The morning sun was soft when Alya began packing. She folded her clothes neatly, tucking them into her worn duffel bag, the familiar weight grounding her. For days now, she had lingered in the village, caught between obligations to her family and the gnawing unease of strange nights. But today she had decided—she needed to return to the city, to routine, to the semblance of normal life.
Her mother stood at the doorway, watching her quietly. Balqis leaned against the wall, arms folded, and Firdaus sat on the old wooden chair, his eyes heavy from lack of sleep.
"I'll call when I arrive," Alya said, her voice steadier than she felt.
Her mother pulled her into a brief embrace. "Be careful on the road. Jangan berhenti sembarangan. If you feel tired, stop at the RNR."
"I will," Alya promised, forcing a smile.
She hugged Balqis and Firdaus quickly, then stepped outside, the bag slung over her shoulder. The morning air was cool, the birds calling from the trees as though to remind her that daylight still belonged to the living. She climbed into her car, turned the engine, and waved goodbye as the figures of her family grew smaller in the rearview mirror.
The road stretched ahead—long, grey, endless.
---
Hours passed. The hum of the tires and the steady vibration of the car made her eyes heavy. The monotony of the highway dulled her thoughts, her mind drifting. By the time the sun began to dip behind the horizon, exhaustion pressed down on her like a weight.
At the next RNR, she pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine.
The sky was painted deep orange, fading into a bruise of purple and navy. Alya reclined her seat, locking the doors, and closed her eyes. Sleep swallowed her quickly.
---
When she woke, the sky was pitch black. Her phone screen glowed 7:04 p.m.
Her stomach growled. She climbed out of the car, stretching stiff limbs, and walked toward the food stalls still lit by fluorescent tubes. The smell of fried noodles and kopi o floated in the air, comforting in its ordinariness. She ate quickly, wanting to get back on the road before the night stretched too deep.
By 8:00 p.m. she was driving again, headlights cutting through the darkness. The highway seemed lonelier now, the traffic thinning until it felt like she was the only one on the road.
Hours crept by. Her hands clenched the steering wheel tighter as the night grew darker. The radio, which she had switched on absentmindedly earlier, hummed with soft static until a familiar guitar riff filled the car.
Her breath caught.
It was Ekamatra.
The song was unmistakable—Pusara Di Lebuhraya.
Her father used to play it when she was a child, the lyrics a haunting lament that echoed with grief and inevitability. The melody curled around her now like smoke, each word pulling her deeper into the atmosphere of the night.
Di sini bermula bicara…
Terpedaya…
Dan bicara itu membunuhnya…
At that exact moment, something heavy fell onto the roof of her car.
BANG.
The sound reverberated through the cabin, sharp and sudden, jerking Alya's hands on the wheel.
Her breath hitched. The headlights illuminated only the endless grey strip of road ahead, but above her, something scraped.
Long, deliberate scratches trailed across the roof, metal groaning under unseen claws.
Her pulse quickened, sweat beading on her forehead. She gritted her teeth, whispering prayers under her breath.
Then came the smell.
It seeped into the car slowly at first, faint, almost bearable. But with each passing second, it grew stronger—sharp, sour, like the stench of something burnt. Alya wrinkled her nose, covering her mouth with her sleeve.
Then the smell shifted.
It turned rancid, thick and putrid, curling into her throat. It was the unmistakable stench of rotting flesh—sweet, cloying, unbearable. Her stomach twisted violently, bile rising.
Her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. She didn't want to look—don't look, don't look—but her gaze betrayed her.
The back seat lay in shadow. Nothing moved.
Yet the smell pressed against her lungs, suffocating.
She gagged, swallowing hard, forcing herself to focus on the road.
"Just a little further. Just keep driving," she whispered.
Minutes crawled like hours. Her eyes watered from the stench, her chest tightening. She scanned the signs desperately until at last—RNR 2 km. Relief rushed through her.
As she approached the intersection, ready to turn off, her headlights caught a figure across the road.
A woman stood by the trees, her white dress glowing faintly in the darkness. Her long black hair fell loose, tangled, obscuring her face. Slowly, her hand lifted—
She was waving.
Alya's throat closed. Her grip on the wheel tightened as her vision tunneled. She pressed the accelerator harder, forcing the car into the RNR entrance, her heart thundering in her ears.
---
The rest stop was still open, neon lights buzzing weakly overhead. A handful of cars were parked, but the people were inside, unseen.
Alya pulled into a space, her hands shaking as she killed the engine. For a long moment, she just sat there, chest heaving, staring out through the windshield.
Silence.
Finally, she forced herself to open the door. The cool air hit her face, clearing her head slightly. She turned her eyes upward—
The roof of her car was empty.
No dents. No scratches.
Just bare metal reflecting the neon light.
Her body sagged with a mix of relief and dread. Whatever had followed her, it had left no trace—at least none that human eyes could see.
She stepped into the RNR building, where the fluorescent lights hummed and a sleepy worker behind the counter barely glanced at her. The ordinary clatter of cutlery and faint chatter of late-night travelers filled the air.
Normal. Safe.
And yet, Alya could not stop the image of the waving woman across the road from replaying in her mind.
---
She sat at one of the plastic tables, hands wrapped tightly around a cup of hot Milo she barely tasted. Hours dragged by. She didn't dare leave, not while the night still wrapped itself around the highway. She waited, restless, glancing often at the glass doors that led back to the parking lot.
Every now and then, she thought she saw movement outside—a flicker of white at the corner of her eye. Each time, when she looked directly, nothing was there.
She stayed like that until the sky began to pale, the first call to prayer echoing faintly through the morning air.
At 6:00 a.m., she finally gathered herself, walked to her car, and climbed inside. The roof gleamed clean in the dawn light.
She drove without looking back.
The city rose slowly to meet her, its skyline familiar, almost comforting. The traffic thickened, the noise of horns and engines replacing the silence of the highway.
By the time she reached her apartment, she was bone-tired. She carried her bag inside, kicked off her shoes, and collapsed onto her bed without undressing.
Sleep came quickly, pulling her under before her thoughts could catch up.
For the first time in days, she did not dream.
But the echo of the song lingered in her mind, faint and haunting:
Di sini bermula bicara…
Terpedaya…
Dan bicara itu membunuhnya…