking out of his bottom and he made his decision. He rushed through the door, went into the nearest stall, dropped his pants and let loose. He closed his eyes as he did so, fearful of the darkness. The storm made haunting echoes which bounced off the walls of the empty toilet.

The rain outside began to fall harder. A curious wail from the wind was heard.

Faiz sighed as his bowels loosened. He breathed through his mouth to avoid the smells. Soon, he finished his shit and reached for the rubber pipe and began washing. Just as he finished a sudden gush of wind from outside caused the door to the toilet to slam shut with a loud bang. Faiz cried out in surprise. Panic began to creep in as he raised his pants and flushed. He wanted to get out of here, fast. He wanted to be back in his classroom, learning to subtract triple digit numbers.

As he zipped his pants, however, he heard the audible creaking of the door to the stall besides the one he was in open. The creaking was slow, almost deliberate. Faiz paused. His heart was beating in his throat.

From the stall beside him, he heard the slow shuffle of feet. The steps sounded wet and scraping, as if the soles of whoever it was were covered in metal that screeched against the tiled floor. Faiz stood still, his feet frozen into place. The footsteps stopped, suddenly. He heard the heavy, wet breathing of something. Faiz saw a shadow fall through the open space below the door to the stall. His pulse quickened. Without thinking, he closed the toilet seat and squatted on it, hoping for whatever it was that was inside the toilets with him to go away. In his head he imagined all the bathroom monsters he had ever been told of were in front of his stall, ready to tear him apart.

Faiz began to weep, but he kept quiet by biting his shirt sleeve. The shadow was still there. He squatted on the toilet, and in his fear he shat himself, but he barely noticed. Go away go away go away, he thought. The shadow shifted, and Faiz could have sworn he heard the grunting of something inhuman. At the same time a smell wafted through; it was not the smell of shit... rather, it was the smell of something alive and wet. And hungry.

He saw the shadow fall beneath his door again. He shook his head, praying to God to keep him safe. Then the shadow moved closer until Faiz saw toe-tips. He counted the toes; eight. He shook his head in denial. Whatever it was, it had only eight toes; and they were tipped with ancient looking, curved and cracked claws.

"Go away", he said feebly. All he heard in response was an animal growl, yellow and inhuman. Faiz saw the door bulge in the middle as the thing pushed it. Then he squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see, and screamed "GOOOO AWAYYYYY!!!!!!" at the top of his lungs. The door swung open fast as the lock gave in, but Faiz squeezed his eyes so hard he felt dizzy.

Minutes passed by. Outside, the rain was abruptly coming to a stop. Faiz was still squatting on the toilet as he slowly opened his eyes. He had expected to be grabbed and torn apart, but nothing had happened. He glanced around. The door to his stall was open. But there was nothing there. He glanced to the floor and looked for shadows, but did not see anything out of the ordinary. He got off the toilet seat and peered out. Nothing.

Faiz slowly walked out of the stall, glancing around for any signs of the thing. Then, satisfied, he gave a sigh of relief. It was just my imagination, he thought. I am so afraid of the school toilet that I let my thinking go crazy, he thought. Then he realized he had soiled himself. Thinking as quick as his eight year old mind allowed, he went back to the bathroom stall to wash his ass and get rid of his underwear. He hoped his pants weren't stained.

He entered the stall and closed the door. Then he heard a low, animal growl from behind him. He swallowed hard; again he voided his bowels. He told himself not turn around, but he did. He turned slowly. As his vision turned, he saw his own reflection in the opaque yellow eyes of an unspeakable horror. He froze; he did not even scream as the thing ripped it's claws into him.

--------------

When Faiz did not come back from the toilet after 10 minutes, his teacher thought the boy was probably having a bad case of the shits. But when half and hour passed by, the teacher took it upon himself to go see what was going on. As he reached the toilet the first thing that struck him was the smell. It was worse than ever. He flicked on the lights, which were working fine now.

"Faiz?” the teacher called out. He heard running water from one of the stalls. He went to check it out, and regretted it as soon as he saw the broken body of eight year old Faiz jammed inside the toilet, his knees at his face. The lifeless eyes were wide open. The expression on the boy's face was one of shock and horror, not one of pain. The teacher vomited once; then he gathered himself and went to get help.

---------------

A few days passed by. The parents of young and bright Faiz were almost inconsolable at first. The police and ambulance people could only speculate that it was a bizarre accident. They had no logical explanation as to how the boy had been found in his condition.

The school announced the death as an 'unfortunate accident'. Most of the teachers who were initially shocked decided to put it behind them. The teacher who had found the boy requested a long leave to recover from the shock. Things went back to normal, and nobody spoke of the 'accident' out loud.

Faiz' classmates, including Mahfuz, however, knew exactly what had happened. They sat quietly in class, each of them asking the dreaded question to themselves: will it feed again?

----



end note:
remember when we were kids in primary school, there was always this story of the hantu tandas? this is my take on it. an obvious inspiration for this story is Stephen King's 'IT'
- Muhammad Edwan Shaharir

The Night Two Girls Were Taken

---

It was about 45 minutes past midnight.

Dollah scanned his eyes across the group of people, counting heads. Beside him, his best friend and fellow kedai kopi patron, Shuib, nudged his shoulder.

"How many are there?", Shuib asked. His forehead was covered in cold perspiration.

"There are 13 of us here", Dollah answered.

"Do you want to go to Tok Jais' house first?"

Dollah nodded. Again he counted the number of people in the crowd, and then motioned for them to follow him to Tok Jais' house a few minutes away. The people were carrying torchlights and weapons of various kinds: parangs, sickles, and Dollah could have sworn he saw an old World War Two rifle being shouldered by someone. He wondered if it would matter.

When the blood-curdling scream was heard about half-an-hour ago, Dollah had immediately roused Shuib and gathered this group of people. They had had enough of living in fear when night fell upon their kampung, remotely situated in Northern Perak, just south of Temenggor Lake. Here, miles from modernity, the people still lived sedate and tranquil lives, tending fruits orchards and vegetable patches. They were content.

Until the arrival of a beautiful widow 6 months ago, that is. Dollah had thought the old legends of mysterious witches were just that: legends. But when this widow, known only as Dayang, had strangely decided to settle in the kampung, things began to happen.

She's cursed us, Dollah thought as he and the crowd marched towards Tok Jais' house.

The widow had taken up residence in a house on the outskirts of the kampung, bordering the rainforest that surrounded the small residence. For the most part, her coming was only initially seen as strange; the women of the kampung feared at most that she would seduce their men. The men, on the other hand, had thought of her as simply eye candy, even if she was strange.

Nothing was known of her past. Attempts by village folk to get to know her were politely treated, but they never got anywhere. Soon the kampung folk simply accepted her presence. But she was rarely seen outside her house. Nobody knew how she got her income, if she had any.

But then strange things began to happen. Chickens were reported missing from their sheds. The fruits in the orchards began turning rotten before their time. The village youths who make daily trips to the nearest pekan of Gerik reported strange lights and shapes floating around the trees at night. And lately when the moon was full, the haunting wails of an unknown creature pierced the night air.

At first people had shrugged them off. Maybe a lost wild dog, said one. Maybe its just bad weather, said another. Only Tok Jais, who listened quietly to these uneasy rumors, held a quiet suspicion.

Three months ago a woman named Kamilah died during childbirth. The death came as no big surprise however, as she had been in poor health prior to the delivery. The rural doctor who had visited her just a few days earlier had somehow failed to see any causes of her illness. He had just told the womans' family that she was ill. When she died, nobody noticed anything out of the ordinary because she had been sick. But when the baby died as well a few days later, people began feeling uneasy.

Soon, most of the women in the village began falling ill with an unknown disease. They lost color in their faces, and they became gaunt and almost waif-like. Again the doctor visited, and seeing the women of the village become ill, he became worried that a disease was spreading. But he had no explanation as to why it affected only women. And from what he knew, the disease coincided with every of the victims' menstruation. The doctor told the village headman, Pak Ali, that he would get federal help, but that would take time.

In the meantime, the uneasiness of the kampung folk increased. More and more women fell ill to the mysterious illness. They became weaker and weaker. Soon, one of them died. A few weeks later, two more women died.

"Something is going on..", Tok Jais had told the kedai kopi patrons one day. Dollah had been one of them.

"What do you mean Tok?", he had asked.

"I cannot say for certain. But our kampung is filled with...", Tok Jais answered but trailed off.

"With what, Tok?"

"Something", Tok Jais had finished and walked away. The patrons of the small kampung kedai kopi had went back to their drinks uneasily.

Meanwhile, the widow by the name of Dayang was seen less and less around the kampung. Suspicious fingers pointed out that she was a witch who kept a 'pet', and that she was feeding the women of the kampung to her 'pet'. Pak Ali the headman had attempted to squash these rumors, but he himself had an uneasy feeling about the woman.

"Let us not jump to conclusions", he had told a group of people one day.

For a while then things were quiet again. Until this night, when suddenly a scream was heard. Dollah and Shuib, who had been first roused by the scream, had rushed to the source, a house owned by a man named Sazali, who lived there with his wife and two daughters. When they had reached there, they found Sazali in hysterics, almost catatonic. His wife, whom Dollah found shivering in a corner of the kitchen, said that "she took our girls". When asked who took her girls, she shivered violently and said "Da.. Dayang.."

That was the final straw. Dollah and Shuib gathered a group of people who were brave enough to face whatever it was they had to face, and went to see Tok Jais. They were planning on asking Pak Ali to come along as well.

When they reached Tok Jais' house, they saw he was already dressed in front of his door. He had put on a white jubah and a ketayap, and in his hands he held a tasbih. He stepped down from his house and motioned for the crowd to pick up Pak Ali.

"So she has finally decided to not let it be secret", Tok Jais said when Dollah told him about what they had found out at Sazali's house.

"What do you think she is doing Tok?", Shuib asked. They were walking now towards Pak Ali's house.

"I do not know. Let us pray to Allah the little girls are safe. But I suspected that this woman was playing with evil when she first arrived"

"How so?"

"I just.. felt something was wrong. But we may have time yet to drive this woman and whatever evil she has brought to our kampung out".

They reached Pak Ali's house and unsurprisingly, he too, was already prepared. He slung a hunting rifle on one shoulder, and carried a torchlight in one hand. Soon the group began their march towards the widows house on the outskirts of the kampung.

In the time it took them to reach there, a small part of Dollah's mind was thinking: are we crazy? Are we actually marching in the middle of the night? What are we going to do? His mind was filled with the images of an unspeakable evil. But another part of him was hoping that the widow would just turn out to be a crazy kidnapper. At least that would make her human.

As the crowd neared the widows house, all of them began to feel terrified. The exception was Tok Jais, who looked oddly calm. The house stood ominously in front of them now, the windows like eyes. There was only a dim light emanating from the open front door. Another scream, unmistakeably from a little girl, pierced the night air. Dollah could feel the hairs on his neck stand up.

The crowd quickened their pace, fueled by both fear and a desire to rid the kampung of whatever it was the widow had brought. They reached the house and a few of them men, including Pak Ali and Tok Jais and Dollah, crashed down the front door. Pak Ali immediately cocked his rifle, pointing into the room.

But the entrance way was empty except for a small lamp on the floor. In fact, the entire house was empty. Wary, Tok Jais began citing some holy ayat for protection.

"Ya Allah protect me from Evil..", Dollah whispered. There was a discernible chill inside the house. The walls were bare, unpainted and unadorned. They saw bloodstains on the floor. As an act of caution, Pak Ali told the rest of the crowd to guard the perimeter of the house.

Cautiously, Dollah, Pak Ali and Tok Jais began to follow the bloodstains, which led from the entrance way into a room on the east wing of the empty house.

Who would live here, in this emptiness? Dollah thought. The house truly was empty. It seemed as if nobody, not even one person, had lived there at all. And yet they knew the widow had been here for months now.

They approached the room where the bloodstains led to. They could hear whimpering from inside, and an odd chanting. The widow, no doubt, Dollah thought. He was gripped with fear. Before they stormed in, Tok Jais recited some prayers and gently blew over their faces.

"Ready?" Tok Jais said, and the rest of them nodded. He insisted on going in first. Pak Ali steadied his rifle in his hands. Tok Jais then swung the door open whilst saying in a loud voice:

"Allahuakbar!"

In a flash, Dollah saw the two little girls, Sazali's daughters, huddled in a corner of the room. They were covered in blood. In the center was a small bronze bowl filled with incense, and the smell wafted throughout the room. But where was the widow? he thought. Dismissing this, he immediately went to comfort the girls, who wrapped their arms around him. Tok Jais scanned the room. On the floor were strange markings.

As he comforted the children, Dollah asked "Where is the bitch?".

Just as he answered the woman appeared out of nowhere in the doorway. In her hands she held a small keris; her face was covered in blood. In reaction, Pak Ali lifted his rifle and shot the woman in the chest. The blast was deafening and the woman fell backwards.

"Astaghfirullahul'azim", Tok Jais said as he slowly uncovered his ears. For a few minutes they stared at the woman, who lay motionless with a large wound in her chest. Then Pak Ali and Tok Jais turned to Dollah and the two girls.

"Are they alright?", Tok Jais asked. Dollah had managed to ask the girls if they were hurt. One of them was too shocked and terrified to say anything but the other one could speak a little. She said the widow had hurt them 'down there'. Dollah had not asked further.

"Let's get out of here. We can deal with the widow's body in the morning when it's safer", Pak Ali said. Then a groan sounded from the doorway. To their horror, they saw the widow crawling towards them. Blood was pouring from her mouth. Pak Ali immediately raised his gun again, but he did not pull the trigger.

The woman's body suddenly jerked. She gave an ear-splitting scream, and she threw her head back. Her tongue came slithering out of her mouth, almost a foot long.

"Ya Allah!", said Pak Ali and Tok Jais in unison; Pak Ali was frozen in fear, the rifle temporarily forgotten. Dollah wrapped his arms around the girls, shielding them from seeing this, but his own eyes were glued to the horror unfolding in front of him.

The woman raised herself off the floor, almost floating. Her eyes were black as midnight itself, her jaws wide, the tongue hanging out. Suddenly an audible crack was heard, and Dollah saw a huge gash appear at the woman's neck. Then another gash appeared, as if an invisible knife was cutting her head off. With a final scream, the woman's head separated, and the body fell to the floor with a dull thud. The disembodied head floated, and Dollah saw that below the stump of the neck, the head was dragging a heart and a stomach, as impossible as that may sound. Blood dripped from the hanging organs.

The head screamed. A blood-curdling, animal sound.

Finally seeing too much, Dollah squeezed his eyes shut. In his head, he recalled the old lore of the Penanggal, a blood sucking fiend who appeared as a disemboweled head dragging a stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut and wrapped his arms tightly around the frightened girls, and as he heard Pak Ali and Tok Jais' fighting with the creature, Dollah prayed that this was all just a nightmare, and that he would wake up in a world where no such evil stalked the night.

----

I Hope You Walk Home Safe

---

disclaimer:
the following story may be disturbing.
read at your own discretion.

I think about you often.

I often think about how soft your skin would feel on my lips. When I watch you emerge from your shower and drop your towel to get dressed, I feel the blood rushing through my veins. If I could feel your breath on mine, I would almost surely die of ecstasy.

I think of you often, even more so during nights like these, when KL is dark and dreary and the rain never seems to end. In fact, I actually have been thinking of you all the time lately. There is something within you that makes me want to cradle your body in my arms. How I wish.

I think of you even more now since reports came out in the news that a string of young women, all around your age, were found raped and murdered within shouting distance of their homes. Apparently, said the news, a killer is on the loose, targeting young women. I had gone to some of the crime scenes myself, intrigued by the reports.

I know you always seem carry yourself as tough and street-smart. But I wish I could tell you to be aware. I wish I could tell you that even the smartest people get caught out. Like the old Malay saying, "sepandai-pandai tupai melompat, akhirnya jatuh ke tanah jua".

In my mind I could imagine me telling you: "Sweetheart.. be safe. Don't talk to strangers. Always be wary of your surroundings. Keep to well lit streets, even in this housing area. Make eyes on the back of your head"

Because you are so beautiful. And your beauty seems to scream a frailty that would surely attract a twisted mind. Your beauty incites lust so deep, it is almost unholy. I admit there are times when I lose control and get carried away by fantasies of having you.

I suppose that is your gift: beauty. I just wonder if it is your curse as well. These are not good times to be beautiful in Kuala Lumpur.

I think about those murder reports that came out in the news. Five months back, the first victim was found about beside a dumpster just 200 meters from her apartment at Jalan Ampang.

The news reported that Miss Juliana Razali was a nurse at Gleneagles Hospital. She lived nearby, in an apartment. The news said her body was found by an early morning jogger, who thought the body was a drug addict. Imagine his shock then. PDRM's official statement said 'the body of young woman was found, believed to be murdered'.

There was also evidence of sexual assault. What they failed to mention to the general public was that Miss Juliana Razali was found without her lower jaw, which had been crudely cut off with a knife. The jaw was not found on the scene. Miss Juliana also had her throat slashed thrice, and her killer had stabbed her about 33 times in the stomach. The coroner had noted that her 'intestines were displaced', whatever that meant..

Sadly the news of Miss Juliana's murder was relegated into the inner pages of the newspapers. When I had read that report I almost dismissed it. Sub-consciously however, I wondered what were you doing that night the poor girl had been murdered.

But then victims number two and three followed within days. Number two, reported as Cecilia Fung, was a clerk at a bank; her half naked body had been found in an alley behind Berjaya Times Square. Her house was 3 monorail stations away from Jalan Imbi.

The circumstances of the murder were very similar to the the slaying of Miss Juliana. There was one slight difference, however: Miss Cecilia's jaw was not cut off. Rather, she had had a massive cut, almost 20 inches long, that ran up from her vulva all the way up to her ribcage. Her intestines had been severed in that long cut. But the wound that killed her was a slash to the throat, deep enough it severed her windpipe. Medical examinations also found semen samples, which matched the ones taken from Miss Juliana.

Police were now worried.

Their worries were justified when number three, a salesgirl by the name of Miss Fatimatul Abdullah, was found in a parking lot in Jelatek. Miss Fatimatul was mere yards from her old Iswara. Again, she had been killed with a savage cut to the throat. There were multiple stab wounds on her stomach, but most grotesque was the fact that her breasts had been cut off and placed on the windshield of her Iswara.

Later medical examinations revealed what police was fearing and had already concluded: the same killer.

A task-force was set up. DNA samples were taken, despite no sample to compare to. Suspects were brought in and released, however; because there were no supporting nor circumstantial evidence to support the case. Heavy pressure was put on the police by the public and politicians alike.

The media begin to intensify their reports. Through the media, police asked for any information regarding the killings, just when victim number four was found beside a car, at Bangsar, again within walking distance of her home.

Victim number four was 27 year old Miss Aleeza Adnan, a rising star in the accounting firm she worked for. When she was discovered, she was dressed in a shirt and skirt; the shirt had been crimson red, soaked from the blood that had flown from her slashed throat. But later, when she was brought to the M.E, the extent of her injuries were revealed. Miss Aleeza's chest had 19 stab wounds. One went straight to her heart. The M.E determined that a knife or sharp object had been rammed up her vagina.

Again, the same DNA was found. The public began to demand an end to the killings. Police received angry letters and phone-calls. Tabloid newspapers dubbed the killer 'The KL Slasher'. The KL Slasher was selling the tabloids. I for one thought it was a shameful deed, exploiting these murders. I for one, thought that, had it been you, I would have been angry and devastated that these fucking tabloids were running stories on the murders day in and day out, sensationalizing the killer.

Then, number five, Miss Renukha Singh, was found in a drain near Datuk Keramat LRT station; she lived in the houses nearby. A savage cut had left her head hanging by just a piece of skin. Her chest had 47 stab wounds; her genitals were torn, again with a sharp object.

But the full savagery of the murders really screamed out loud when Miss Karen Leong, a STAR College student, was found behind a bus-stand in Setapak. Her head had been cut off, and like the first victim, her lower jaw was missing, leaving pieces of ragged flesh where the mandible should have been. Her left arm was broken, possibly in a struggle, and she had been disemboweled. Her intestines had been strewn like trash beside her headless corpse. She had a 9 inch cut that ran from her genitals to the rectum. Her ribs were broken, one lung collapsed.

Evidence showed it to be the work of The KL Slasher.

But yet, the police had nothing. They knew all the murders had had the same modus operandi: all the victims were killed within walking distance to their homes, which signaled that the killer was choosing his victims. The killer probably stalked his victims, determining what was the best time and opportunity to strike. All victims had been killed with a cut to the the throat, then savagely mutilated.

All the signs and samples taken at each crime scene were cohesive and consistent, reported the news. And yet no one had been caught. No face or name has been put to the monster now haunting the city. A true monster, seemingly unstoppable, with an escalating blood-lust.

Kuala Lumpur began to be gripped in fear. Women did not dare go out at night alone. The streets became empty and desolate. The police could only answer vaguely to the concerned and worried public. Even the PM and Mayor issued statements regarding the murders. The entire city of Kuala Lumpur was now on red alert; neighbourhood watches were started, patrols were run. Parents set curfews for their daughters, and husbands and boyfriends made sure they accompanied their wives and girlfriends all the way to the front door.

A serial killer, in Kuala Lumpur. It was almost unheard of. But reality has now proven otherwise. Six women, all in their twenties, had been found so far. The killer apparently left no fingerprints. DNA from the trace samples had been taken and analyzed, but as mentioned above, there was nothing to compare it to. This killer was unknown to the people. A ghost, faceless and nameless.

I shook my head, a bit angry at myself for thinking about those unsolved killings. I should have been thinking of you instead.

My mind drifted back to you. We were neighbors; your beauty had caught my attention ever since you moved here some months ago. I even at times attempted casual talk with you.You always worked late. And you always got off at the bus stop 300 meters south of your rented house. In that 300 meter distance, you had to walk along an empty playground at night.

"I'll be fine", I heard you say one day to your friends. I shook my head. I wanted to warn you, to tell you to PLEASE BE CAREFUL but I could not bring myself to say so to you. I can only watch as you come home, and breath in relief that your beauty has remained intact so far. I hope everytime that you walk home safe.

The last murder, victim number six, was found almost two and a half months ago now. Nothing new came out in the news since then. Reports of the investigation got relegated to the back pages of the papers. Even the tabloids were beginning to lose interest in the killer they had dubbed 'The KL Slasher'. The police had not yet made any major break-through.

It is funny how people easily forget. But I don't. However, perhaps that is why you said "I'll be fine" to your friend the other day. Maybe you thought that the murders were over. Maybe they are.

It is now late night, almost midnight, as these thoughts run through my mind. Moments later, a bus stops about 30 meters away from where I was sitting. I see you get down from that distance. You wave at your friend on the bus as the vehicle drives away. Despite the hour of the day, you do not look worried at all. In fact you walk casually, almost strolling your way home. I feel perplexed and a bit amused at your expression of nonchalance. And again I feel struck by your beauty: your curly raven hair, your honey colored skin. The gentle curves of your body and the way your hips sway when you walk. You truly are gorgeous. And you seem so carefree, so oblivious to the terror that gripped our city in the past months.

You do not notice me in the darkness as you pass me by. Then I walk up to you.

"Hi", I say. You were startled, and I said sorry.

"Hi", you say. "What are you doing here in the dark?"

"Oh, I was smoking. I don't smoke in the house", I answer. I silently take in your beauty. I wished then I could run my hands through your hair, and smell them. I felt the blood pulsing through my body.

"Oh okay..", you say. "Well, you wanna walk home?"

I smile. "Sure, sure.."

We walk in silence for a moment.

"Aren't you afraid?", I ask. "These are dangerous times"

"Afraid?", you say, raising your eyebrows. "Of what?"

"You know, crooks. Snatch-thieves. The KL Slasher", I said while wiggling my fingers for dramatic effect.

You laugh. "Well yeah, but it has been quiet. Maybe he's no longer killing. Maybe he killed himself". You smile at me. I smileback. Perhaps the murders really were over... but what if they weren't? I sigh again. We were about 200 meters from our houses, still walking along the dark playground.

"Besides, you can always walk me home right? Haha..~!", you say and wink at me. I laugh a little, and slow my pace so I was a bit behind you. I put my hand in my pocket, and I take out an eight inch black steel butterfly knife.

"Right", I say softly, but my mind was elsewhere, and as I drive the blade of the knife into the soft, tender meat of your neck, and as I catch your body as you fall to the ground, feeling your curves as I did so, all I could think of was how much I was going to enjoy you, number seven.

------------

The Old Man On The Train

note:
this story was told to me verbatim by my brother, who heard it from his wife(i think). i've fiddled with it a bit.

Made it!!

That's what Amir thought as he slipped by the doors of the train just before it closed. He was rightly relieved; this was the last train that night, and it was Putra LRT. No driver to help open doors there. He boarded the train at KLCC, where he worked as a sales assistant at Isetan.

Amir took a seat as the train began to move. At this late hour, there were not many people on board. It was quiet as well. Amir glimpsed a couple, with the girl resting her head on the mans shoulder. There were a few skater kids as well, chatting (thankfully) quietly, their skateboards across their laps. There were few more less interesting people.

Amir exhaled. He was tired. It had been a busy day for Malaysian shoppers.. and consequently for him as well. He had had to run from here and there, getting stuff, helping customers et al. Sometimes he thought it would never end. His heels were blistered, partly to the running around, mostly to his God awful shoes.

Still, it was a job at least. In these hard times, he was thankful for that. Besides, this was just part time. He was planning on going back to college to further his studies, maybe sometime next year.

He leaned back in his seat, trying to catch a few Z's. He got off at Terminal Putra, in Gombak, and it was still quite some time off. He hated taking the late trains. Somehow he was not entirely comfortable at the thought of being underground, in the dark tunnels beneath Kuala Lumpur. Dark tunnels that reputedly passed below graveyards. Often he heard of stories and whispers about the underground train tunnels; of workers killed during construction, of grotesque finds, of ghosts.

But the thing that perhaps bothered Amir the most about the underground trains and Putra LRT was the fact that it was machinized. Not that he didn't think that there were procedures established in case of emergencies; rather, he would have felt more trusting of the trains if there was a driver ahead.

But beggars can't be choosers, he finally thought. He lived in Gombak, on the outskirts of Kuala Lumpur. His parents died when he was young, and in Gombak he lived with his uncle and aunt, who had been taking care of him since he was small.

The train pulled into Ampang Park station when he finally fell asleep. Before that, he managed to look around to see people getting on. Sometimes there were really cute girls who took the late train. None today though, Amir thought, a little disappointed. Instead only one old man got on at Ampang Park. Just before his eyes shut, he thought the old man looked sort of familiar.

And so he napped, waking up occasionally when the train stopped. He did not worry about missing his station, as Terminal Putra was at the end of the line. Someone would surely wake him up there anyway.

Everytime he woke up he saw the old man that had gotten on at Ampang Park. The man was quiet, ignoring the few people around him, not even looking around. Judging by his dress, he seemed to be stuck in the seventies. People did not seem to take notice of him either. Just an old man to them, probably.

Amir noticed the old man sat quite upright, with his face down. In his hands he held a small piece of paper. Amir shrugged it off, and went back to his nap.

The train stopped by more stations en route to Terminal Putra, and more people got off. In the end not more than a handful remained. Amir continued his nap, not bothering with the going ons.

He was jolted awake by a Chinese lady who said they've arrived at Terminal Putra. Amir squeezed his eyes and said a brief thank you to the lady as she walked out the train. Cool midnight air blew in from outside. He stretched as he got up, ironing out the kinks in his joints. His neck ached due to the posture in which he napped.

He noticed then that the old man in the old fashioned dress was still in the train. Odd, Amir thought. But then he thought maybe the Chinese lady had woken the old man up first and then him and then just walked outside. The old man was still sitting quietly, his head bowed down as if in prayer.

Amir walked by to him.

"Pakcik", he said. The old man barely stirred.

"Pakcik.. Pakcik, we've arrived at the last station", Amir said to the old man. He gently shook the old mans shoulder. Had this old fella missed a train?, Amir thought. He gently shook the old mans shoulder again.

The old man slowly looked up at Amir, and Amir saw that despite his aged features, his eyes were bright and seemed to be full of humor and joy, but beneath that, his eyes showed the rivers of time. He must have seen a lot, Amir thought to himself. The old man smiled, a smile that was sad. Again Amir was struck at how familiar this elderly gentleman looked. He must have seen him somewhere.

Suddenly he felt creeped out.

"Pakcik, if there's nothing else, I'm going first. Assalamualaikum", Amir said and walked out of the train. Then he felt the old man grab his arm, but not roughly. Rather, it was like a grandfather holding on to his grandchild for support. Amir paused; maybe the old man needed help to walk.

"Pakcik, do you need any help?", Amir asked. The old man did not say a word. Instead, now he took Amirs hand and placed the piece of paper inside it. Then the old man spoke.

"I'm alright", the old man said. His voice was smooth, deep and melodious... and familiar. Amir looked at him, feeling an odd nag at the back of his mind. I've seen this person. Where?

"I'm alright. Go home young man. I can look after myself from here", the old man said. Still, he did not get up. Amir just nodded awkwardly, said 'Assalamualaikum', and walked away.

As he stepped out of the train and took a few steps, he held out the piece of paper the old man had handed him on the train. It was yellowed by time, and the ink on it seemed faded and blotted. Amir tried to ascertain what was written, then saw it was in Arabic script; in Jawi, written intricately and in flowing cursive. He wasn't that good at Jawi.

Amir turned to see if the old man was behind him, intent on asking him why the piece of paper with Jawi on it. Instead there was no one. He craned his neck to catch a glimpse, to see if the old man was still in the train.

But no. No one there. Not a soul. And he was sure as hell that the old man did not just pass him by either. Feeling a bit disturbed, Amir rushed off home, and went straight to bed.

The next morning as he had finished showering and had breakfast, he suddenly remembered about the piece of paper the old man on the train had given him last night. Amir told the story to his uncle, and asked his uncle, who was there at the breakfast table with him, if he could read Jawi fluently. His uncle said yes, so Amir got out the note from his backpack and handed it over to him.

His uncle, a gentle man of 59, put on a pair of thin glasses and looked at the note. He noted how intricate the Jawi was, and proceeded to read the note out loud:

Maafkan aku kerana meninggalkan kamu semua. Maafkan dosa-dosa aku kepada kamu semua. Tetapi dengan pemergian ku ini, aku hanya berharap dapat bertenang untuk selama-lamanya. Aku pinta hanya satu.. tolong jangan siarkan filem-filem dan lagu-lagu ku lagi. Aku mahukan ketenangan.

Remuk redam hatiku hancur
Airmata di Kuala Lumpur

Yang benar,
Teuku Zakaria bin Teuku Puteh

His uncle finished reading the note and slowly took off his glasses. They stared hard at each other. His uncle mentioned the name that had signed the letter, speaking slowly and almost in disbelief; yet when he looked into his nephews eyes, he knew that Amir was not lying, not one bit.

Amir felt a chill down his spine.. then at the same time he felt a palpable sadness in his heart. Now he knew why the old man on the train had looked so familiar.

"Teuku Zakaria bin Teuku Putih was..", his uncle said. But Amir did not need his uncle to tell him. He knew all too well.

"P. Ramlee.."

-------

Jannah

---------

Jannah walked quietly along the street that led to Sogo. It was night-time, and Kuala Lumpur seemed to have died. There was hardly a soul. Occasionally a car or taxi would pass by. She ignored the headlights as they crossed her body, casting warped and twisted shadows on the sidewalk and walls.

She just kept on walking.

Jannah held the bundle she was holding close to her body. Wrapped in layers of warm cloth, a tiny hand poked its way out. Jannah noticed this, and stopped for a moment to tuck the infant securely in the cloth. She gave it a gentle kiss on the forehead, whispering softly to the child.

Just as she was about to reach Sogo, she turned into a quiet alley, fearfully looking around to see if anybody noticed her. She walked deeper into the alley, and suddenly began to sob. Some of the tears fell on the face of the infant she was carrying, and she wiped them away.

Ya Allah forgive me for what I am about to do, she thought. I have sinned against myself, my faith, against You.

She stopped by near a dumpster that was against a wall. She looked around again, and, convinced that nobody was around, she began to lay the infant beside the dumpster... and stopped. It was dark in the alley, but in that darkness she saw the twinkling of light in the eyes of the baby. The baby had opened its eyes, Jannah thought. It, she thought again.

Suddenly compassion took over as she looked deep into the eyes of the infant. She sat on the floor, leaning against the dumpster and held the infant close to her chest. She sobbed hoarsely, hiccupping. She kept saying "Forgive me" over and over again. She kissed the infants' forehead, and it made an odd mewling sound.

Jannah slammed her head repeatedly against the dumpster, feeling that she should be hurt as penance for the sins she has committed. She slammed her head one final time, and leaned back, crying, praying to the God she has almost forsaken.

-----

Jannah was born some 24 years ago to a wealthy set of parents. She had a brother who was three years older than she was. As a child they had had everything they could ever have wanted. They were not close though.

Her brother grew up to become a renowned and notorious ladies man, and had at any given moment, a dozen girlfriends. Her brother, Ilyas, was the proverbial alpha male.

Meanwhile, Jannah had grown up spoiled and bratty, used to getting her own way. To her, there was no other way except hers. And as she grew, so did her beauty. Even her name meant 'Heaven' or 'Eden', depending how you saw it.

Jannah flaunted her beauty during her teen years, and, as her brother had done before her, began to sleep around. As a pretty young thing she found out that boys and, indeed, men, came in the scores, flaunting her, wooing her with money and luxuries. When she was fifteen she gave up her body for the first time to a 34 year old architect, and in turn she had received a brand new Rado watch. Her parents, being wealthy, never suspected anything. They thought the world of their daughter.

Jannah did not bother to study in school despite her above average intelligence. All she was concerned about were her luxuries and men. Then, when she had finished school, the oddest thing happened.

One day whilst their parents were enjoying a vacation overseas, Jannah found herself at home with just her brother. Ilyas at the time was studying Engineering at a nearby university. Jannah found him that day at the swimming pool of their multi-million ringgit home. He was doing laps. Jannah had trained her eyes on him, and suddenly was struck at how handsome her brother was. Absently she went to her bedroom and put on a skimpy bikini, and went straight away to the pool.

She flaunted her body to her brother. She did not feel odd or ashamed at all, just a sense of absentness. And it seemed Ilyas took notice as well. They talked for a moment, first like the siblings they were, but then more and more like strangers who stumbled upon each other at a bar. And though some part of her was saying it was terribly wrong, she found herself feeling delighted and excited each time her brothers eyes fell to her chest and her long, smooth legs.

She took leave from Ilyas, walking slowly and deliberately, knowing Ilyas was looking at her. She went up to her bedroom and began to undress. Her heart was thumping. Soon she heard footsteps and through her bedroom door, saw that Ilyas had come up. Ilyas paused when he saw Jannah looking at her. She was holding a towel up to her chest. She stared hard at Ilyas, even as he began walking towards her. When he came into her bedroom, they fell into each others arms, not one of them thinking they were doing anything wrong.

Their torrid, dirty affair continued from that day. They took turns sneaking into each others' bedrooms after their parents went to bed. Ilyas would come back from his classes early to be with his sister. Jannah did not at all feel guilty or remorse or disgusted. In fact, the more often they did it, the more she became aware of her brother.

Eventually she fell in love with him.

And then two years ago when Ilyas mentioned that he was moving into his own place in Kuala Lumpur, an apartment near Jalan Putra, Jannah immediately made plans of her own. She told her parents that she had gotten a job and wanted to live on her own. Her parents, clueless and adoring their daughter, had agreed.

In fact, Jannah moved into an apartment in the same building as Ilyas, and they continued their affair. Then one day last year, Jannah became pregnant. She had argued with Ilyas about it. Ilyas wanted her to abort it, whilst Jannah suddenly had an epiphany. Fearing for his reputation and the wrath of his parents' Ilyas suddenly fled the country, leaving his own sister and the mother of his child alone.

Jannah almost fell apart. She avoided seeing her parents and family, claiming she was busy. She cut off her ties from her friends, with the exception of the closest ones. Even so she told them that she did not know who the father of her unborn baby was. Day by day, as her belly swelled, the fear of God grew inside her. She began to question her life, and she began to realize the mortal sins she had committed.

The child that was growing inside her was her own brothers'. Jannah and her brother Ilyas had spent years committing an unspeakable act, an act condemned by religion and society alike. How could she bring the child into the world? But she has done enough, she thought. She will not add murder to her list of wrongs.

Then a month or so ago, she gave birth to the child. She had given birth alone, in HKL, with no one by her side. She had looked at the child, and had pleaded to her doctors not to take photographs or release statements to the public. The doctors had agreed. Then Jannah had taken her baby home. For a month or so she tended to the child, hardly leaving her apartment. She tried to contact Ilyas but to no avail. When she left her house she took the baby wrapped in the most concealing of clothes.

For the child was deformed. The infant had 6 fingers on each limb, but instead of hands and feet, they terminated in an odd claw like appendage, resembling pincers with three prongs on each side. The infant's forehead was flat, the nose missing; in its place were two flaring nostrils. The eyes were black slits, obsidian and depthless. The infant had a cleft upper lip. When the infant cried, the sound it made was cat-like, hoarse.

Jannah cringed every time she saw the child; but another part of her cared for it. Her instincts were at odds with one another. A part of her always wanted to just leave the infant and run; another wanted to stay and atone for the sins. So she spent a month in limbo, feeling that she was slowly growing insane.

Then today the infant had refused to stop crying no matter what she did. The infant, a female, had gone on crying until the night when Jannah, who was feeling mad and sad and angry, wrapped it up in bundles of clothes and went out with it. She could not take it anymore.

So she found herself beside this dumpster, holding her misshapen child in her arms. She cried, sobbing hoarsely, audibly begging for forgiveness from the Almighty. She looked at her baby again; she looked at the deformed face, and held the infants' claw-like hands. The baby seemed to be peacefully looking at her. Could she leave an innocent soul here to die, a soul borne of her own flesh and blood? Would she do it to save her self, sacrificing an unsullied life?

Ya Allah forgive me, she said in her heart, cradling the child in her arms. She looked towards the skies, as if hoping for an answer, but the skies remained as they were, dark, black as jet, and as silent as Death.

-----------

Ravenous

------

"BODOH! SETAN!!!"

Those foul words emanated from the porch of the house, causing Salwani to rush out to see what was going on. As she arrived at the door she saw her husband getting out of his car, cursing and shouting towards the sky. He had just got home from work.

"Heyh! Abang Zali! What is going on?! Keep it down, our neighbors will hear!” she said to her balding husband. Her husband, Razali, shook his head and pointed towards his car, a brand new BMW 5 Series.

"Those goddamn crows! I just washed my car and look!” he pointed towards the roof and bonnet of his car. There were smatterings of bird droppings. Razali looked furious. He had always hated crows. "Rats of the skies", he always says.

Salwani shook her head and prompted her husband to calm down. "Enough, it's only droppings, you can just wash them away. Besides, you're parked beneath the porch, they won't poop there", she said. However, Razali was already spraying water on his beloved new car and scrubbing with a cloth, his mouth moving, no doubt cursing the damned avian flock. Behind him, the caws of the black birds were heard, coming from the trees. Salwani left her husband to tend to his car.

Razali was a businessman who had just made it big a year ago. He dealt in supplying raw, halal chicken, and had started small about 6 years back. But now his company had a deal supplying chicken to a major food chain, and he was just beginning to reap the seeds of his hard work. And work hard he did. Now, with the money he had made, he and his wife had managed to move into this brand new house in Puchong, and he had been able to afford a brand new BMW, his first ever luxury car. At 47 years old, Razali felt he had finally gotten it good. A new house, a new car, a happy family; even his two children were now studying overseas, with their fees fully funded by himself. He was comfortable and happy.

Except for these goddamn crows!! He thought furiously. He finished wiping his car and prayed that the miserable carrion eaters wouldn't soil the glistening paint. Before he had moved here, he had lived in Klang, famous for its crow problem. He thought he had finally managed to get away from those birds, but apparently they were everywhere he went.

He went inside the house to see that Salwani had already prepared dinner, which sat beneath a saji. He lifted the saji up, and was satisfied with what he saw: kangkung belacan, gulai lemak daging salai, ikan goreng and sambal belacan.

"Sal, let's eat", he said to his wife, who was in the kitchen. She walked out and handed him a mug of coffee.

"Don't you want to change and shower first?"

Razali sipped his coffee and shook his head. "I'm starving. Getting angry at birds makes me hungry". He sat down at the dinner table while Salwani just smiled and went to get rice. They were having dinner when he heard the caws of crows, and nearby as well. Salwani instantly noticed the look of irritation on her husband's face.

"Let them be, they're not bothering us", she said. She was well aware of Razalis hatred of the birds. In fact, Razali had once volunteered to shoot them on behalf of MPK when they were living in Klang. She had asked him once, why he hated crows so much.

"They stink, they're noisy, and they're dirty. They bring diseases. They're flying rats", he had said. In fact, his hatred for crows probably stems from deeper, a childhood memory. He has a vague memory of being attacked by a murder of crows when he was very-very young. He had probably somehow threatened the birds and they had attacked him. He must have been about 4 or 5 years old. He vaguely remembered black shapes around him and the peck of hard beaks on his body. Anyways, it had left an impression. He had hated crows ever since.

Razali angrily finished his dinner. Even the cawing of crows from outside somehow managed to raise his temper. He mumbled beneath his breath, uttering expletives directed at the crows outside. He spent the rest of the evening seated at the wheel of his new car.

He loved the BMW. He had dreamt of owning a piece of German luxury since the days he started working. He had watched enviously at drivers of BMW's on the road passing him by in his cheap Proton a few years back. Now he had one of his own. He was seemingly infatuated with it. Salwani just let him be, knowing how much he loved the car. And he had earned it with his blood, sweat and tears. He caressed the leather interior, the tactile switchgear and wonderfully sculpted steering wheel. Then he got out and admired the lines of the car. He had ordered his BMW in a navy blue color. It was stunningly beautiful to him. He wasn't about to let a bunch of sky-rats ruin it.

The next morning as he was backing his car out of the porch, he rolled his window down to say goodbye to his wife who was standing at the door. As the car became parallel to the road, he stuck his arm out to wave, and that's when plop! A green-white gunk of bird shit dropped on his sleeve. Instantly he was furious. He parked his BMW, got out ranting curses and threw rocks at the trees, to no avail. Salwani had to calm him down as he changed shirts and afterwards angrily sped off.

A few days later, he was sitting in his garden, watching his wife tend to her collection of orchids. In his hands was a piece of biscuit, and he was casually munching on it while chatting to Salwani. Then, just as he was about to take a bite, a black winged shape came swooping down and just plucked the biscuit out from his hand. He managed to glimpse the bird flying off and perching on a tree about 30 yards outside his house. Again, he broke into a hissy fit, cursing and stomping and yelling. And again, Salwani, who was embarrassed should some of their neighbors see this, had to calm him down.

The crows continued to torment Razali. He felt as if he was being picked on. His car kept getting shat on; the birds left feathers on his porch. Once, a crow had even stolen food from his kitchen.

Goddamn birds, he cursed. Goddamn smart-f*cking birds.

He called the local authorities, complaining about the crows. When they came to investigate, however, there were none of the birds around. And when the authorities questioned his neighbors, none of them had any complaints about crows. So they had let the matter be.

Goddamn suits, Razali cursed.

This went on for several weeks. Somehow he managed to blame everything on the crows. He even claimed the crows were deliberately targeting him, tormenting him. Nonsense, Salwani had told him. Aren't you over-reacting?

Razali dismissed his wife. He bought a professional grade sling shot and began to practice, hitting cans with ball bearings. Pretty soon he became good at it. His wife however, was starting to worry.

"Abang Zali, isn't it too much? Buying a slingshot? What next? Guns?” she said one night when Razali was hitting cans in the garden.

"If need be, hell yes", he had replied, and continued to pound the cans. Salwani looked at the dented cans, and she had to concede that he was remarkably accurate with the weapon. She figured it was only a matter of time before he began shooting the crows from their roosts.

Personally, she never saw the crows as problematic. She tolerated them. They were pests, sure, but she knew that, like most pests, if she kept clean and tidy, they would eventually realize that their food source, i.e rubbish, was gone and pretty soon they would be too. Razali, however, was taking it personal. To him, the crows were evil creatures born to torment him. They dirtied his car, stole his food, and interrupted his peace. Razali wanted to take the fight to the birds. He saw it as a crusade. Almost like an ethnic cleansing.

One morning, Salwani heard her husband laughing from outside the house. She looked out the door and saw he was shooting at the birds; in fact there were 4 dead crows at his feet. Some of the neighbors who saw him just shook their heads and looked away, as if concluding that he was a madman. Salwani rushed out to meet him.

"Abang Zali! Stop it!” she said.

"Huh? What? Why? I'm taking care of a problem here. Be quiet!” he said. He continued to shoot at the birds, almost at random. The birds were now flying away, well aware of the threat. Finally Razali stopped. He looked at the dead birds at his feet. He picked them up and threw them inside the large drain behind his house, where they were carried away by water. That night Salwani begged him to stop, saying that he was taking it too far. Again Razali dismissed her. She sighed.

Then one day he accidentally broke a neighbor’s window with his slingshot. After an embarrassing public argument, Razali finally promised to pay for the damages and to not shoot at the crows. Besides, there weren't that many left now anyway. He felt satisfied. He hoped they would not return.

One day he heard the chirp of birds coming from his garden. Curious, he went to look for the source of the noise and found two crow chicks on the grass. They were featherless and grey. They looked like tiny vultures, Razali thought. When he approached them they became rigid, and quiet in fear. He glanced upwards from the position of the chicks, and in a tree which was outside his house he saw the outlines of a nest. The chicks have obviously fallen out. Then he noticed the parents of the chicks at the tree; they were anxiously watching him from above. One of the parents had a white streak across the head.

Razali glanced at the chicks, then at the nest and parents. He stared at the chicks for a long time. The parents were not approaching them because he was there.

"Abang Zali", a voice called out. It was Salwani standing at the door. "What are you doing?"

He looked over and said "Nothing. I'm coming inside". When his wife went back inside, he grabbed a rock his wife used to balance some flowerpots. He glanced at the parent birds, and suddenly smashed the rock on top of the chicks on the grass. He heard a wet scrunching sound and peered beneath the rock; the chicks were now pulp. He grinned, almost laughed, and went inside.

So Razali did not realize the parent crows finally flying down from their perch. Together, they removed the rock, pushing it with their beaks and feet. They cawed alternately, as if talking. One of the birds prodded the crushed bodies with its beak. It cawed at the bodies, as if trying to coax them back to life. When that clearly failed, it let out a long screech. Then its mate joined it, screeching high. After a moment they flew off.

---

Razali awoke the next day feeling good. To a normal person, perhaps, the brutality in which he crushed the helpless chicks would have been deemed inhumane and cruel. To Razali, however, it was an act of public service. He honestly thought that the less crows in the world, the better. So when he had woken this morning, he took a shower and had a big breakfast. Even Salwani was lulled into a sense of joy looking at her happy husband. Razali cocked his ears towards the windows and doors and, much to his delight, heard no caws or screeches of crows outside. The parents must have left the nest then, he thought. Nice.

He glanced at his watch and motioned to Salwani that he had better get ready. Today was an important day. He was to go on a business trip to Perak, traveling north. He would travel alone, and drive up the 200 miles or so. It was a trip he was relishing; this would be the first time he would take his BMW on a long distance drive. He was eager to find out the dynamic qualities of his car. So he said goodbye to his wife and went outside to his car. He put on his shoes and suddenly paused.

There were two crows on his car. Annoyed and angry, he shouted and shooed them away. The birds fluttered off the car and onto the fence. They did not caw. Instead they seemed to be staring at him, cocking their heads the way birds do, the movements darty and sudden. Razali was a little disturbed; the chicks parents? He thought. It did not matter. He shrugged it off, got in the car and drove out from his housing area.

He made his way to the highway exit. He was trying to enjoy his car, except he couldn't. He seemed to notice there were crows along the side of the highway. Though it was probably normal, the fact that there seemed to be a far larger number than usual bugged him. He even saw one flying behind his car in his rear-view mirror, again as if they were following him.

You're just being paranoid and feeling a little guilty, he told himself. He drove on until he reached a petrol station. He stopped to refuel and buy some drinks and snacks for the journey ahead. Razali parked his car and went inside the station shop to get his snacks and pay for the petrol. He walked back to the car and suddenly paused.

There was a murder of crows beside the BMW. He shuddered a bit; he even thought about the collective noun for crows: a murder. It frightened him a little. There were about 7 of them right now, just a few feet from his car. Several of them cawed ominously when they spotted him. Then a curious pump attended shooed them off, and for a moment Razali was relieved. He went to his car and refueled.

He whistled as he pumped fuel into the BMW. In truth he suddenly felt nervous, though he did not want to admit why. Then he felt a shadow fall on his shoulder. He glanced up. A crow stood on the pump, looking down at him. Again the bird cocked its head from side to side, like it was measuring Razali up. Razali swiped his hand and the bird flew off. Then it landed on the ground several feet beside him. To Razali's growing horror, the murder of crows had come back. They just stood there, eyeing him. Only their heads moved.

Stop it! Razali said in his mind. Go away!

But the birds stayed put. Razali hurriedly finished filling up and got in the car. He gunned his engine and sped off. He felt nervous and slightly frightened. Were the birds following him? Had they somehow learned that he had killed part of them? Nonsense, Razali told himself. He switched on the car stereo and tried to relax.

Which he did after about an hour or so. There was light traffic on the highway. He began to feel easier, and finally began to savour the handling and ride of his BMW. He attempted to go as fast as he can, slowing down when an obstacle came onto his path. Razali grinned. Five hundred thousand ringgit well spent, he thought, and gave a pat on the back to himself.

The highway soon came into the mountains, where it snaked through like a river. Razali was now cruising, taking his time, enjoying the view of Gua Tempurung to his left. That's when the first shadow flew overhead. It was so quick Razali barely noticed it. Then a second shadow flew ahead, and a third. Then Razali began noticing. A few more shadows passed by. Razali leaned forward on his wheel to see what in the world they were. As he looked outside his windscreen, he saw. And his blood froze inside his veins.

Crows. They were darting in and about the car. Razali was dumbfounded and scared; how could birds keep up to his car? Then the cawing began. First it sounded like white noise and static to his ear. Then the caws became deafening. Soon they filled the air. Razali glanced at his rear view mirror and almost screamed. What he saw was a dark cloud, black and pregnant with malice. But this cloud was not a result of the evaporation of water; it was a cloud of crows, thousands of them. They were flying at tremendous speed, catching up to his BMW. Razali slammed his throttle, trying to outrun the birds.

"What in God's name is going on!!!” he yelled in his car. He managed to make some side glances and saw that the few other motorists did not seem to notice the cloud. Razali decided he did not care. He sped up the twisty highway, risking an accident. He wanted to go faster to escape that cloud, but the road conditions were preventing him.

Suddenly the light seemed to dim; Razali watched as the cloud of crows blotted out the sun around him, surrounding his car. His vehicle was now surrounded by crows, all cawing, flying on some demonic wind; some of them began pecking his windows, and the glass begin to chip and crack. Razali heard the screech of claws on his metal roof, and the pecks from thousands of hard, black beaks. He screamed in fright. The crows now blocked his vision, and he steered the car wildly on the road. He felt his BMW bump into the railing and perhaps other cars, but he didn't care. He was losing it; fear and fright and incomprehension threatened to drive him mad.

Suddenly the crows dispersed and for a split second Razali felt relieved; then he felt that the wheels of his car were no longer connected to the asphalt but were soaring through the air. Through the windscreen he first saw the horizon, and then as the car nose tipped downwards he saw the forest below. His car plummeted perhaps 150 feet downwards, hitting the side of the cliff and rolling over, smashing onto trees and rocks. Razali was thrown around like a rag doll inside the car, and then suddenly squashed as the airbags came to work. Then the car abruptly crashed at the bottom of the hill, turned into a twisted pile of metal.

A few minutes passed. Amazingly, Razali was conscious. He tried to move and found every bit of his body hurt. He felt warm blood flow from his head, wetting his shoulders and face. He could not move his legs. He tasted salty blood in his mouth and spat it out, along with some teeth. He breathed in shallow gasps. He somehow summoned all his strength and slowly, tortuously wriggled out of the wreckage. He finally managed to do it, and lay still on the ground. He was in tremendous pain. It was a miracle he was even alive.

His eyes darted around, looking for signs of the crows. There were none. Perhaps he had fallen asleep at the wheel and however briefly dreamt it all? Maybe he had been hallucinating? There weren't any crows around. The skies were clear, and the only bird sounds were the nice ones, of sparrows and maybe jungle doves, and the buzzing of cicadas.

No matter, he thought. Someone must surely have seen him crash. Help would arrive soon. All he had to do was stay still.

Then from the corner of his eye he saw something land beside him. He painfully twisted his injured head to look; scaly, black feet. Coal black feathers. A crow. It looked at him with a malignant glow in its beady eyes.

Razali tried to shoo it away. Carrion eaters, he thought. The fear came bursting back inside him. Suddenly the air around him seemed to vibrate. A low, steady throbbing filled his ears. He realized what they were: wings. Soon enough the skies darkened with hundreds of winged shapes. The crows began to land all around him. Razali tried to scream but couldn't. He voided himself, feeling the hot flow of urine wet his pants, and he smelled the stink of his bowels being released.

The crows began to move towards him, sensing he was at his weakest. To the crows, Razali was now just another dying animal, waiting to be reincorporated into the circle of life. A few of them began pecking at his wounded body, and he felt a hard beak pulling away at a piece of his own muscle. He tried to struggle but couldn't.

The birds began to peck and claw at his body, literally eating him alive. He felt agonizing pain as his muscles were being torn by hard beaks and tiny claws. The sounds of the cawing birds shattered his soul, terrifying him. He could not even move. He was being torn apart in small pieces, bit by bit, by a murder of crows.

Then suddenly one of the crows lighted on his chest. He managed to lift his head to look at it. This crow had a strange white streak on its head. Razali looked directly into its eyes, and in them he saw what was inevitable; his own death.

----------------------

The Strange Story of Ishak and His Three Wishes: A Comedy.

----

Ishak Idris is not the best of men.

At 36, he was unmarried, rented a room in an already crowded flat with 8 others who were all still students, and did not hold a steady job. Perhaps he could blame his bachelorhood on his not-so-enticing looks; he was short, flabby and had the complexion of a 15 year old teenager who did not use facewash. He was also rude; perhaps his last relationship was 15 years ago. He rarely kept a job because he was lazy and tended to slack off. He no longer has any family; his parents died years ago to disease, and he is estranged with any extended family he still has. He dropped out of school at 15, simply not bothering to keep up with education. In fact he hated school.

What Ishak was good at, however, was getting into trouble. He has had several brush ins with the police; twice for theft, once for assault, several times for 'disturbing the peace', and the list goes on. He was in a Pusat Serenti in his early twenties; got released only to relapse into a world of intoxicants. He was a drunk, shunned by his peers (who numbered a pathetic few), and tolerated in his rented flat only because he was rarely in the house anyway.

He manages to just earn a living doing odd jobs; driving lorries, cleaning toilets, sweeping streets, mowing lawns. In spite of that, he somehow manages to gamble whatever is left of his money as well. Not for wins either. He's never won a bet. Perhaps the outside observer would say that Ishak has spent most of his 36 years betting on the wrong horse. And dog. And numbers.

One of the few people who seemingly tolerates him is Kahar. Kahar is a small time drug dealer, working indepently but often for one of the many gangs in Kuala Lumpur. A fellow rehab relapser, it was Kahar who first introduced drugs to Ishak. Now, perhaps the worst thing about Ishak's drug problem was that he rarely had the money to purchase them. Despite the temptations, Ishak has amazingly ignored the urge to steal. He knew he would get caught easily if he did. So often he borrowed. And garnered debts. And he did not borrow from banks either.

This night, sitting in a mamak shop near Jalan Pahang, Ishak and Kahar were having chendol. It was Kahar who had invited Ishak for the treat.They were talking about life in general.. which was actually more of Ishak blaming people for his misfortunes, and Kahar listening patiently, even if he was not really paying attention.

"Eh by the way", Ishak said, wiping his mouth. "Do you have some barang for me?"

Kahar rubbed his neck with a grimace on his face. "Ada. But you can't afford it.."

"Ahh Kahar..", Ishak said, smiling and putting a hand on Kahar's shoulders. "It's not like we're not used to this.. Just lend me the stuff and I'll pay you back later when I have money"

Kahar shrugged. "And where do you think you have the money?"

"Don't worry my friend. I'll borrow some cash from Tommy". Tommy was the neighbourhood loan shark, with connections to a large, feared gang. Many have suffered the consequences of not being able to repay his loans. In spite of this, Ishak seemed casual about it.

"Tommy and I go back a long way", he said. "I'm sure he'll lend me some cash"

Kahar looked at Ishak uneasily. He edged his chair closer to Ishak, making the man look at him awkwardly, as if the gesture was somehow intimate. Not that Ishak would know what intimacy was.

"You see Ishak..", Kahar said. "That's the thing.. you've been borrowing a lot from Tommy, and he's been strangely lenient about your repayments... but..."

"But? But what?", Ishak said, suddenly wary and suspicious.

"Well.. I went to see him the other day to borrow some money myself. Then he asked me about you, and if I had seen you recently. I told him no.."

"Then? What did Tommy want?"

"It seems that he was, like, book-keeping or something, when he realized he had a large portion of money missing.."

Ishak was catching the drift. He swallowed, and asked Kahar. "It's the money I owe him isn't it?"

Kahar nodded. "Yes. RM34 000. Over 6 years. And that's not counting the 'bunga'.."

Ishak paled at the amount mentioned by Kahar. RM 34 000 was a huge amount of money for a man like Ishak, who had no steady job and therefore income. And if he added Tommy's interest to that figure.. he was looking at a figure of at least RM50 000. Maybe even more, if Tommy decided so. Ishak thought a moment; where had all the money gone? What did he spend that amount on? Drugs. Gambling. Women. Like a rockstar, only without the multi-million selling albums or talent.

"Tommy was furious.. he's coming for you, that's what he said..", Kahar said. "But it makes me wonder, why was he so lenient with you?"

Ishak again swallowed, hard. "Sometimes I do odd jobs for him.. Somehow his mind must have slipped and thought I was working for him. Maybe. I don't know.."

"Well, whatever it is, he's not going to play Mr Nice anymore..", Kahar said, shaking his head. He had heard of the horrible beatings and mutilations perpertrated by Tommy and his men towards the unfortunate who did not have the means to pay him back.

"He's coming for you", Kahar said. He finished his cendol and beckoned for them to leave. Ishak had gone pale all over. Like Kahar, he too was well aware of the atrocities that had been done on the people who went MIA with their loans from Tommy. He just nodded and got up, leaving Kahar to pay for their cendols. They got on Kahar's motorbike, and sped off for Ishak's flat.

It was dark and quiet when they reached the flats. Ishak got off the motorbike.

"I'd watch my back and start looking for money if I were you", Kahar said as Ishak stepped off the motorbike and handed Kahar his helmet.

"Easier said than done", Ishak said. He was sweating bullet sweat. He felt cold and terrified. If Kahar said that Tommy was coming for him, that meant dangerous times ahead, unless he magically appeared with at least fifty grand.

"What do you think I should do?" , Ishak said. Then as if on cue, a rock came hurtling out from about 20 yards to the side and hit Ishak on his temple. He fell to the ground, his hand touching where the rock had hit. It hurt like hell, and he saw stars. Kahar looked stunned as suddenly a group of four people approached them. They were young, muscular and menacing looking. The one walking ahead of the other three was clearly the leader. He stank of beer and cigarettes.

"You stay still there. Move and you'll get it as well", the leader said with a heavy accent. He picked Ishak off the ground easily.

"You", he said. Ishak looked at the man's scarred face and trembled.

"Tommy wants his money. RM60 000. He wants it in three days time", the tough man said.

"Three days?!", Ishak said, looking at Kahar as if for support. Kahar just sat still on his bike, with one of the thugs by his side. Ishak saw that most of them were carrying weapons; he saw a baseball bat, glimpsed a knife and maybe even a hammer on one of the men. Kahar looked terrified. He was a dealer, but not a violent one, clearly.

Ishak shook his head, trying to reason. "Three days is not enough time", he said and that was when the lead thug punched him in the gut and face. Ishak fell reeling to the floor.

"Three days", the lead thug said again. "If in three days Tommy doesn't get his money, we cut off your hands. You try to run away, we cut off your head. We're watching you. Get it?"

Ishak nodded quickly, too much in pain to say anything. In his head he hoped the man was just bluffing, but he knew that the thug was dead serious. He had seen it before; a Pakistani factory worker, owing RM20 000 to Tommy, decided to leave the country. But Tommy's men caught up. The Pakistani's headless body made national news when it was finally found in a state of bad decomposition in an oil palm estate.

The lead thug pulled Ishak's head up by the hair, and said again "Three days". Then he spat in Ishak's face and slapped him. Finally he beckoned for the other thugs to leave. As soon as they left, Kahar rushed to Ishak's side, helping the man up.

"I'm screwed, I'm screwed", Ishak kept on repeating. He sat himself on the curbside whilst Kahar stood beside him.

"Where am I going to find RM60 000?? In three days?!", Ishak said, almost screaming.

"Can't you hide? Or run away?", Kahar asked.

"No.. that guy said Tommy is watching me. And I have every reason to believe it's true".

The two men sat for a moment, thinking of various ways for Ishak to obtain the money. Ishak knew he couldn't bargain his way out of this one. By some miracle Tommy The Loan Shark had already been lenient for six years. That was too long a time. Ishak had no other way out but to repay his debt. But how? Robbery? Ishak was not good enough. Scams? There was no time. Ishak had no answer. Then Kahar said something.

"There is one way.. but it's strange, and I don't think you'd believe me anyway", Kahar said in a cautious voice. Ishak looked at him, his eyes full of hope.

"What? What is it? Just tell me dammit! I don't care if it's strange", Ishak said, impatient. He really had no other choice, and was willing to listen to any suggestion on how to get RM60 000.

"Well.." Kahar hesitated. "There is this place in Kemensah, behind the Zoo Negara, where you could get anything you ever wanted.. but it's tricky.. and frightening"

"Just tell me; it has got to be worth a try", Ishak said.

"Are you sure? You believe in shit?"

"I'd believe anything right now"

So Kahar told him the place and the way. Ishak listened with intent, at first unbelieving. But then the spirit of desperation and the fear of being murdered caused him to follow up on Kahar's peculiar advice anyway. An hour later, Kahar left him, saying good luck in a wary voice. Ishak watched his 'friend' leave, and went up to his flat. He sat at his doorway for a few minutes, thinking. Then he got up and went down to a pay phone. He called Tommy.

"Tommy", he said over the phone.

"Yes.", a soft voice spoke on the other line.

"I'll get your money in three days", Ishak said, and hung up.

Two nights later, Ishak found himself on a borrowed motorbike heading into Kemensah, a small village with a river running through it. It was well past midnight; the small kampung road was quiet and eerie, the only sounds being his motorbike and the constant chirrup of insects. It was dark, the only illumination coming from his headlight. He rode on the road until he found what he was looking for; a large tree, with a girth perhaps 6 feet or more. He stopped his bike. Peering into the undergrowth beside the tree, he saw what Kahar had told him: a dirt path, barely visible. He got off his bike and killed the engine. He looked up at the large tree, feeling the hairs on his neck bristle. The tree had grey bark, and stood out ominously. It was as if it was guarding the small dirt path. Ishak shivered, and turned his attention to the footpath. It was overgrown with shrubs and weeds, but it was there. He drew in a deep breath. He took a bagpack he had brought with him and a flashlight. He switched the flashlight on, and headed up the footpath.

As he walked he reminded himself not to look back; it was pitch black. He had passed by a village en route here, but further up the road he used the houses got sparser until all there was on the sides of the road was dark forest. Now, walking up the footpath with only a flashlight as illumination, Ishak was gripped by incredible fear. What he was about to do could only be done by night, as Kahar had told him. And he had spent the previous night making preparations: blood of a chicken, some fruit and a spoon. He thought it was crazy, but if this could get him RM60 000 and maybe more, he would do it.

Slowly he walked up the footpath in the darkness, his hands trembling, his breathing ragged. Sweat wet his brows. He continued walking. He noticed the sounds of insects began to die out. Finally it was quiet except for his footfalls. Occasionally he tripped on a root or rock, but he kept on going. His life perhaps depended on it.

After walking into the jungle for perhaps 20 minutes or so, his flashlight fell upon an object raised 2 feet above the ground. It looked like a tombstone, Ishak thought. He moved his light upon the object, inspecting it. He saw tell-tale signs of people, perhaps people who were as desperate as he is right now, around the object: spoons, seeds, plastic cups and bags. There was a foul smell in the air, which made him uneasy. The object itself was now overgrown with creepers; he set down his bagpack and using his free hand, tore off the plants. What was beneath the creepers scared the hell out of him; the object was an idol in the form of a naked man with bulging eyes and large, sharp teeth. He closed his eyes and remembered what Kahar had told him two nights ago.

"You go to Kemensah; but first you need the blood from a chicken, some fruit, preferrably bananas and durian, and a spoon. Then at night, go to Kemensah. Follow the main road until it gets smaller and you come across a large, grey tree. You won't miss it. When you find it, look closely near the roots. You'd see a footpath, which may be hidden from view. Go walk up the path. You will have to keep on walking until you find a stone idol", Kahar had said.

So here was Ishak, in front of the creepy stone idol. He was trembling, feeling cold sweat all over his body. He kneeled in front of it and grabbed his bag pack. He remembered the second part of Kahar's story.

"When you find the idol, kneel down in front of it. Lay out the blood, fruit and spoon in front of it", Kahar had said, so Ishak was now doing as he was told. "Then", Kahar had said, "you say this:"

"O he who resides in stone; i bring thee gifts to satiate thy hunger, and in turn i wish for thee to satiate mine"

Ishak said the words, shivering in fright as he did so. But his need was great, and he put that above his fear. He remembered the last part of Kahar's story: "Say it, wait a moment, and He Who Resides In Stone Will Appear. This is the hard part; you must not run! Wait, give him your gifts, and let him satiate his hunger first. This is important!! Only when his hunger is satiated will he offer you three wishes. And wish carefully!! He will grant them but be wary of what you say! And remember, you can only ask him this favor once! He will not entertain return customers, so to speak. Above all: be brave!"

Now Ishak waited. A few minutes passed by. Ishak was beginning to think that Kahar was pulling his leg when suddenly he smelled a bad stench in the air, the smell of rotting flesh. Then he noticed it; not at first with his eyes, but with his mind. A dark figure came walking out from behind the stone idol. It's hands pushed aside the plants. Then it stood directly in front of Ishak.

Ishak's eyes went wide in both fear and awe. His nerve strained to keep him there; he felt warm liquid seeping through his pants as he pissed himself. His body was trembling but he willed himself to be there.

The figure that had walked out of the jungle in front of him was vaguely man-like in shape, but it's face was flat, the nose just two holes. The eyes were a watery yellow, huge and bulging out of the sockets. The mouth was wide and large, with huge, crooked teeth and saliva dripping out. The creature's black skin was covered in rough but sparse hairs, and the limbs were long but disjointed, as if broken in different places. The creature stared at his Ishak, it's breathing deep and rumbling.

"What it is that thou want from me?", the thing spoke, it's voice full of malice and evil. Ishak soiled his pants, but did not notice it. Somehow he managed to stay in place.

"I.. I bring you gifts..", Ishak said, showing the creature the plastic bag of chicken blood, the fruits and the spoon. The creature eyes the offerings, and smiled a malignant, toothy smile. It remained quiet as it began to drink the blood and eat the fruits. Curiously, the creature took the spoon and held it in its hand. A few moments passed; Ishak somehow became calmer and bolder, despite the smell of urine and shit in his pants. Finally the creature turned to him.

"For thy offering to me I may grant you three wishes; anything you want. be wise and quick, for I do not have much patience", the creature said, the voice now somewhat gentler but still terrifying.

Ishak took a deep breath. This was it! He could get his RM 60 000 and live; but then he thought; if he could wish for anything, then why bother wishing for Rm60000? In fact, he might as well wish for his own wealth, or the deaths of Tommy and his no good thugs, or to be good looking and rich. He had three wishes, and he could wish for anything! Feeling bolder, Ishak looked at the creature. He decided his first wish would be infinite wealth.

"I wish for..", Ishak said, but just as he said it, some small, unseen animal bit his foot and he in pain he exclaimed "..argh lan***!!!", which was a Chinese word for penis. He placed his hand on where he was bit, feeling for any injury.

But suddenly the creature said "Very well. Your first wish is granted". Ishak turned to the creature in horror, wondering what it was he wished for. He got his answer when he suddenly felt itchy all over his body. Then the itch turned to pain as suddenly his body became run with protrusions, which emerged from his skin. He felt his hands all over his body, looking at his skin as the protrusions grew longer and formed appendages. In shock he realized he had said "I wish for" and exclaimed 'lan***' in surprise. He realized that his body was being overgrown by male genitals!

A few minutes later the sensations stopped; but Ishak now observed that he was covered from head to toe in genitalia; it was an absurd sight, and Ishak felt terrified. The creature, on the other hand, just looked at him indifferently. Ishak's sight was impaired by the 'appendages' which even grew on his forehead. What now? he thought. He had wasted his first wish, and now had no choice but to use up his second to rid him of the extra organs.

"Please", Ishak said. "Make all these lan***s disappear. I wish for them all to disappear"

The creature nodded. "Very well; your second wish, granted", it said.

And suddenly, as sudden as they had popped out of his body, the organs began to disappear. Ishak looked relieved bit by bit as the organs shrank and disappeared in front of his eyes. He rubbed his hands over his body again to make sure, when he felt something odd. His eyes widened when he realized what it was, and as if to confirm it, he looked inside his pants. His manhood was gone. There was simply nothing down there. His second wish had made them all disappear.

He looked stunned, and incredibly began to weep. This was not happening, he thought.

All thought of money went out of his mind. He did not want to live his life an incomplete person, even if it meant his life would be spared by paying off Tommy if he wished for money on his third wish. Incredibly Ishak was thinking that maybe he deserved to die, but he wanted to die a complete human being. He had blown his chances.

"You have one final wish; make it quick for I wish to slumber", the creature said solemnly. Ishak, now weeping, abruptly said:

"Please, I want to be back to my original state". Ishak knew that by wishing so he was essentially signing his own death warrant. Tommy would surely kill him now. But strangely, the thought of having no manhood frightened him more at the moment. I must be crazy, he thought.

"I wish to revert back to my original state", he said again, weeping, finalizing his wish. The creature nodded.

"It is done then. I will leave now", it said. Then it walked backward, back into the darkness of the jungle, and simply disappeared. The jungle was quiet.

Ishak was nowhere to be seen. His clothes lay bundled in front of the stone idol, his flashlight by lying on the jungle floor. The backpack he had brought was open and sat there like a creature with an open mouth. But Ishak was nowhere in sight..

No normal person would pass by this place. But if by some divine intervention someone suddenly came to be there, and that someone inspected the bundle of clothes, that someone would make a strange and perhaps gruesome discovery.

Inside the bundle of clothes, hidden amongst the folds and creases, was all that was left of Ishak: a foetus.

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