The classroom lights flickered for a brief second.
Six university students sat around a long table inside the anthropology department's discussion room. The only sound was the low hum of a worn-out ceiling fan spinning above them. Papers were scattered across the table—research drafts, old news clippings, and a printed cover sheet that read:
> "Mass Fear and Haunted Spaces: A Case Study on the Abandoned Building of Belantara IV Street."
Raka leaned back in his chair, flipping through an article featuring a black-and-white photo of a decaying four-story building choked by vines and graffiti.
> "Six people went missing there," Sarah murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Two of them were actual paranormal investigators. No one ever came back."
> "Hysteria," Kevin scoffed, tapping on the side of his laptop.
"It's gas leaks, not ghosts. Probably methane or carbon monoxide—causes hallucinations."
The six students—four girls, two guys—were debating fiercely. Some were skeptical. Others were unsure. But deep beneath their arguments was a single unspoken emotion: curiosity.
And sometimes, curiosity is the last mistake before death.
---
That same night, they drove in two cars, heading straight toward the infamous building on Belantara IV. It loomed in the outskirts of the city like a corpse frozen in time. Their plan was simple: set up equipment, stay for a few hours, and collect data for their research.
They brought:
Standard cameras
Infrared cameras
Temperature sensors
EMF detectors
Portable recorders
Their minds were filled with confidence and academic pride.
Their hearts hadn't yet realized they were walking into a cage that only opened inward.
---
The fourth floor welcomed them with silence.
Broken tiles. Moldy walls. Cracked windows with shattered glass crunching under their shoes.
They set up their cameras at each corner of the large empty room. One infrared camera was aimed toward the dark hallway. The EMF detector started blinking without pattern. The temperature monitor dropped from 27°C to 12°C in under a minute.
> "That's not normal," Maya whispered, adjusting the settings.
"Even the thermal cam's glitching."
Click… click… click.
The main camera flickered.
Once.
Twice.
And then it froze.
Suddenly, from the western wall, a figure slid through the concrete—a pocong.
Wrapped in rotting funeral cloth, its face was black and wet like earth.
Two glowing red eyes pierced through the dark, staring as if it had waited decades for this exact moment.
It didn't walk.
It floated.
Right through them.
Nobody screamed. Nobody moved.
Then—just as silently—it passed through the opposite wall… and disappeared.
---
> "We should leave," Tania's voice cracked.
"This isn't research. This is wrong."
She and Fira took flashlights and ran toward the stairs without waiting. The others stayed, frozen by confusion and a rising sense of dread.
Five minutes.
Ten.
No sign of them.
Then, through the hallway cam… a massive greenish shadow emerged near the exit. It was almost three meters tall, shaped like a man made of smoke and swamp water. With a grotesque swing of its arm, it grabbed both girls—one in each hand—and vanished into the mist.
Gone.
Like they were never there.
---
Kevin ran to the hallway.
But before he reached the door, the pocong returned.
Its blackened face cracked open in a twisted grin.
Then it lunged—and grabbed Kevin and Natasya.
They screamed, bodies lifted from the ground, limbs flailing, and within seconds, they were dragged into the wall, as if the concrete had turned to water.
> "NO! STOP!" Raka screamed, grabbing a wooden board and striking it at full force.
Thump. The blow went right through.
Again. Nothing.
The pocong didn't even react.
He watched, helpless, as his two friends vanished into the wall.
Gone.
---
Only Raka and Lina remained.
She was on her knees, sobbing, her hands over her ears.
> "They're all… gone…"
Lina was sobbing, her back against the cold wall, hands trembling over her mouth. Her mascara had smudged, eyes swollen with terror.
Raka crouched beside her, clutching his injured leg, his own breathing ragged.
> "Lina... hey—look at me. We're still okay, we just... we have to stay calm..."
But his words died in his throat.
A white mist crept through the cracks in the walls and floor. It spread fast—unnatural and thick, curling like smoke from a fire that wasn't burning.
And then... it turned red.
A crimson fog poured in, reeking of iron and rot. Something heavy was coming.
Then, he emerged.
A winged figure burst from the red mist with a howl that shook the windowpanes.
An infernal demon—his skin glowing red like molten rock, his wings blackened with veins of flame. His face was twisted and scorched as if Hell itself had carved him from fire.
His eyes locked on Lina.
Raka tried to shield her, but it was too late.
The demon flew forward, grabbed Lina like a doll, and soared toward the window.
> "LINA!!"
Raka, panicked, lunged—his fingers brushing the creature's leg.
But it felt like grabbing wind. There was no weight. No friction.
Just emptiness.
He slipped.
The next second, he was falling—past shattered glass, past the night air—and then—
CRACK.
The ground greeted him like a hammer.
Pain exploded through his limbs.
He couldn't breathe.
His leg bent the wrong way.
His arm twisted unnaturally.
Blood poured from his side. His ears rang. His vision pulsed.
> "I'm going to die," he thought. "Right here. Alone."
He coughed. Then—his eyes caught movement.
Something was crawling toward him.
From the fog… a woman.
But not a living one.
Her legs were gone—only bloody stumps remained. She dragged herself by her arms, leaving a wet red trail.
Her hospital gown was torn, revealing a disturbingly attractive body.
Her face… it could have been beautiful, if not for how pale it was—drained white, almost blue, lips torn in one corner. Her hair floated as if underwater.
Raka couldn't move. Couldn't scream.
The ghost slithered closer, inch by inch…
Then—she began to undress.
His mind froze in panic. What is she doing?!
She leaned over him and... licked his wounds.
Her tongue was cold, slick with blood. It stung like acid on his torn flesh.
Raka began to cry.
> "Stop... please..." he whispered, weakly.
The ghost didn't stop. She was feeding.
Then—her face hovered inches from his.
Her mouth opened wide.
Her tongue—long, snake-like—slid into his mouth.
Raka gagged.
He couldn't breathe.
He tasted metal, death, rot.
And then—
Black.
He passed out.
---
🌙
Raka woke up gasping, drenched in sweat.
He sat upright—then immediately winced in pain.
His body was covered by a thin hospital blanket.
He was in a small, dimly lit room. A fan creaked above him.
He looked down—he was wearing only underwear.
His chest and arms were wrapped in bandages. His left leg was splinted.
> Where am I...?
He slowly removed the blanket.
His body was scratched and bruised. But he was alive.
Then… the memories crashed in like waves.
Sarah and Tania—taken by the green giant at the gate.
Kevin and Natasya—dragged into the wall by the pocong.
And Lina... sweet, terrified Lina—ripped away by the red-winged demon.
> I'm the only one left.
His breath caught.
> "No… no no no..."
"...Can you stop screaming?"
Raka froze.
The voice was calm, deep, and oddly warm. He turned his head and saw an old man standing at the foot of the bed.
He looked like a wandering cleric—wrinkled face, wise eyes, and a massive string of prayer beads hanging around his neck like a necklace made for giants.
But it wasn't the old man that made Raka's skin crawl.
It was what stood behind him.
There—hovering silently—was the nurse ghost.
Her face still pale, blood still dripping faintly from her severed legs. Her gown clung to her like damp silk. Her head tilted slightly, her lips curled into a smile... the same lips that had—
> Oh no.
Raka's whole body tensed.
He remembered now.
The kiss.
The tongue.
The slimy, long, ghost tongue.
> "No... no no no no..."
"She… she kissed me??"
His face turned red.
His chest clenched with existential horror.
> "MY FIRST KISS WAS STOLEN BY A DAMN GHOST?!"
He wanted to scream. Cry. Or maybe crawl under the bed and never come out again.
But then the old man chuckled.
> "Hahaha! Don't look so traumatized, boy. That ghost nurse… she's the one who saved your life."
Raka blinked.
> "...What?"
> "Her saliva contains a spiritual enzyme that heals mortal wounds. Your broken limbs? Crushed bones? She licked it all better."
The nurse ghost smiled and gave him a cute little wave.
Raka shrank into the pillow.
> "T-That's not scientifically possible!"
The old man shrugged.
> "Of course not. It's supernatural. Her essence isn't on your precious periodic table."
Raka's eyes widened.
> "Wait... are you saying ghost spit is... a healing agent?"
> "Ghost saliva, boy. Use proper terms. And yes, it's a sacred compound. Ancient. Forgotten. You won't find it in any lab."
"You think scientists know everything? Hah! The unseen world is far wider than any textbook."
Raka clutched his head.
> "This is insane… I got kissed by a bleeding ghost and now I owe her my life?"
The nurse giggled softly behind the old man, blushing in a way that made Raka's soul want to eject itself.