There is a durian hamlet shared by several longhouses, called the 'shrubs' (which were formerly planted by grandparents and unknown legitimate owners, hence it was declared a partnership of several families of the same offspring). The hamlet is located right at the foot of Begunan Hill. The History of Bukit Begunan is well-known by Sri Aman residents especially, because every year, there will be an accident that takes human life.
It said the area demands human blood every year. Incidentally, in this period of time, it was the middle of the durian season. So, I and some of the other villagers, about six people, are preparing to spend the night in the hamlet to collect durian fruits that are ripe for sale. Here, in the durian season, it's good practice. Sometimes it can profit up to hundreds of dollars a day. We were six, four of us quite young, accompanied by two relatively old men, having arrived at the hamlet, beginning to clear the 'skip' (cottage) that had long been there. We started clearing the 'skip' that would be our place to spend the night.
Each started their own tasks. Some are looking for firewood, some provide a place to cook, some have begun looking for durian fruits that have fallen. The fun begins when the night appears. Imagine the forest area, away from all the hustle and bustle, no noise of cars, no street lights, only poultry and crickets and all kinds of sounds at night. We continue to talk to each other. A very old man, I called him Mr. Jubang (not his real name), did not join our conversation. She just lay in one corner, armed with arms.
His true attitude is so, it does not seem to interfere with young children, perhaps because of his relatively old age. As we were in the middle of the five chats, suddenly we heard a shrub like a shake, as if something was moving. We were silent, wondering if the thing was. Then sounded again as the man was walking, Like dragging our feet around our 'skip'. The sound is so real that in the 'covered' area it is filled with dry leaves.
"Skreeeeeepppp skkreeeeeettttt skkreeeeeeeppp", sounds a bit like that. 'Skip' us, made of wood, enclosures and roofed nipah leaves, only flooring of wood. Our lights that night were just kerosene lamps. The sound of the foot was again dragged and this time it was as if there was something put his hand on our 'skip' wall and dragged from end to end. No one dared to go out at that time. We just looked at each other. Suddenly, "Taaaammmmmmmmm !!!!!!" Our wooden floor was struck from below. We are all surprised! The problem is, the 'skip' is made of stone, But the space between our board floor and the ground was not even a meter, could something go down and hit him with a heart so nearly pulled out the board? We start to panic. Directly look at each other (fate does not embrace).
Our 'jump' is then shaken from the outside. We are increasingly frightened. The old man lying down, after hearing the sound of the beaten floor, woke up. At that time he voiced while rubbing his eyes, "His main name? (What's that thing) "he said. Then he watched us, and at that moment he seemed to know what was going on. Then he rushes up and reaches his machete and says, "Heeiiisshhh ... I'm sorry to say that this is a thing."
He then proceeded out of the 'skip', sounding like he was reading something and straightening his machete onto the ground right at the door. Then, with his habitation he rose upstairs, and turned on the fire of his cigarette. Simultaneously with his deeds, the disturbance continues to disappear.
Stop as if the flames were watered. We began to calm down, and we began to ask him five questions, what was the thing that disturbed us. He replied, it is a 'ghost cochlea', or 'trowel', which is a real dislike to humans. Perhaps the ghost 'trowel' is Pontianak in the Iban version.
