The jungle loomed over the winding dirt road like a dark cathedral, its canopy blotting out the sunlight and casting everything in shades of green and gray. The air was heavy with the smell of wet earth and the hum of insects. Daniel leaned out the window of the battered four-wheel drive, his eyes scanning the tree line.
“Charming place,” he muttered, adjusting his glasses. “Feels like the set of a bad horror film.”
Nurul, seated in the passenger seat, shot him a glare. “It’s not a joke, Daniel. People still talk about what happened here. You read Sofia’s article—you know the stories.”
“I know the stories,” he emphasized, waving a hand dismissively. “But that’s all they are. Local folklore. People need to blame something when bad things happen. It’s psychology, not paranormal activity.”
Nurul turned her gaze back to the jungle, her fingers fidgeting with the clasp of her bag. She wasn’t sure why she had agreed to join him on this trip. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the chance to learn more about her grandfather, who had disappeared in Bukit Hujan years before she was born. Or maybe it was the part of her that still believed in the stories her mother had told her as a child—the stories of whispers in the rain and spirits that fed on human pain.
The car rolled to a stop in what passed for the center of Bukit Hujan. The village looked even more desolate than it had in Sofia’s photographs. Most of the wooden houses were empty, their windows boarded up or hanging open like gaping mouths. A few figures moved in the distance, but they kept to the shadows, their faces turned away.
“This is it?” Daniel asked, stepping out of the car and stretching. “Not much of a welcome committee.”
Nurul ignored him and grabbed her bag. The rain had started again, a soft drizzle that quickly soaked through her jacket. She spotted an older man standing near the remains of an old sundry shop. His wide-brimmed hat was pulled low, and he leaned on a walking stick. It didn’t take her long to recognize him.
“Pak Leman,” she called out, hurrying toward him.
The old man turned, his lined face lighting up briefly before settling into a frown. “Nurul? Is that you?”
She nodded, smiling despite the unease that clung to the air. “It’s been a long time.”
“Too long,” Pak Leman replied, though his gaze shifted to Daniel. “You shouldn’t have come back. Especially not with strangers.”
Daniel stepped forward, offering a hand. “Dr. Daniel Wong. Archaeologist. I’m here to study the carvings in the jungle and, hopefully, get to the bottom of all this.” His tone was polite but edged with impatience.
Pak Leman ignored the handshake, his expression darkening. “There’s nothing to study. Nothing worth digging up.”
Nurul placed a hand on the old man’s arm. “Please, Pak Leman. We need your help. You know more about this place than anyone.”
Pak Leman hesitated, his eyes darting toward the jungle. The rain had picked up, and a low rumble of thunder rolled through the valley. “If you want answers, talk to her,” he said finally, nodding toward a house on the edge of the village.
The house was unmistakable. Even in the rain, its sagging roof and moss-covered walls gave it a haunted look. It was Sofia’s house.
Sofia opened the door reluctantly, her sharp eyes scanning Daniel and Nurul with a mix of suspicion and weariness. She looked older than her photographs, her face lined with the kind of exhaustion that went beyond physical fatigue.
“I told the world everything I know,” she said bluntly. “There’s no point coming here.”
“We’re not here to waste your time,” Daniel replied, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Your article was fascinating, but it raised more questions than it answered. If there’s even a shred of truth to what you wrote, then Bukit Hujan is sitting on a historical goldmine.”
Sofia’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “A goldmine? Is that what you think this is?” She turned to Nurul. “And you? Why are you here?”
“I want to know the truth,” Nurul said softly. “About the whispers. About my grandfather. My family deserves answers.”
Sofia studied her for a long moment before sighing. “The truth won’t bring anyone peace. Believe me, I’ve tried. But if you’re determined to go digging, I won’t stop you. Just don’t expect me to save you when things go wrong.”
She crossed the room and pulled a tattered map from a drawer. It was hand-drawn, the lines faint but precise, marking the paths and landmarks of the jungle. “The carvings you’re looking for are near the old burial site,” she said, pointing to a spot near the edge of the map. “But the jungle doesn’t forgive curiosity. If you hear your name, don’t follow the voice. No matter what.”
Daniel took the map with a triumphant grin. “Thanks for the warning,” he said, tucking it into his bag. “We’ll be careful.”
Sofia’s gaze darkened. “No, you won’t,” she said quietly. “But maybe you’ll survive anyway.”
As they stepped back into the rain, Nurul glanced over her shoulder at Sofia, who stood in the doorway watching them leave. For a moment, Nurul thought she saw something in Sofia’s eyes—a shadow of fear, or perhaps regret.
“Do you really think she’s telling the truth?” Daniel asked as they walked toward the jungle.
Nurul didn’t answer. The rain was falling harder now, and somewhere in the distance, she thought she heard the faint sound of whispers.
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