Indonesian Horor Story

This story happened in early 2008, specifically in January 2008. I had just returned from working  abroad after five years in a country where Petra is majestically carved between mountains of stone  and desert sands.  In 2008, I returned from my travels to a neighboring country between Turkey, Iraq, Syria, and  Lebanon. At that time, I bought a handycam, and because I’m the curious and playful type, this  story happened. That afternoon at 6:00 PM, just after Maghrib prayer, I asked my fourth sister to go ghost hunting  in the cemetery near my house, armed with my handycam. But because my sister is a bit scared,  she didn’t want to stay long and decided to go home, leaving me alone in a bamboo grove among  graves, some of which no longer had tombstones and were even leveled with the ground.  That night, I sat alone under a bamboo tree, observing my surroundings. It was a Wednesday night.  I set my handycam to infrared mode. An hour passed...

  In early 2015, my name is Rudi. I’m 27 years old now. I live in a village in Central Java, and I’m the eldest of three siblings. Atif, my first younger brother, is only two years younger than me and is currently working away in Tangerang with a relative. Noufal, my youngest brother, is 18 years old. He recently graduated from vocational school (SMK) and is now doing an internship at a restaurant not far from our home. My mother is a traveling vegetable seller. She’s been doing this job for almost 20 years. My father passed away a few years ago. I work as a tent installer for events, and sometimes I also work as a construction laborer in the village. That morning, I woke up to the sound of a ringing phone next to me. "Hello, Rud..." "Hello... yes, Mas Gopri." "Still waking up, huh? Hurry and get ready... We’re supposed to install the tent at Pak Harto's place." "Oh, gosh... I forgot!" "Alright, hurry up. I’ll wait for you at the warehou...