Short Story (Cerpen)

Settle it Time

Category: Ghost Horror Short story

Title: Take Time

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Galang still does not believe. His way of thinking was as logical as the facts of the news in the newspaper so that it was impossible for such a thing to be trusted. However, he still appreciates Johan, his friend who has been half an hour away in the tent stall with a reassuring expression, such as eye sanctions on the green table. Galang who had indeed since first heard the opening had evaporated it was now only able to mutter while occasionally sucking on his skirt*k. But Mr. Totog who has a tent stall enthusiastically became a loyal listener of the story Johan.

“Already Jo!” cut Galang.”I can't believe your horror story!”

“I'm serious about this. The house is so haunted!” sahut Johan's.

“And anyway I just want to snap some antique pictures in that house, period!”

“Oh, so you don't believe me?” Johan glared, his blood starting to rise to the crown.

“Not that Jo, I just wrote a thesis about the uniqueness of antique objects. Well in that house, he said a lot of antiques.” explained Galang.

“Nak, I suggest, you don't go there. Danger!” Mr. Totok banned him.

“Ah, stupid time!” said Galang while sucking his skirt*knya for the last one before he threw it away. He gave some money to Mr. Totog to pay the bon, then left.

“He Galang, watch out for you! The house is bleeding!” yelled Johan when his best friend was saying goodbye to visit the house that had been the main ingredient of their conversation at the tent stall.

The young man stepped casually down the road that is increasingly loose because the day is almost dark and surely soon the adzan magrib will roar. He remembered Johan's story about the old house. He does not believe in all things subtle and the like, for it would be illogical for him to argue without such facts or evidence, but he would be careful. Confirm the words of his friend.

Digital cameras with high-quality image lenses that have been ready to photograph anything around it. He hung the camera belt around his neck, so it hung to his chest. Galang is a student photographer who almost finished his script, and he is currently looking for portraits of antique objects to complete his screen. He plans to photograph antique furniture in an old house. As he tells his plan to his best friend Johan. Not approve of his intentions, but instead make him annoyed and tired with stories that Galang considers only a local urband legend or myth. He really doesn't believe. It is neither history nor a logical fact and there is no reason to believe it. Yeah, that's his way of thinking.

The night began to greet him with a touch of a wooing bite until his body occasionally trembled withstanding the extreme cold. While the steps were erratic, let's go to obey the words of the people he was asked, but each of them always has a different answer. Galang began to despair with his search. He sat leaning back with a sweat of fatigue that kept pouring out of his skin pores. The foot that was stepping just now felt stiff and heavy, as if there was a chain that bound him. He was too tired and has now resigned. Disappointed always mastered it, but for a moment he gathered strength to fight the useless taste, although not the photo of antique objects but tired and disappointed obtained. He never cursed the circumstances, because this was his destiny.

Several times he tried to get up, but his strength had drained away while dazed in search. When he managed to stand firmly, it was seen someone walking from the side of the road to the entrance gate of the luxury house that since then the front fence he used to lean. The person turned out to be a middle-aged man with gray hair filling his head.

“What are you doing here Nak?” ask the guy.

“Sorry I rested here for a while. I was lost, sir. Already from my pentang to there and here looking for an address, but nihil.” replied Galang limp.

“Oh, pity you too. Let's just go in, kid, just rest inside. It's cold outside. Let's go in.” invite the person with a smile and sharp old eyes from behind his minus glasses, but look shady, enliven the atmosphere. The kindness of the middle-aged man felt like a warm embrace in his heart. The fate of Galang, because after he entered the house outside the rain fell so heavy with the wind and lightning that struck.

The middle-aged man introduced himself named Jonathan Ernest to Galang. They shake hands. Slowly the man recounted the twists and turns of his life. He is an indo man, whose father is from Europe and his mother is native Javanese. Some inspirational stories in his life he told Galang who occasionally responded enthusiastically. Their conversation grew warmer, making the cold a moment of oblivion.

“You're a photographer?” jonathan asked while staring at the digital camera that had been held by Galang since.

“Iya, I am a student photographer last semester.” replied Galang while removing a skirt*k which he then switched on and occasionally he suctioned full of favors. Their conversation continues. The middle-aged man's eyes sparkled every time he told his story and Galang enthusiastically became a loyal listener who occasionally argued. The young man seemed to have forgotten his first goal, but after both of them were silent for a moment. He ventured to ask questions, even though he was in doubt.

“Do you know this address?” asked Galang while holding out a small piece of paper.

“Know, but this address..” replied Jonathan after a moment of remembrance. Now the hospitality on his face began to fade away with sharp eyes staring suspiciously, his thick eyebrows fused together, and slowly a strange smile on his face.

“That address is why Sir?” ask Galang curious.

“You sure you want to go to this address?” Jonathan asked back.

“The house is bleeding young people, do not occasionally visit there, because the stakes are life.” said the man while confirming the location of his glasses.”If you want I'll show you some of my antique collection. It might treat your disappointment, son, but you have to promise never to visit that house. Dangerous!”

“Wah, what a coincidence. My promise to repay all your kindness is sir.” Galang said with eyes sparkling expectantly. “It is an honor for me if indeed you allow.”

“Okey! Prepare your best camera settings.” said Jonathan while getting up. In his sharp old eyes it emanated a fire of spirit, until its blur was disguised.

Quite a lot of antiques that the middle-aged man had. Jars, statues, bronze plates, paintings from famous artists, a collection of coins from the time of the majapahit kingdom until now complete with explanations, he said, and a table full of abstract carvings like strange symbols. It was all neatly arranged in a private room. While Galang was busy taking pictures of the collection, Jonathan had several times explained its origins. With agile movements the young man exerted all his abilities in aiming and taking photos he got during his time as a student photographer. He was unceasingly amazed. A sense of joy, pleasure, admiration, and haru now filled his heart. The disappointment that once stopped for a moment.

Galang is very grateful to Jonathan who has been willing to share his time and show the objects of his collection.

“Thank you very much, because you are very kind to me. Once again thanks.” Galang said while smiling.

“Sama-sama young man. May be useful to you, son.” said Jonathan with a smile that mengkah on his wrinkled face.

“May I take a photo with you as a memento?”

“Of course, let.” momentarily Galang setting his camera with timer mode that will automatically take several shots. Then they posed with their arms around each other's shoulders, looking like a father with his son.

“I have to go home soon, it is very night and the rain seems to have subsided.” Galang said while looking at the watch on his right hand.

“Okey, let me take you outside.” Jonathan said.

Make friends with a skirt*k he goes home. The silent darkness accompanied his steps. The wind blows softly with its ugliness and its bite. His body occasionally trembled withstanding the cold. He sucks his skirt* and breathes out white smoke in the darkness of the night. Already five rocks*k he spent to accompany his steps that increasingly feel heavy. Only on the trunk of the skirt*k to the six he has arrived in his contract.

Geck, tok, tok…

“Assalamu’alaikum.” Galang. There were footsteps coming towards the door from inside. Slowly open the door with the creaking of a slipping hinge in the heart.

“Astaghfirullahal enzyme!” johon was surprised. His eyes were unable to see the figure before him. “Our world is different friends. So do not disturb me, be calm in your realm of eternity. Go, I've let you go.” Confused though. Wanted to laugh, but his best friend looks serious and he can only be silent while sucking his last skirt*k. With a nosy she whipped the smoke of her skirt*k into Johan's face.

“Why Jo? You think I've been ko-id eaten by the ghost of that house. Ah, you're just-nothing.” Stopped to suck the skirt*knya for a moment. “So where are you going with a neatly cut dress like this? Not saying the hell you Jo if there is a great study. I didn't come home at this time.”

“This is really you Lang?” asked Johan while shaking his best friend's shoulders.

“Hehe, do not meet just a few hours your behavior changed drastically yes. Sok kangen-kenan! Until I pretend to forget everything!” sahut Galang while throwing away the skirt*knya who live only the cork.

“You really are my best friend!” Johan hugged his best friend's body while sobbing, crying so badly.

“Eh, why the hell? I used to be Galang. When did I become a black steel knight and friends!” Galang chuckled in the arms of his sobbing best friend, for some reason. “Where do you want to neat kek gini?”

“I was going to your house to come to do’a event together, commemorate your departure which has been one year on the day, but.”.

“You are just Jo. I only left a few hours ago after arguing with you at Mr. Totog's tent. Remember right?” Galang cutting sharp.

“Yes I remember, but the truth is you've been disappearing without news for this year.” Johan said as he let go of his embrace.

“Jonathan Ernest's house!” murmured when he saw the photos in his camera. There is one strange photo. The picture with the middle-aged man is strange, because it only looks Galang alone. Her plight looks like it's coiled around someone's shoulder, but in the photo she's completely alone.

*) Sepecial thanks to “Galang Aji Nugroho” who has devoted his time to hear my babble every day.